Newspaper Clippings, 1883 - "From Eastern Nevada"

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Wednesday..........November 14, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Austin Sundays—An Old Pioneer's Reluctant Death—Who Will Unearth His Buried Treasure?—A Strongly Pointed Moral—Chinese Funeral—Hog and Hominy—A Very Unique and Stylish Display—Chinese Free Masonry.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., November 11, 1883.

To-day being the holy Sabbath, the people of Austin are undergoing their usual observance and appreciation thereof. The stores, bank, express and Postoffices are closed, the saloons are all open and the churches well attended. Austin likes to go to church, especially when the weather is fine, as it is to-day, and he or she always feels better for it, regardless as to what the preacher may say, for [then] it is that each has a square look and intimate considerate inspection of the other from various worldly points of view. And the regular gossips meet and compare notes on the way home, and get a fresh start on the entire week's gossip, or until they meet again. The singing in all three of the churches is excellent and attractive, and the clergy do their part in the way of religious instruction. When there are any sort of outside attractions, however, such as a military or a musical turnout, a target or pigeon shooting, or a baseball game, good sleighing, etc., Austinites do not quite all go to church.

GONE BEYOND

George H. Mullen, an old pioneer of California and Nevada, died about 12 o'clock last night, and was buried this afternoon. Mullen was a native of Maine, about fifty years of age, and came to California in 1850. He followed mining, and the silver discoveries attracted him over the Sierra to Nevada, arriving in Austin in 1963, over twenty years ago. He had a wife, a son and daughter; but the wife died some twelve years ago. The children grew to maturity, and the daughter married in the Golden State, and the son is here in Austin. Mullen was always an enterprising, hard working miner, sanguine and hopeful, and though not always successful, he managed to pick up considerable money. Moreover, he knew how to save it pretty well. He had no bad habits, was ignorant of the taste of alcoholic beverages, and did not know whisky toddy from small beer. He held on to a half-dollar as vigorously as others would upon a $20 piece, denying himself the luxuries of life, and almost going without sufficient clothes to wear. He used to have money buried, and, so far as he could be, was his own banker, always, evidently, fondly dreaming of some day in the sunny future when he could call himself a rich man, and branch out and enjoy himself as such. A year or so ago he got into difficulty with the Manhattan Mining Company about some ore which was in his possession, and a suit by him against that company, for several thousand dollars in the United States Circuit Court, at Carson, is the present outcome of the matter. How it will terminate, under the present circumstances, remains to be seen, of course. He went to Reno a few days ago to consult his lawyer, and contracted a severe cold, which resulted rapidly in pneumonia and death. His very abstemious life had not rendered his constitution proof against that only sickness of his life, and his last hours were a painful, desperate struggle for breath. He was reported to have a large amount of money buried somewhere, and yesterday morning his physician told him to arrange his worldly affairs, for he was very likely to die in a few hours; that if he had any information to divulge to some trusted friend as to his money and property he had better do so forthwith. But Mullen was resolute, and clung fast to the secret of his bosom, saying he would do that by and by, or to-morrow would be time enough. Before noon, however, his brain was deranged, and so remained till he died, he not being even able to recognize his best friends.

BURIED TREASURE.

And now the most exciting of popular talk and consideration is: Where is Mullen's money buried? All remember that when he was arrested, over a year ago, at the time of his difficulty with the Manhattan Company, he had money buried beneath the floor of his cabin, which was brought to light with the assistance of the Sheriff, and the popular idea is that he has pots and cans full of golden twenties, and bars of silver buried in some very shrewdly-selected locality. Some who pretend to know stoutly assert that there must be over $40,000 of it. Could the locality of this very desirable treasure trove be known how eagerly half of Austin would be digging for it. How provoking that Mullen should thus carry his great secret to the grave with him. His little cabin is carefully watched, however, under the care of his relatives and interested friends, and proper explorations well be promptly made. The chances are, however, that his money is not buried there this time. He was a man who closely guarded his own financial secrets, and had no personal confidant in that respect, consequently everybody is in a perplexing state of doubt. He had some money banked in San Francisco, also some money coming to him from the firm to whom he has been shipping ores in that city, but perhaps his savings and money account has been overrated. Perhaps he left no money buried at all. But hundreds who knew him well stoutly assert their belief that he did, and whether he did or did not, both open and secret search will be made in years to come for Mullen's buried treasure. It is the old Captain Kidd and Cocos Islands stories on a small scale at present, but as the years advance it will grow larger and expand into hundreds of thousands. But the great moral in all this consists in the fact that Mullen was not ready to die. Never having been sick before, he saw no reason for giving up life, and his precious, carefully kept secrets, therefore clung eagerly to all till the last, refusing to even consider the death proposition. What a fine subject for a sermon.

MONGOLIAN FUNERAL EPISODE.

Last Sunday we had a way up Chinese funeral by way of variety. Ah Cheow, a man of prominence in the celestial circles of Austin, was the subject. He had been a resident here for several years, principally following the business of restaurant cook, etc., and was reputed to have accumulated a few thousands in ready coin. Anyhow the Chinese had quite a time over his remains. They put the body in a fine American casket and kept it three days till Sunday. It was a cloudy day, inclined to be stormy, and snow already covered the ground. In an open space between the houses in the Chinese quarter they had four tables. On one was the coffin; next came one with a cooked chicken, little dishes of rice, liquids of some kind in open dishes, and a lot of candles and rush lights burning. The third table was spread with apples and other fruits and sweetmeats, and the fourth was occupied by a large roasted hog, cooked whole and spread out with his back upward. Some queer looking sausage garnished the outfit, and flags and banners were interspersed. There were also two bands of music present—one a regular brass band from down town, which was hired for $50 to lead off the funeral in good Melican style, and the other was the Chinese band of gong, drum, cymbals, etc. These bands alternated and strongly contrasted in the playing, and drew large crowds of men, women and children, Indians, etc., from all quarters. Soon the plumed hearse and carriages arrived, and about 2 o'clock P.M. the funeral procession started, passing through the principal streets. A Chinaman on horseback, with a red and white sash, acted as chief marshal, and a sort of lieutenant, also mounted and sashed, brought up the rear. The brass band on foot, at the head of the procession, played lively airs, and all marched at rather a quick step. The hearse, with pall-bearers, followed the band, and then came a hack and an omnibus containing Chinese women and the Celestial band, which kept up a steady din in passing through the streets, regardless of time, tune or anything else but noise. One little Chinaman walked behind the hearse, bearing three slim punk candles, to be burned on the grave, and about fifty Chinamen on foot followed the carriages. Ah Cheow was a Chinese Free Mason, hence this unusual turnout and display. The big dragon flag and streamers floated from the flagstaff of their little Masonic Temple, various flags and banners were borne in the procession, appropriately Inscribed with Chinese characters and each of the Chinamen following the carriages, two and two, carried small flags, more or less in number, according to the degrees in their Masonry they had attained. Crowds of people lined the sidewalks, to the utter desertion of the churches, and although larger processions of the same kind are common enough in San Francisco, yet none could outdo this in genuine Celestial-American style and novelty. At the cemetery below town, where the Chinese have a little heathen corner to themselves, they had more music by both bands, a weak-voiced Mongolian sang a plaintively unmusical song, extolling the virtues of deceased and bidding him an eternal farewell, and after the candle-burning and other ceremonies were arranged, a good sized pork roast, the chicken and a few other provisions and sweetmeats were spread out for the benefit of the departed, but speedily [consumed] by sundry watchful Piutes and Shoshones as soon as the mourners had left the coast clear. The deceased had on his best clothes, hat, shoes and all, and also had small sums of Chinese money in each hand and in his mouth, therefore was supposed to have a good start, so to speak, for the next world. Being among the other interested observers before the procession started, I asked one intelligent looking Chinaman standing near the corpse:

"Why you no shut him eyes?"

"He no likes," replied he; "we shut 'em plenty times, but he open 'em again."

"Yes, but you should put pieces of money on them."

"No, no; dat's bad; we never does dat; he couldn't see Joss."

"That' so; but Ah Cheow had lots of money, didn't he, thousands of dollars; what's to be done with it?"

"No; he no money, he poor; he no gottee dam cent; but he Flee Mason, you see, De udder Masons put up plenty money to give him good funeral, you see. He no Flee Mason one cart nuff to take him 'long down. The Masons purty god for him, you see."

POLITICAL

The late election news from the East naturally interests us all considerably, and Republicans feel rather jubilant over the general result, and especially over the general result, and especially over the rather amusing set-back Ben Butler got in Massachusetts. Old Ben has shown himself so anxious to ride into office regardless and unscrupulous as to what sort of, or how many political horses he used for the purpose, that to see him made to take a back seat altogether would be gratifying to his numerous political opponents. Local and State politics, although rather quiet again at present, will revive and become rampant before long, and keep stirred up spasmodically until the campaign is properly started.

SOCIETY NOTES.

About this time our ladies are getting out in their best Winter rig and style, with new hats and other things to match. People like to dress well here, if they don't make a cent or pay their bills.

Coasting down the shady hillsides where the unmelted snow affords an opportunity is a favorite amusement with the Piute squaws as well as juvenile white Austinites. They use sleds, barrel staves, bits of tin, or just go it anyhow—and have lots of fun. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday..........November 25, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Turkey Talk—The Spencerian Star-Route Episode—Mackay and Fair, and Stocks—Booms and Bubbles—Mackay and Reese Relics—Mining and Milling—Reese River Reminiscences—A Closely Milled Lot of Ore—Mullen's Hidden Treasure—Local Jottings—Etc.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., November 23, 1883.

The near approach of Thanksgiving Day has caused the approach of numerous turkeys and other acceptable birds to Austin. The ranchers of both Reese River and Smoky Valleys have shown their ability and natural facilities in that respect by bringing in some big cages on wheels, of the aforesaid birds, and they find a very good market, at good prices. Seventeen pound turkeys are common, and raffling for all sized turkeys and chickens, as well as shooting for the same, is now fully in order. Some of our local pigeon shootists tried it on last Sunday. No very good shooting was done, but the best shooter got away with the most birds all the same.

THE STAR-ROUTE ARREST.

The recent arrest of Hon. G. E. Spencer, ex-United States Senator form Alabama, at this place, created no serious excitement. Spencer is well known in this section and was not hard to find. When Attorney General Brewster, at Washington, telegraphed to United States Marshal Corbett, of this State, that Spencer was wanted, L. P. Wardle, of Virginia City, and Al. Knuckols, of Cherry Creek, who were deputized, had no difficulty in capturing their man. Spencer is a pleasant gentleman and offered to armed resistance; in fact, when he left here on Tuesday morning last, en route to Washington, he looked like a man starting on a pleasure trip with a couple of invited friends. They will doubtless be his guests during the trip and while in Washington, and he may bring them back home with him. What specific effect this important arrest may have in the great Star-route investigation at Washington remains to be seen; anyhow it was not made anything of a local sensation here.

GONE EAST.

And now the newspapers say that John Mackay has also gone East on his telegraph business. The grievous decline in stocks would seem to indicate that such is the case, and that the hopeful little boom, presumably induced by his presence on the Comstock and in the city of Sin and stocks by the Golden Gate, had collapsed in consequence. The chances are that the sufferers in the outcome were not the brokers or the shrewd dealers. They knew Mackay's presence would make a comfortable little deal, regardless of any increased merit or good prospects in the mines, and they figured thereon, getting out nicely before MacKay got out for the East. When our Uncle James comes along, in a few weeks from now, look out for another boom, either up or down. But the small outside stock dealers are inclined to be distrustful when Fair comes, and do not care to shove up all their coin recklessly in honor of the occasion. In fact, the shrewdest among them are those who sail in when John comes, but judiciously copper the market when Uncle Jimmy is around. Yet after all, stock booms are somewhat like soap bubbles, beautiful while they last, and most attractive when most inflated. And when they collapse, the margins and "soap" as suddenly disappear. The manipulators of the suds can blow more bubbles as readily when they see fit, yet what mortal man has ever ascertained the thickness of a soap bubble?

RELICS.

And so they have found the old sledge that John Mackay used to practice with when mining in the Ophir twenty years ago. John, no doubt, played "old sledge" quite frequently in the early days, but the chances are that it is not easy to prove satisfactorily that John Mackay ever swung that identical old sledge. No wonder it was found to be badly rusted and the handle rotted off, after its long sleep in the upper levels. It must look as badly dilapidated as Rip Van Winkle's gun. Mr. Dadd has in his possession the field glass with which old Reese discovered Reese river. It is strongly microscopic, and had need to be, otherwise the river would never have been discovered with it. The cork slide at the top is somewhat decayed, but on removal the interior of the glass still retains a faint smell of whisky. He will contribute this interesting relic to the cabinet of the Reese River Pioneers.

ORE MILLING.

The Manhattan mill still continues its chronic and prosperous run, which has now lasted over a year. It is pounding right straight along in the even tenor of its way, and bids fair to keep doing so for the next year or two. There is plenty of ore in this section besides what is required to run this one mill; any amount of ledges containing ores rich in silver, more or less combined with base metals and minerals, are lying idle in the adjacent hillsides, and it seems strange that some enterprising capitalists do not venture a few of their rusty thousands in trying their luck with a new mill or a smelter. But perhaps the disastrous experience of the numerous mills built here in the early days is a sufficient warning to capitalists of the present time. They worked rich ores and charged huge prices, but somehow failed to win, and one after the other died and passed into the abyssmal pit of disastrous experimental history. I heard a queer little story the other day about one of these old pioneer rock smashers. It was down the canyon, below town, and had lots of work for a time, or until it bursted its proprietors and was moved out to White Pine. The cost of working the peculiar ores of this section was fearful, owing to lack of understanding and experiences, and even exorbitant rates, waste and other perquisites failed to produce affluent profits to the mill company. A mining man brought in a lot of ore from Yankee Blade, worth about $600 a ton, and had it put through the mill. After deducting all expenses, they paid him a balance in his favor of $7 50. He took it like a philosopher, thoughtfully put it in his hungry purse, and reflectively remarked: "That's not a very big pile, considering the quality of the ore, but, after all, I s'pose I ought to be thankful for that much. You most certainly do work ore very close in this mill; very close; almighty close; in fact, I may say damn close; a little closer, and you'd have took it all."

MULLEN'S BURIED TREASURE.

Since the recent death of Mullen, considerable quiet search has been made for the $40,000 or less of money or bullion he was reputed to have buried somewhere about here, and the locality of which he unfortunately was unable to reveal before delirium and death prevented. Sundry shrewd parties conversant with Mullen and his habits in life, where he worked and used to be seen going regularly, or at various times, or at various odd times, and as various localities have been judiciously putting in their picks, but thus far with no success whatever. It is said, however, that in tearing down his little old cabin, $11 was found in one chink of the wall, and $80 in another chink, almost sufficient to pay his funeral expenses. The foundations were also vigorously uprooted to the most hopeful extent, but with no further financial returns. The chances are against finding the main body of the treasure, yet some folks still have a wonderful faith therein. Let them dream on the problem, and work on it. They are sure to solve it somehow.

SOCIETY NOTES.

Under this head can come all sorts of irrelevant trash, like the "local" item headings of some newspapers nowadays, but this is not allowable in these letters.

Mr. Dadd, who attends all three of the churches regularly, is much pleased to observe the good attendance at each, and feels better for it every Sunday, and all through the week. There's novelty and variety to it for him. At one he says he holds copy while the preacher reads; at another he merely listens and watches the ceremonies, and at the third he credits the pulpit with considerable work and intelligent discussion.

Our Austin dry goods dealers have inaugurated a regular red-hot rivalry episode, like the famous "clothing war" on the Comstock a few years ago, when the miners and poor men of Virginia and Gold Hill were given a glorious opportunity to buy themselves rich and wear better clothes than they ever had before in their lives. I shall soon be able to appear in gorgeous array once more at little or no expense. A patient waiter is no loser.

The weather continues fine, but there is snow on the hillsides, and the Piutes wear blankets over or under their linen dusters. They live on pine nuts, and use the shells for fuel.

Spykens has found a ledge of argentiferous silica, which is rich in base metal of some kind. He is hopefully investigating it. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….December 9, 1883.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Congressional Notes and Propositions—Blood and Crime in the East—Something about Bondsmen—Sunset Gorgeousness—Fog and Ashes—Silver Bricks—What Headlight Oil is—Matrimonial—Gastronomic—Heel and Toe and Beautiful Snow.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., December 7, 1883.

The re-assembling of Congress is the principal item of exciting interest outside of local affairs, to us of Eastern Nevada. Yet even that does not much disturb the even tenor of our chronic equanimity. We keep somewhat of an interested eye, however, upon the doings of our Congressional Representatives, and do not forget to remember what we expect of them. And if they desire to remain in favor with their constituents, it will be well for them to bear this proposition in mind. No plans or political wires laid for re-election are half as effective as a handsome, well approved record of good stewardship—of faithful services rendered.

In the coming campaign Nevada’s Representatives at Washington, if they desire to continue in public favor, will have to render account to their constituents of their doings, and happy and successful may they be, if the popular verdict is: Well done good and faithful, etc., enter thou into the halls of Congress again.

A BOOM OF CRIME.

Why is it that the telegraphic wires from the East come laden at the present time with so many accounts of terrible murderous deeds and criminal horrors? Does the scent of blood come from some fresh murder, wafted upon the first cold breezes of Winter, get into the nostrils of the devilishly inclined, and excite them to competitive emulation in crime? The good people of the East, with plenty of churches and other arrangements to keep them good, have always been too readily inclined to consider the great, broad West, and especially California, Nevada and other newly-settled sections of the Pacific Coast, as semi-civilized, and the abode of all sorts of border ruffians, natural desperadoes, outlaws and blood-thirsty villains generally; yet we are always away behind Eastern wickedness in that respect. Occasionally somebody gets killed in an incidental row or a drunken fracas, or somebody is deliberately murdered for money, or some other quiet, mercenary motive, and the result is an occasional hanging; but wholesale butcheries, the slaughtering of whole families, and similar domestic horrors, such as we read of as occurring so frequently in various parts of the Atlantic States, are most gratifyingly absent from our criminal record. Our most noted desperadoes, murderers and scoundrels generally, come from the East; but there is evidently plenty of that element left to serve the devil and curse the reputation of the country.

THE LIABILITIES OF BONDSMEN.

Perhaps it is right that the bondsmen of your County Treasurer Nevin should be held responsible for his robbery. Perhaps it is right that public moneys taken forcibly by burglars should be forcibly restored by legal or illegal drafts upon the pockets of a few honest private citizens who have been accommodating enough to sign a bond merely that the Treasurer elected by the people may be enabled to assume and conduct the duties of the office. They signed Nevin’s bond, but presumably not that of the burglars. But they are held for the burglary, all the same. Legally this may be all right, but morally and socially it is not. They did not participate in the emoluments or financial benefits of the office, but are held responsible for an outside misfortune, so to speak, not contemplated or included in the election or official career of Nevin. Suppose a red-not streak of lightning should melt both vault and coin into one mass and drive it down to the lowest unproductive level of the Comstock, or suppose a gaping earthquake should swallow it; or suppose some bloody Britisher of the O’Donovan Rossa stamp, or other enemy of the Irish cause, should put a hatful of dynamite under the Treasury and blow Nevin and all sky-high, should his bondsmen be held responsible and be made to pay for it? A man may guarantee the financial honesty of his friend by signing his note, yet should that note happen to get lost or destroyed, the friendly responsibility ceases. These are interesting points for the consideration of all who may wish to show their financial vanity in the future by becoming sureties on the bonds of newly elected public officers. The best way to solve this problem would be for everybody hereafter to refuse to sign each and all such bonds and so let the thing work itself out.

THOSE GORGEOUS SUNSETS.

As regards those magnificent sunsets which have been so glowingly expatiated upon by the press of late throughout the Pacific Coast, I would simply remark that they have been very common here in Austin for years, in fact so common as not to have been considered worth mentioning. But they have always been esthetically appreciated and enjoyed, however, all the same, and it is gratifying to know that they have at length been observably extended to the Comstock and the rest of the Pacific Coast. Yet, judging from the various well-written and critical descriptions they can hardly be, elsewhere, more than mere reflections of Austin sunsets. And refulgently glowing as are those newspaper descriptions they do not, cannot do justice to the original subject. A genuine Austin sunset of the extra sort is a successive episode of golden, roseate, grandly-pervading glory that can only be witnessed and experienced with holy, heartfelt emotion. As the retiring God of Day slowly and impressively sinks below the serrated tops of the sagebrush-coated mountains he casts aloft diagonally across the cloud-embroidered sky long arms of golden light, as though giving his parting benediction. Then tier upon tier of silver and gilt-edged clouds, terraced one above the other, reflect back the grand overflow of glory, slowly changing from one glorious hue and combination of hues to another until the whole face of the western heavens is one noble, glowing panorama, painted by an immortal artist, whose pictures cannot be truly copied or even their colors transferred to human canvas. Even as the creeping, stealthy darkness glooms upward and gently erases the grand picture, the fading, dying hues still linger photographed upon the entranced vision and die pleasantly within the soul. Italian sunsets, or sunsets anywhere else are mere zephyr wool and crotchet finery as compared with a first-class Austin sunset.

WHAT THEY PORTEND.

Some newspaper authorities pretend to say that these gorgeous sunsets signify and prognosticate pleasant weather and a dry, open winter, while others set forth a directly contrary idea. Both are right to a certain extent. Some ascribe the cause of them to dry fog, others to atmospheric humidity; many say it is electricity, and one shrewd authority says they are caused by traveling clouds of ashes from volcanic eruptions in Alaska. Meanwhile the Manhattan mill pounds right steadily along, the mines are worked vigorously and well, and the resultant silver bricks are even more financially and mercenarily gratifying than even the most glorious sunset.

LUMINOUSLY EXPLANATORY.

Not to make light of anything connected with glorious brilliancy, I am reminded of old Bob’s explanation of the real nature and merits of that brand of kerosene "Headlight Oil." Old Bob is a Reese River pioneer, therefore is well posted and always adheres rigidly to the truth.

"When I was a-whalin’ in the old May and Marthy, way up in the Artic Ocean," said he, "here’s the way we got our headlight ile. You see, boys, when you’ve got a whale alongside and cuttin’ him in, the blubber is taken off in long strips, or blanket pieces, just as you’d pare an apple or a pertater, the carcass of the whale turnin’ over and over in the water as the strips peel off in h’istin’ ‘em aboard; but fust of all we go for the head matter. A whale’s head is the biggest end of him, and we call it the case. All there is ter do is ter cut a hole in the top of it and bail out his brains with draw buckets. I’ve seen as high as twenty-eight bar’ls of it taken out of a single case, It’s whitish and mushy, but its where the spermacetty comes from, and the best ile. And that’s why they call it headlight ile."

SOCIETY NOTES.

Last Tuesday evening Warner Hillyer was married at St. George’s Church to Miss Christine White, a nice young lady of this place, about eighteen years of age. Hillyer is a nephew of Judge E. W. Hillyer, deceased, Curt. Hillyer and M. C. Hillyer, of your section. He is a young man, formerly well known in the Comstock region, and was a resident of Como in its palmy days. He has been in Reese River Valley and vicinity for the last few years, engaged in ranching and cattle-herding, and has picked up a few shells for himself, so he is considered tolerably well fixed and worthy of matrimony. He has many friends to wish him joy.

Colonel U. E. Allen, formerly member of the Legislature, and well known in your section, as well as here, occasionally aggravates his Austin friends by sending them bills of fare of the Scoville House Waterbury, Connecticut, of which hostelry he is major domo or commissary. They are away ahead of poached eggs or quail on toast at that house, and such descriptive settings forth of good grub, on paper, are enough to drive a hungry Washoeite wild. It is mean of him.

Balls, dances, socials and surprise parties are the order of the day now, or, rather, the evening and the season. Very little snow thus far, but lots of fun with what comes. Even the juvenile Piutes like to snowball Chinamen when they can do so with safety. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….December 23, 1883.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Gorgeous Theories—Bonanza Revelations, Boomings and Operations—Telegraph and Artesian Aspirations—A Postmaster in Bad Luck—The Manhattan Mill—An Affluence of Rich Ore and Good Prospects—Sensible Management and Profitable Results—Incidental Occurrences, Developments and Personalities.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise]

AUSTIN, Nev., December 21, 1883.

Day before yesterday a heavy, wet snowstorm washed, disinfected and purified the air of this section from all traces of forest smoke, volcanic ashes, dry fog and all that sort of thing, yet last evening there was that same roseate sunset display glowing along the southwestern heavens and glorifying the serrated tops of the sagebrush and mountain ranges, even more strangely than ever. It is both pleasing and scientifically interesting to hear or read the various theories advanced as to the cause of this beautiful phenomenon, yet none give a perfectly satisfactory explanation any more than they could successfully diagnose those rich, red Northern lights during the last midsummer nights. Perhaps there may be some connection between the two, or that, as come shrewd savant recently sets forth, the transit of Venus is ding the business, that famous planet having worn a totally changed appearance since her recent notable drag across the face of the sun. Perhaps it may be the advance glow from the headlight of the new comet, now so rapidly approaching the earth. Stillwater Thompson, who is as shrewd and close an observer of heavenly phenomenon as any other Piute in this section, puts the whole thing in a pine-nut shell, as follows: “No sarby.”

BONANZA REDNESS.

The recent red-hot contest for the control of Ophir is more easily explained and understood, and many a shrewd, small outside manipulator of mining stocks hopefully predicts a red-hot boom in the market before many months, resulting from the uncovering of sundry rich ore bodies mythically situated in the lower levels of Ophir, the revelation of which has been interestedly deferred. Perhaps Coll Dean might now appropriately step to the front with some definite statement in that line. Bonanza revelations are always in order. But in Ophir, of late years, they have always proven too stringy for any practical satisfaction. All these little circumstances, however, help out the stock market and assist in equalizing the distribution or concentration of money. Anyhow, it makes coin change hands, which is always gratifying to the general public.

BONANZA KING ASPIRATIONS.

In this connection it is quite interesting to note the movements of the famous bonanza kings, Mackay and Fair. They, as well as Flood, lovingly and lingeringly desire to hold on to the north end of the Comstock—the grand subterranean spring from whence they drew their overflowing, immense wealth, yet Flood seems to cling to the old groove more tenaciously than his other companions in Fortune’s smiles. Fair branched ambitiously and easily off into politics, seeking some indefinite degree of renown or notability in that direction, and now John Mackay, after quite a rambling vacation in Europe and America, or in frequent transit across the Atlantic between the two localities, suddenly and ambitiously steps out on top as a grand manipulator of telegraphic communication—a sort of Jupiter Tonans, as it were, to sling the wired lightning across mountain and plain and beneath the ocean, east and west, and other eligible points of the compass. He is actively and literally laying his wires to become the most popular of the three, as well as the richest—or the poorest—man in America. Fair emulously follows suit in the matter of public enterprise, but his old mining proclivities carry his aspirations in a subterranean direction after public approval. He desires to do his State service in the mater of striking more water where it is most needed, and has introduced a bill, in his Senatorial capacity, to promote the boring of artesian wells on Government lands in Nevada. Kendall and Cassidy bored a little on the same lead in times past, but they never struck water. Now if our genial and financially potent Uncle James will only succeed in tapping the basins of our sunken rivers, make Nevada’s mountain streams reappear above the alkali, and cause our deserts to blossom as the rose, all hands will rise right up in their boots and call him blessed. The movements of Mackay in lightning, and Fair in water will be regarded hereafter with more interest than even the most gorgeous sunsets.

UNFORTUNATE POSTMASTERS.

The third-class Postmasters of the Pacific Coast received a particularly rough stroke in the recent general reduction of salaries. It costs more to live, especially in Nevada and other interior sections, than it does in the East, therefore many a poor devil of a Postmaster stands shivering and undecided whether to continue honestly serving Uncle Sam, or starvation wages, or to throw up the sponge and go to robbing the stages for a living. Here, in Austin, the Postmaster has been particularly and peculiarly unfortunate. The disastrous cloudburst and flood of August, 1874, swept away the Postoffice entirely, fixtures and all, and it was only by the liveliest and most indomitable exertions that the mails were saved. Again, by the big fire in September, 1881, was the Austin Postoffice totally obliterated. On both occasions the mails alone were saved, and at the expense of the office fixtures, boxes and all similar necessary public conveniences, which, under the laws of the Department, have to be furnished and maintained by Postmasters themselves. This unfortunate Postmaster has applied to the Department for adequate reimbursement or relief in the matter, and may be properly heard and responded to, if he should live long enough, but red tape official justice is slow, very slow, even in America.

THE OLD BANGER.

The Manhattan mill, in this place, is one of the most persistent old ore smashers in the country. It does all the ore reduction, and bullion production of this district and vicinity, and, as stated in a previous letter, its present run, commencing October 28, over a year ago, has been continuous ever since with the exception of a few days’ pause for absolutely necessary repairs. The chances are that it will have to stop before long for a thorough overhauling and preparation for another long run. But it will not stop for lack of ore, for there is plenty on top, plenty in sight, plenty in reserve and plenty in prospective, and rich ore at that. These mines are exceedingly well managed, and judiciously worked with an eye both to the present and future supply, and steadily continuous, profitable output. This fact is significantly attested to by the regular, unfailing shipment of silver bricks every day or two, assaying over $1,000 apiece.

SOCIETY NOTES. Ducks and geese are plenty, and tolerably cheap, the Piutes are bringing them in from the Humboldt, as well as from eligible neighboring localities. But they stick to good prices and will not sell a duck for two bits unless he is stale or otherwise unprofitable.

A sad accident occurred last Sunday when a little ten-year-old boy, picking into the merits of an innocent-looking giant powder cap or exploder which his still smaller brother had found, had his left hand blown off and was otherwise so badly injured that he died next morning. The moral to this is too obvious and frequent, yet naturally to be continued.

George H. Morrison, of your section, engaged in collecting data and material for Bancroft’s History of Nevada, was here the other night, arriving by private conveyance overland from Carson, and left next morning for Ruby Valley, Eureka and otherwheres in the eastern part of the State. He proposed returning here in a few days to stop awhile. George is a popular gentleman and has many friends here.

John Booth, of the Reveille, is getting rich some more. He has the model newspaper of this section, filling the wants of the community in that respect, consequently he is deservedly doing an excellent business. The old Reveille show for itself.

Politics is a subject which is laid over for the holidays, like the adjournment of Congress for that purpose. But Austin is sure to join with the rest of Eastern Nevada in the grand turmoil and trouble of the coming political campaign of next year, and nobody need forget it.

Somebody has located a skating rink on Main Street, on a vacant lot just opposite the Court-house. But he has got it on the wrong side of the street. The soil is too porous, and there is too much sunshine; on the other side the shade of the hills and natural coldness would furnish ice three feet thick for about seven months in the year, and ice cream for the other five months.

The most popular amusement among the young Piutes is sliding downhill on a barrel stave, standing on one leg.

ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday, March 4, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA

More Celestial Amenities -- Circulation -- Austin Architecture, Ancient Relics and Social Peculiarities -- A Very Steep Railroad -- Legislative Finale -- Well Done, Good and Faithful, Etc.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., March 1, 1883.

During the last three or four days the Chinese have been holding some more high festivities, and what it is all about is not given for ordinary white barbarians to understand. Sam Gee says "it's pooty big time" in his country, “allee same Fourf July." Anyhow, they have exploded numerous fire-crackers, bombs and all that sort of thing, and the noisy Celestial band has played itself into a complete state of exhaustion. It is evidently a sort of musical festival, or, perhaps, as Murphy suggests, they are practicing for St. Patrick's Day.

STILL CIRCULATING.

The opposition daily newspaper, the Democrat, still continues to exist and circulate. Austin never was in condition to support two dailies before, and is not now. John Booth, of the Reveille, always apologized for not running a larger paper, by saying that it was of no use trying to run a forty-column paper in a twenty column town; yet, here we have two twenty column papers running in full blast. The chances for profits on either paper, are, however, correspondingly small. Some people thought the Democrat would stop circulating directly after the close of the late political campaign, but it still circulates. Perhaps, its occasionally changing proprietors manage to financially make both ends meet, and keep it circulating as the crane did the eel. It remains for time to decide whether Austin can support two papers, or that it shall simply result in the survival of the fittest.

AUSTIN ARCHITECTURE

Austin being the oldest town in Eastern Nevada, and never having been thoroughly swept by an extensive or obliterating conflagration, the general architectural style of the houses partakes considerably of the primeval and original. There are many very neat and commodious residences, one hotel, three churches, the County Court-house and the Masonic and Odd Fellows' Hall building, a two story brick; but the generality of the houses are small but comfortable. This never was a good country for lumber, therefore the first settlers who came with rush consequent upon the discovery of the rich silver mines here built their houses of adobe, brick or stone, and they made them only large enough to live in, for building material was scarce and labor dear. These little seven-by-nine dwellings are to be found throughout the town, and are yet among the most substantial and comfortable. They are considerably improved and added to, however, each forming a nucleus for multiplication or many additions. Whenever a new child was added to the family a new room was built on to the side or rear of the house, and the present size or census of the oldest families are thus easily computed by counting the number of rooms or additions to the house. The main or original house being small, and not lofty, these wing additions have their roofs pretty flat, therefore low ceilings predominate, and most of the houses have a rambling, depressed, spread out appearance - like an ambitious old hen trying to set on an unusual number of eggs. Some of the most interesting of these original houses are the little "stockade" cabins. These were built of small logs or poles, stuck on end, with the interstices chinked or plastered up with mud. The roofs were covered with sagebrush and mud, and some so remain, although most of them have been reroofed in a more acceptable and Christian-like style. These relics of the old times are interesting to contemplate. But you cannot drive a nail into those old logs or the lumber made from them anymore than into an anvil or millstone. They are of the nut pine or cedar growth of the early days, and are now seasoned as hard as a miserly bonanza man's heart.

AUSTIN SOCIETY.

The citizens of Austin are generally of a friendly, social nature. Everybody minds his own business, principally, and as much of his neighbor's as he sees fit, and there is very little fighting or quarreling, all being disposed to be orderly and law-abiding. A little over a year ago one man shot and killed another in the bar-room of the hotel. Before morning his fellow-citizens smashed into the jail and hanged him by the neck in the front doorway of the Court-house. The Sheriff was thus saved trouble, and the county some expense, and even the victim said he supposed it was all right. There has been no trouble since. The county officers are the flush men, financially, but they are not selfish. They lend their salaries to whoever asks them, and when they want money they borrow some. The ladies dress elegantly, some of the poorest, homeliest and most illiterate wearing the costliest goods. Generally speaking, however, they average and compare very well with other communities, in the way of good looks, social agreeableness and practical common sense. The young ladies are all good looking, without any exception.

A STEEP RAILROAD.

The chances are that we have the steepest plain railroad in the world here in Austin - that is to say, the steepest in practical daily use. From the terminal depot of the Nevada Central Railroad, at the mouth of the Canyon, about half a mile below town, it winds around and up the grade, passing directly up through the center of the main street to the Manhattan mill, at the upper end of the town, a distance of about two miles. It is a narrow-gauge, and the grade or ascent is one foot in eight - over 600 feet to the mile. This is almost like passing up Main street, Gold Hill. The grade of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, from Carson river to the Comstock, is 116 feet to the mile. That of the southern Pacific, at Tehachapi, where the recent terrible disaster occurred, is 105 feet to the mile. A small but very powerful dummy locomotive, weighing 33,000 pounds does all the transportation work over our street railroad, hauling two flat cars, loaded with six cords each of heavy nut pine, or two box cars, loaded with general merchandise, at a time in nice weather like this. In Winter, however, when the track is slippery, one car load at a time is enough for it. This locomotive is a very neat bit of machinery, enclosed by a wooden covering or cab, upon each side of which is printed in big letters its name, “Mules’ Relief." And this is a very appropriate name, too, for eight mules used to have a very tough, wearisome pull to navigate a single car load up from the depot aforesaid before this lively, unflinching and never-tiring little motor came to their relief.

HARMLESS.

It is pleasing to know that our sapient legislator at Carson have concluded their labors and gone home. And it is more leasing to know that they did so little harm during their allotted term of service in behalf of the State and their fellow citizens. There were some very good leading men among them, men of ral [sic] natural talent and legislative ability. In fact as a whole they were better than the average Nevada Legislature. For this reason it was that they did so little harm, and in reality some real practical good. Especially were they harmless in the matter of railroad legislation, just as practical observer of the situation expected of them. The first part of the session they did little practical work, but, like all preceding Legislatures merely passed away the time, getting ready to do something. The result was a press of work and delayed bills at the latter end. All the bills they had on hand when they got through they can pass over to their successors, the Legislature of two years hence, giving that body something good to start in on. Especially in the way of railroad bills.

ALF. DOTEN.