There
were
nabobs
in
those
days—in
the
"flush times," I mean.
Every
rich
strike
in
the
mines
created
one
or
two. I
call
to
mind
several
of
these.
They
were
careless, easy-going fellows,
as
a
general
thing,
and
the
community
at
large
was
as
much
benefited
by
their
riches
as
they
were
themselves—possibly more,
in
some
cases.
Two
cousins, teamsters,
did
some
hauling
for
a
man
and
had
to
take
a small
segregated
portion
of
a
silver
mine
in
lieu
of
$300 cash.
They
gave
an
outsider a
third
to
open
the
mine,
and
they
went
on
teaming.
But
not
long.
Ten
months
afterward
the
mine
was
out
of
debt
and
paying
each
owner $8,000
to
$10,000 a month—say $100,000 a year.
One
of
the
earliest
nabobs
that
Nevada
was
delivered
of
wore $6,000
worth
of
diamonds
in
his
bosom,
and
swore
he
was
unhappy
because
he
could
not
spend
his
money
as
fast
as
he
made
it.
Another
Nevada
nabob
boasted
an
income
that
often
reached $16,000 a month;
and
he
used
to
love
to
tell
how
he
had
worked
in
the
very
mine
that
yielded
it,
for
five
dollars
a day,
when
he
first
came
to
the
country.
The
silver
and
sage-brush
State
has
knowledge
of
another
of
these
pets
of
fortune—lifted
from
actual
poverty
to
affluence
almost
in
a single night—who
was
able
to
offer
$100,000
for
a position
of
high
official
distinction,
shortly
afterward,
and
did
offer
it—but
failed
to
get
it,
his
politics
not
being
as
sound
as
his
bank
account.
Then
there
was
John Smith.
He
was
a good, honest, kind-hearted soul,
born
and
reared
in
the
lower
ranks
of
life,
and
miraculously
ignorant.
He
drove
a team,
and
owned a small ranch—a ranch
that
paid
him
a
comfortable
living,
for
although
it
yielded
but
little
hay,
what
little
it
did
yield
was
worth
from
$250
to
$300
in
gold
per
ton
in
the
market. Presently Smith
traded
a
few
acres
of
the
ranch
for
a small undeveloped
silver
mine
in
Gold
Hill.
He
opened
the
mine
and
built a
little
unpretending ten-stamp mill.
Eighteen
months
afterward
he
retired
from
the
hay
business,
for
his
mining
income
had reached a
most
comfortable
figure.
Some
people
said
it
was
$30,000 a month,
and
others
said
it
was
$60,000. Smith
was
very
rich
at
any
rate.
And
then
he
went
to
Europe
and
traveled.
And
when
he
came
back
he
was
never
tired
of
telling
about
the
fine
hogs
he
had
seen
in
England,
and
the
gorgeous
sheep
he
had
seen
in
Spain,
and
the
fine
cattle
he
had noticed
in
the
vicinity
of
Rome.
He
was
full
of
wonders
of
the
old
world,
and
advised
everybody
to
travel.
He
said a
man
never
imagined
what
surprising
things
there
were
in
the
world
till
he
had traveled.
One
day,
on
board
ship,
the
passengers
made
up
a pool
of
$500,
which
was
to
be
the
property
of
the
man
who
should
come
nearest
to
guessing
the
run
of
the
vessel
for
the
next
twenty-four hours.
Next
day,
toward
noon,
the
figures
were
all
in
the
purser's
hands
in
sealed envelopes. Smith
was
serene
and
happy,
for
he
had been
bribing
the
engineer.
But
another
party
won
the
prize! Smith said: "Here,
that
won't do!
He
guessed
two
miles
wider
of
the
mark
than
I did."
The
purser
said, "Mr. Smith,
you
missed
it
further
than
any
man
on
board.
We
traveled
two
hundred
and
eight
miles
yesterday." "Well, sir," said Smith, "that's
just
where
I've got you,
for
I guessed
two
hundred
and
nine.
If
you'll
look
at
my figgers
again
you'll find a 2
and
two
0's,
which
stands
for
200, don't it?—and
after
'em you'll find a 9 (2009),
which
stands
for
two
hundred
and
nine. I
reckon
I'll
take
that
money,
if
you
please."
The
Gould &
Curry
claim
comprised
twelve
hundred
feet,
and
it
all
belonged
originally
to
the
two
men
whose
names
it
bears. Mr.
Curry
owned
two
thirds
of
it—and
he
said
that
he
sold
it
out
for
twenty-five
hundred
dollars
in
cash,
and
an
old
plug
horse
that
ate
up
his
market
value
in
hay
and
barley
in
seventeen
days
by
the
watch.
And
he
said
that
Gould
sold
out
for
a pair
of
second-hand
government
blankets
and
a bottle
of
whisky
that
killed
nine
men
in
three
hours,
and
that
an
unoffending
stranger
that
smelt
the
cork
was
disabled
for
life.
Four
years
afterward
the
mine
thus
disposed
of
was
worth
in
the
San Francisco
market
seven
millions
six
hundred
thousand
dollars
in
gold
coin.
In
the
early
days
a poverty-stricken Mexican
who
lived
in
a
canyon
directly
back
of
Virginia
City, had a
stream
of
water
as
large
as
a man's
wrist
trickling
from
the
hill-side
on
his
premises.
The
Ophir
Company
segregated
a
hundred
feet
of
their
mine
and
traded
it
to
him
for
the
stream
of
water.
The
hundred
feet
proved
to
be
the
richest
part
of
the
entire
mine;
four
years
after
the
swap,
its
market
value
(including
its
mill)
was
$1,500,000.
An
individual
who
owned
twenty
feet
in
the
Ophir
mine
before
its
great
riches
were
revealed
to
men,
traded
it
for
a horse,
and
a
very
sorry
looking
brute
he
was, too. A
year
or
so
afterward,
when
Ophir stock went
up
to
$3,000 a foot,
this
man,
who
had
not
a cent, used
to
say
he
was
the
most
startling
example
of
magnificence
and
misery
the
world
had
ever
seen—because
he
was
able
to
ride
a sixty-thousand-dollar horse—yet
could
not
scrape
up
cash
enough
to
buy
a saddle,
and
was
obliged
to
borrow
one
or
ride
bareback.
He
said
if
fortune
were
to
give
him
another
sixty-thousand-dollar
horse
it
would
ruin him. A
youth
of
nineteen,
who
was
a telegraph
operator
in
Virginia
on
a salary
of
a
hundred
dollars
a month,
and
who,
when
he
could
not
make
out
German
names
in
the
list
of
San Francisco steamer arrivals, used
to
ingeniously
select
and
supply
substitutes
for
them
out
of
an
old
Berlin
city
directory,
made
himself
rich
by
watching
the
mining
telegrams
that
passed
through
his
hands
and
buying
and
selling
stocks accordingly,
through
a
friend
in
San Francisco.
Once
when
a
private
dispatch
was
sent
from
Virginia
announcing
a
rich
strike
in
a
prominent
mine
and
advising
that
the
matter
be
kept
secret
till
a
large
amount
of
the
stock
could
be
secured,
he
bought
forty
"feet"
of
the
stock
at
twenty
dollars
a foot,
and
afterward
sold
half
of
it
at
eight
hundred
dollars
a
foot
and
the
rest
at
double
that
figure.
Within
three
months
he
was
worth
$150,000,
and
had resigned
his
telegraphic position.
Another
telegraph
operator
who
had been discharged
by
the
company
for
divulging
the
secrets
of
the
office,
agreed
with
a
moneyed
man
in
San Francisco
to
furnish
him
the
result
of
a
great
Virginia
mining lawsuit
within
an
hour
after
its
private
reception
by
the
parties
to
it
in
San Francisco.
For
this
he
was
to
have
a
large
percentage
of
the
profits
on
purchases
and
sales
made
on
it
by
his
fellow-conspirator.
So
he
went, disguised
as
a teamster,
to
a
little
wayside telegraph
office
in
the
mountains, got acquainted
with
the
operator,
and
sat
in
the
office
day
after
day,
smoking
his
pipe,
complaining
that
his
team
was
fagged
out
and
unable
to
travel—and meantime
listening
to
the
dispatches
as
they
passed
clicking
through
the
machine
from
Virginia. Finally
the
private
dispatch
announcing
the
result
of
the
lawsuit
sped
over
the
wires,
and
as
soon
as
he
heard
it
he
telegraphed
his
friend
in
San Francisco: "Am tired waiting.
Shall
sell
the
team
and
go
home."
It
was
the
signal
agreed
upon.
The
word
"waiting" left out,
would
have
signified
that
the
suit had gone
the
other
way.
The
mock teamster's
friend
picked
up
a
deal
of
the
mining stock,
at
low
figures,
before
the
news
became public,
and
a
fortune
was
the
result.
For
a
long
time
after
one
of
the
great
Virginia
mines
had been incorporated,
about
fifty
feet
of
the
original
location
were
still
in
the
hands
of
a
man
who
had
never
signed
the
incorporation
papers.
The
stock became
very
valuable,
and
every
effort
was
made
to
find
this
man,
but
he
had disappeared.
Once
it
was
heard
that
he
was
in
New
York,
and
one
or
two
speculators
went
east
but
failed
to
find him.
Once
the
news
came
that
he
was
in
the
Bermudas,
and
straightway a
speculator
or
two
hurried
east
and
sailed
for
Bermuda—but
he
was
not
there. Finally
he
was
heard
of
in
Mexico,
and
a
friend
of
his, a bar-keeper
on
a salary,
scraped
together
a
little
money
and
sought
him
out, bought
his
"feet"
for
a
hundred
dollars,
returned
and
sold
the
property
for
$75,000.
But
why
go
on?
The
traditions
of
Silverland
are
filled
with
instances
like
these,
and
I
would
never
get
through
enumerating
them
were
I
to
attempt
do
it. I
only
desired
to
give,
the
reader
an
idea
of
a
peculiarity
of
the
"flush times"
which
I
could
not
present
so
strikingly
in
any
other
way,
and
which
some
mention
of
was
necessary
to
a
realizing
comprehension
of
the
time
and
the
country. I
was
personally acquainted
with
the
majority
of
the
nabobs
I
have
referred
to,
and
so,
for
old
acquaintance
sake, I
have
shifted
their
occupations
and
experiences
around
in
such
a
way
as
to
keep
the
Pacific
public
from
recognizing
these
once
notorious
men.
No
longer
notorious,
for
the
majority
of
them
have
drifted
back
into
poverty
and
obscurity
again.
In
Nevada
there
used
to
be
current
the
story
of
an
adventure
of
two
of
her
nabobs,
which
may
or
may
not
have
occurred. I
give
it
for
what
it
is
worth: Col.
Jim
had
seen
somewhat
of
the
world,
and
knew
more
or
less
of
its
ways;
but
Col.
Jack
was
from
the
back
settlements
of
the
States, had led a
life
of
arduous
toil,
and
had
never
seen
a city.
These
two, blessed
with
sudden
wealth, projected a
visit
to
New
York,—Col.
Jack
to
see
the
sights,
and
Col.
Jim
to
guard
his
unsophistication
from
misfortune.
They
reached San Francisco
in
the
night,
and
sailed
in
the
morning.
Arrived
in
New
York, Col.
Jack
said: "I've
heard
tell
of
carriages
all
my life,
and
now
I
mean
to
have
a
ride
in
one; I don't
care
what
it
costs.
Come
along."
They
stepped
out
on
the
sidewalk,
and
Col.
Jim
called
a stylish barouche.
But
Col.
Jack
said: "No, sir!
None
of
your
cheap-John turn-outs
for
me. I'm
here
to
have
a
good
time,
and
money
ain't
any
object. I
mean
to
have
the
nobbiest
rig
that's going.
Now
here
comes
the
very
trick. Stop
that
yaller
one
with
the
pictures
on
it—don't
you
fret—I'll
stand
all
the
expenses myself."
So
Col.
Jim
stopped
an
empty omnibus,
and
they
got in. Said Col. Jack: "Ain't
it
gay, though? Oh, no, I
reckon
not! Cushions,
and
windows,
and
pictures,
till
you
can't rest.
What
would
the
boys
say
if
they
could
see
us
cutting a
swell
like
this
in
New
York?
By
George, I
wish
they
could
see
us."
Then
he
put
his
head
out
of
the
window,
and
shouted
to
the
driver: "Say, Johnny,
this
suits me!—suits yours truly,
you
bet, you! I
want
this
shebang
all
day. I'm
on
it,
old
man!
Let
'em out!
Make
'em go! We'll
make
it
all
right
with
you, sonny!"
The
driver
passed
his
hand
through
the
strap-hole,
and
tapped
for
his
fare—it
was
before
the
gongs came
into
common
use. Col.
Jack
took
the
hand,
and
shook
it
cordially.
He
said: "You
twig
me,
old
pard!
All
right
between
gents.
Smell
of
that,
and
see
how
you
like
it!"
And
he
put
a twenty-dollar
gold
piece
in
the
driver's hand.
After
a
moment
the
driver said
he
could
not
make
change. "Bother
the
change!
Ride
it
out.
Put
it
in
your
pocket."
Then
to
Col. Jim,
with
a
sounding
slap
on
his
thigh: "Ain't
it
style, though? Hanged
if
I don't
hire
this
thing
every
day
for
a week."
The
omnibus
stopped,
and
a
young
lady
got in. Col.
Jack
stared a moment,
then
nudged Col.
Jim
with
his
elbow: "Don't
say
a word,"
he
whispered. "Let
her
ride,
if
she
wants
to. Gracious, there's
room
enough."
The
young
lady
got
out
her
porte-monnaie,
and
handed
her
fare
to
Col. Jack. "What's
this
for?" said he. "Give
it
to
the
driver, please." "Take
back
your
money, madam.
We
can't
allow
it. You're
welcome
to
ride
here
as
long
as
you
please,
but
this
shebang's chartered,
and
we
can't
let
you
pay
a cent."
The
girl
shrunk
into
a corner, bewildered.
An
old
lady
with
a
basket
climbed in,
and
proffered
her
fare. "Excuse me," said Col. Jack. "You're perfectly
welcome
here, madam,
but
we
can't
allow
you
to
pay.
Set
right
down
there, mum,
and
don't
you
be
the
least
uneasy.
Make
yourself
just
as
free
as
if
you
was
in
your
own
turn-out."
Within
two
minutes,
three
gentlemen,
two
fat
women,
and
a
couple
of
children, entered. "Come
right
along, friends," said Col. Jack; "don't
mind
us.
This
is
a
free
blow-out."
Then
he
whispered
to
Col. Jim, "New
York
ain't
no
sociable
place, I don't reckon—it
ain't
no
name
for
it!"
He
resisted
every
effort
to
pass
fares
to
the
driver,
and
made
everybody cordially welcome.
The
situation
dawned
on
the
people,
and
they
pocketed
their
money,
and
delivered
themselves
up
to
covert
enjoyment
of
the
episode.
Half
a
dozen
more
passengers
entered. "Oh, there's
plenty
of
room," said Col. Jack. "Walk
right
in,
and
make
yourselves
at
home. A blow-out
ain't
worth
anything
as
a blow-out, unless a
body
has company."
Then
in
a whisper
to
Col. Jim: "But
ain't
these
New
Yorkers friendly?
And
ain't
they
cool
about
it, too?
Icebergs
ain't
anywhere. I
reckon
they'd tackle a hearse,
if
it
was
going
their
way."
More
passengers
got in;
more
yet,
and
still
more.
Both
seats
were
filled,
and
a
file
of
men
were
standing up, holding
on
to
the
cleats
overhead.
Parties
with
baskets
and
bundles
were
climbing
up
on
the
roof. Half-suppressed
laughter
rippled
up
from
all
sides. "Well,
for
clean, cool, out-and-out cheek,
if
this
don't
bang
anything
that
ever
I saw, I'm
an
Injun!" whispered Col. Jack. A Chinaman crowded
his
way
in. "I weaken!" said Col. Jack. "Hold on, driver!
Keep
your
seats, ladies,
and
gents.
Just
make
yourselves free—everything's paid for. Driver, rustle
these
folks
around
as
long
as
they're a
mind
to
go—friends
of
ours,
you
know.
Take
them
everywheres—and
if
you
want
more
money,
come
to
the
St. Nicholas,
and
we'll
make
it
all
right.
Pleasant
journey
to
you, ladies
and
gents—go
it
just
as
long
as
you
please—it shan't
cost
you
a cent!"
The
two
comrades
got out,
and
Col.
Jack
said: "Jimmy, it's
the
sociablest
place
I
ever
saw.
The
Chinaman waltzed
in
as
comfortable
as
anybody.
If
we'd staid awhile, I
reckon
we'd had
some
niggers. B' George, we'll
have
to
barricade
our
doors
to-night,
or
some
of
these
ducks
will
be
trying
to
sleep
with
us."