Newspaper Clippings, 1883 - "From Eastern Nevada"

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Tuesday……….June 12, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Summery Proceedings—About Contempt of Court—The Glorious Fourth—Local Itemizing and an Unlucky Reporter—The Service of God and Mammon—The Old Prospector’s Last Location—The Dark-Eyed Indian Maiden.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., June 8, 1883.

Eighty degrees of Summer have prevailed continually for some weeks past, and there will be no more snow until next week or the week after. The strawberry crop is consequently more abundant, and the Methodist ladies propose giving a festival for the benefit of the church this evening. Dancing will be allowed, and no person of affluence or general affability will be excluded. Hot weather is not always favorable to the religious condition of Austin, and every Sunday an excursion train takes a crowd of festive devotees a few miles down the railroad track to some eligible spot where they can play baseball, shoot glass balls and drink beer. This warm weather also seems to have stirred up things in the law line, and the Justice of the Peace is getting rich. Last week he put the editor of the Democrat in jail for contempt of court, and next day that editor went in on his only hope of fortune in this world by suing the Judge for $10,000 for false imprisonment. Then there was a case where a fellow was caught breaking into a man’s premises and stealing pigeons. It was decided that pigeons are wild game and common property, therefore there was no burglary nor larceny in the matter. Next day the pigeon proprietor met the alleged thief, and tried to play for even by choking him a little. He was fined $30 for that, and fails to see where the profits on the pigeon business comes in. Then a Deputy United States Marshal levied on some of the principal business houses and collected a few hundred dollars on a judgment from the Supreme Court. More legal trouble is anticipated, and the lawyers feel prosperous. Speaking of

CONTEMPT OF COURT,

Reminds me of the way Justice Putnam, of Gold Hill, sat down on Lawyer Stephens. It was a chicken stealing case, or something equally important, and Stephens came down from Virginia as attorney for the defendant, with a whole wheelbarrow load of law books, which he piled jupon the table. The case was duly opened, and "Stevy," entrenched beside his huge pile of legal authorities, raked the chestnut locks away from his massive brow with his finger, threw himself back on his gambrel joints, and started in to make an eloquent speech on the subject.

"Your Honor is well aware that before the immortal palladium of American freedom law and equity reign supreme. In order to support my argument, and influence your Honor’s opinion in this important case, I will proceed to read a few extracts from the famous legal authorities before us. Here, your Honor, we have"—

"Hold on right there, Mr. Stephens. I ain’t goin' to stand none of yer taffy in this racket. Now, what I wanter know is what you brought that dam big pile of books down from Virginny fer?"

"I merely wished to show your Honor wherein"—

"That’s enough, sir. Do you have the cheek to insinuate that this Court don’t know law? By the holy poker, you jest open another one o' them books on me and I’ll commit you fer contempt of Court. I oughter rule the defendant guilty, right here, but I guess I jest dismiss the case. Court's adjourned. You get out, and go home with yer books, and don’t you ever try to impose 'em on me again. Not a word outer yer head, or contempt goes."

THE FOURTH

Of July will be along shortly, and although that glorious day has been allowed to pass comparatively unnoticed here in Austin for the last few years, the chances are that it will be properly observed this time, as was the recent Memorial Day. We have a newly-organized military company and a consequent increase of patriotism, plenty of flags, powder and fireworks; why should we not celebrate? I notice by the ENTERPRISE that your citizens take no interest and show no sign whatever of a desire to celebrate the day. But just let Carson or Reno send invitations to your military companies, or the Gold Hillers attempt their old-time heresy of getting up a separate celebration of the grand old national holiday, and Virginia will have a red-hot celebration of the Fourth, got up in about four days.

THE LOCAL REPORTER.

Austin is one of the liveliest places on the Pacific Coast for a good local reporter. Something is always happening, every once in a while, or oftener, and the reporter with the liveliest imagination can get in his work oftener than anybody. Mining accidents are not frequent, and the doctors have little to do; very little fighting whisky is sold, most of the saloons being two-bit houses, but the Piute and the Chinese are a never-failing source of some kind of items. The Piutes live on the hillsides, amid the fragrant sagebrush, and do most of the washing, wood chopping and general household chores for the town. John Chinaman has his little old wash-house, and also little garden spots right in the midst of town, where he raises lettuce, radishes, onions and all that sort of thing, for which he finds ready sale, and smokes his opium in peace and contentment. In this connection I notice a sad item in a local report among the recent telegrams from New York. Being ambitious to achieve distinction as a detective, like other of his tribe in Boston and elsewhere in the East have done, sometimes, he quietly frequented the Chinese quarter, and made a moral wreck of himself, smoking in an opium den, having to put up four bits each time, in order that he might lodge a complaint, and have the Celestial wretches arrested for violation of the opium smoking law recently enacted. He achieved more success than either credit and renown, for after the arrest was made it was discovered that the new law had not yet gone into force and effect. He made a lively local item, but it cost him about $17, besides the loss of what little reputation he had. Austin reporters smoke nothing but two-bit cigars, and are innocent of opium den or other heathen practices.

GOD AND MAMMON.

Austin can support one Catholic and one Protestant clergyman tolerably well. There is a fine lead of wickedness for them to chloride about upon, with regular profit and no big pay streaks, but a third preacher seems to be one more than there is coin support for. Another has been engaged to fill the vacant parsonship of the Episcopal Church, but some of the leading members openly declare that they don’t think the fun pays for the powder, so to speak. They would rather go to the Methodist Church instead of having to work up a reluctant support for another preacher, who is liable not to be happy therein. Preachers are said to be scarcer and not so easily obtainable as they used to be. A very good reason is that they are not so willingly and well supported as they used to be. "Ye cannot serve both God and Mammon" are holy words which do not hold good in their case, for in professionally serving God they have to look to Mammon for substantial support. Gold Hill, you know, starved out all her Protestant preachers, and literally starved one to death. The poor fellow served God ambitiously till Mammon failed to back him up, when he fell down and died of hunger and a broken heart.

NEW LOCATIONS.

The old prospector is never idle, but always looking for new discoveries of rich chloride and good ore veins. The hills and mountains in this district have been pretty well searched, yet new discoveries and locations are still occasionally being made. One was found a few days ago down near the public cemetery, in the edge of the valley, half a mile or so below the town. Some rich float has occasionally been found there in years past, but the lead it belonged to has only now been definitely traced and secured. The vein is but a few inches thick, but it is rich and worth having. Being so near the graveyard the old prospectors who found it can work it with a grim satisfaction in knowing that their last ditch is before them, and that they have a dead thing on ultimate success.

GONE WEST.

Colonel Charley, together with his squaw, Susan, and their handsome, black-eyed daughter, Hattie, have left Austin and gone westward to enjoy the fandangos and festivities of the Piutes of Walker River and elsewhere in that direction. In case they should visit Virginia again be kind to them, critically observe Hattie's large, beautiful eyes, and give old Charley a new coat. He needs one—also pants and a respectable hat. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….June 24, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

Climatic Impulsiveness—Young Reese River Cyclones—Base Ball Speculations and Deductions—Independence Day and Pioneer Patriotism—Reese River in Cold Chunks—Unique Bath—A $10,000 Suit—Of Clothes—Smelting and Milling—Bricks—Jonas Seely’s Sad Ending.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., June 22, 1883.

Nothing can be more legitimate than hot weather in the proper time and season of it, but the only difficulty is to define and satisfactorily apportion the various contingencies thereof. Here in Austin the weather is totally different from anywhere else on the surface of the globe. It is an impulsive climate. The old pioneer, who always knows it all, swears that he could always bet on the weather in California; that if [it] blew there three days in succession, from the southwest, it was the deadest thing in the world on a big rain, or anyhow a decent storm, but he can’t do it here. A week of snow storms may be succeeded by six weeks of red-hot weather, with chances in favor of about six weeks more of the same sort, without over five degrees variation, and then a disgusting lot of early Spring and late Fall weather. But the most impulsive variety of weather here is the cloudburst. On the impulse of the moment a seven weeks’ siege of red-hot weather may change to the roughest kind of a cloud-burst, flooding the whole district and washing away buildings, mules or anything else what happens to get in the way. Twice the central part of Austin has been thus suddenly and unexpectedly swept by huge floods of rain water pouring and surging down Main street, carrying away, on one occasion, the Postoffice, the Reveille office and other buildings, beside any amount of sidewalks, awnings and other similarly moveable property. For years the prudent old residents have been on the lookout for another cloud-burst flood, but it does not come. But it will—sometime when least expected.

YOUTHFUL CYCLONES.

Reese River Valley is the home of the cyclone. Most any day half a dozen of them can be seen slowly and majestically waltzing about over the sagebrush plain. These whirling columns of dust spontaneously and impulsively arise, and sometimes can be seen for hours whirling hundreds of feet in the air, never interfering with each other and doing no material damage. Occasionally one more enterprising or aggressive than the rest will come sweeping up the canyon and across a portion of Austin, creating a smart temporary commotion among loose boards, shingles, paper and dust. When one of them passes up Main street everybody knows it, and there is a lively slamming of doors until it has passed on its way over the Toiyabe range into Smoky Valley. Untold millions of them have thus gone over there, never to return. As before remarked, they are harmless; but then the country is new and these cyclones are young. A few hundred years hence, when they shall have attained age and strength, perhaps Austin may be totally obliterated by them, and they may be more feared than the cloudburst floods are now.

BASE BALL.

The recent base-ball fever has ingloriously subsided. Our boys went to Eureka and got scooped. Then the Eureka boys came over here, and at the big Miners’ Union picnic, last Saturday, they gave our boys another walloping, finishing up next day by genteelly beating them for the third time. Then they quietly and unostentatiously returned to Eureka. That Sunday game was well attended, a special train taking everybody, church members and all, down into the valley for the purpose. What would this Nation be without the noble game of base ball? Where should we look for our rising American statesmen, talented preachers, politicians, demagogues, and great men generally, were there no base ballers? Look at the brains, manly energy and grand ambition expended in the ennobling game of base ball! Verily without it this world would be a stupid blank and life not worth living. Even the wild, untutored Piutes and Shoshones are rapidly yielding to its civilizing influence, and several of them came home from the picnic howling drunk.

PATRIOTIC.

As the glorious Fourth approaches a patriotic American sentiment wells forth more and more upon the sagebrush breezes of Eastern Nevada, and preparations are being made to properly celebrate that proud national day. Here in Austin a lot of money has been raised, the orator and other requisites selected, and we shall have a great time, winding up at night with the regular annual ball of the old stiffs—the society of Reese River Pioneers. When it comes to honest American patriotism the old boys are all there. The men who marched in the front rank, and braved all danger and privations in the frontier development of the country, are the truest patriots to-day, and the most reliable and consistent lovers of their proud American Republic. They can’t play base-ball, but at a picnic or a ball where there are ladies and fiddles and dancing the gallant old pioneer is right at home. By the way, I notice that your Committee of Arrangements for the celebration of the Fourth at Virginia have secured George H. Morrison and W. G. Hyde, both of Gold Hill, as orator and poet. Gold Hill could always be relied upon to stand in on that proud occasion, even though she celebrated by herself independently of Virginia, something she does not seem disposed to do any more since the consolidation.

SELLING REESE RIVER.

Last Winter, when Reese river was frozen solid, two opposition ice dealers cut it up and hauled it to town. Now they are actively peddling it out at a cent a pound, and have enough to last till the next freeze. Meanwhile the springs thawed, the catfish and suckers crawled out of the mud, and the river is as good as ever. Being about six miles from town, when an Austinite concludes to take a bath in Reese river he buys a chunk of it, thaws it out, lies down and rolls over in it, and with a little effort of the imagination as to sagebrush and mosquitos he easily realizes that he is taking a genuine river bath. By using it over a time or two the realization becomes still more complete.

MINING MATTERS.

When a mine is not considered worth quarreling about, its owners or claimants do not make themselves prominent, but just let an old location be suddenly discovered to be rich, or if it happens to be sold for a good price plenty of owners can be found willing to come in for a "divvy." So it is now with the old Breen mine, near here, which was recently sold for $20,000. A year or two ago a tailor reluctantly took a deed for one-half of the mine in payment for a cheap suit of clothes, and now he wants half of that coin. But new smelting furnace at Battle Mountain is nearing completion, and great expectations are being indulged in with regard to its capabilities for reducing the ores from this section. Being nearly 100 miles from Austin, however, the item of transportation is liable to interfere detrimentally against the mines of this immediate vicinity. Owners of some of the richer base metal mines, the ores of which cannot be profitably worked by regular mill process, signify their intention of trying the new smelting works by and by. Meanwhile the old Manhattan mill keeps pounding away right straight along, and making its almost daily shipment of ten bars a day, worth $1,000 each. The mines also continue their regular yield, with plenty of ore in sight, bidding fair to keep the mill supplies for some months yet.

A SAD ENDING.

The news of Jonas Seely’s death came very sudden and unexpected to his friends in this section, although he was sick when he left here for his home in Oakland, California. The first part of last November Seely came from Denver and visited the Twin River mine, of which he was the principal owner, situated in Ophir Canyon, some fifty miles to the southward from here. He was on his way to Oakland, where he said he would make a home for his family and settle down in peace and comfort the rest of his life. He said he had done well at his profession as a lawyer in Denver, and had amassed an ample fortune, upon which he was satisfied to retire and enjoy life during the remainder of his days. He looked hopeful, fat and happy, and the old light beamed in his eye that we all remember in the early days of the Comstock, when Seely was prominent in the community. On the 23d of last month he came again and went out to visit his mine. He returned on the 31st, and that evening I visited him at his room in the hotel. He seemed very much depressed, and said he was sick. He made no complaint regarding his mine or his business affairs generally, but was evidently suffering from fatigue and decidedly ill-health. His face was pale and haggard, with a wan and weary expression, and he seemed hardly able to be out of bed. He said he should leave for Oakland by the morning train, but at my earnest solicitation he concluded to lay over for a day and rest, leaving on the morning of June 2, still seriously ill. He arrived at his home in Oakland, and died on the 15th instant. It does seem hard for a man to battle through long years in the worldly strife for competence and comfortable, pleasant home, to which he has looked forward as a haven of rest and peace, wherein to happily end his days, and thus, at the last, have so few days to enjoy the long-coveted prize. It is certainly a sad, unsatisfactory ending.

ALF DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….July 1, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA

The Gentle Summer Sunshine—Cool Vaults of Silver—Some Regularly Productive and Exceedingly Well-Managed Mines—Also a Few Items of Their History and Development—“Razor Blade” Ledge Results—Varicose, But Very Fine Veins—Good and Bad Breaks—Thousands for Tribute—Present and Coming Events.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., June 29, 1883.

Yesterday was the hottest of the season thus far, the average thermometer scoring about ninety-five degrees in the shade, which is really hot even for Austin. The laziest man felt a moral consolation in gazing at the elevated mercury, and as he swabbed the sweat from his reeking brown, remarked to the wickedest man that this was a little the goldurnedest weather ever he struck. And the wickedest man replied that it was cool as frozen cucumbers to the way they were having it in Battle Mountain, Elko or Hades. The Piute chieftains dress exclusively in linen dusters, while their more unfashionable white brothers go in their shirt-sleeves or wear their Winter coats. The ladies all wear their Winter dresses, hats and all, when they appear on the streets. Nobody looks for a change in the weather before next Fall, unless there should be a cloudburst and a flood in August, by way of variety.

THE COOLEST PLACE

Now is underground; down in the mines. These mines are not so hot as those of the Comstock, by any means. They are not one-fourth as deep, and being connected throughout the honey-combed bosom of old Lander Hill, the air is free and pure, with good draughts in all directions. The average temperature in Winter is between fifty and sixty degrees, and, in Summer it runs as high as eighty, being of course regulated to a very considerable extent by the air from the surface. The formation is different from that of the Comstock, showing no indication or probabilities of any such extreme degree of heat as exists in the lower region of those mines when these shall have attained a similar depth. By the way, a brief sketch of the principal mines and mining operations at this point would not be uninteresting.

THE MINES OF AUSTIN,

Or Reese River District, were principally discovered in 1862-63. The pony express riders on the old overland stage route took a short cut up through the canyon where Austin now is, a couple of miles to the south of the stage road, in crossing the Toiyabe range, and one of them discovered and located the first ledge, near the mouth of the canyon. This was named the Pony Express, and subsequently yielded considerable good ore, but being eclipsed by its richer neighbors, it fell into disrepute and neglect years ago. This canyon naturally received the name of Pony canyon. John Frost, then an enterprising hotel landlord where the stage road crossed the Sierra Nevada, followed suit in December, 1862, by coming and making the first location on Lander Hill. He located the Oregon, North Star and other famous ledges, right in the midst of what are now the principal mines, and may be fairly considered as the first practical locator of the Reese river mines proper. Other locations followed, and the great Reese river excitement is a matter of history. These mines are situated along the southerly slope of Lander Hill, within the upper borders of Austin, like the Comstock in Virginia City, and form a portion of a broad ore belt or series of small ledges extending for several miles in a direction east of north and west of south—in fact, almost northeast and southwest. Outside of Lander Hill, however, there are no producing mines of note in the immediate vicinity of Austin, except those of Yankee Blade, three or four miles north, and the Breen mine, down nearer the edge of the valley. The Breen is not yielding much at present, and only about ten tons per week of high-grade ore is the average yield from the Patriot and two or three other mines at Yankee Blade. These last mentioned mines possess the same general characteristics as those of Austin, and yield higher grade ore, but they are much troubled with water, and their development materially retarded. In fact, the whole range for miles in extent seems to abound in these small ore veins. Some of them contain rich pockets or deposits of ore, and there is no rule for their discovery; they are simply where you find them.

THE MANHATTAN GROUP

Comprises the mines of Lander Hill, here in Austin, and which are principally owned by the Manhattan Silver Mining Company. This group, or system of mines, is comprised within the extent of from half a mile to a mile square and is a perfect bee hive of mining industry. They have eight sets of works in active use for hoisting and otherwise promoting the underground working, and these works are of the most effective and substantial pattern, like those of the old Comstock, those of the Lander shaft and the Paxton incline being the chief representative, and really models of good workmanship. Indeed, as for that matter, there is no excuse for anything else, for at the foundry and machine shops of the company, which are near at hand, anything required in the shape of machinery is turned out at short notice, and inferior to nothing this side of San Francisco. At one of the works two Burleigh air compressors are in constant operation supplying the motive power to four donkey engines underground, employed in sinking, pumping, etc. None of the workings of these mines extend below the depth of 800 feet; in fact, most of the workings are about the 600 level. The Lander shaft is the only deep perpendicular shaft. It is 1,000 feet deep, but the lower portion of it not being needed, is reserved for future reference and deeper mining requirements. The Paxton incline is 1,500 feet in length, following the dip of that ledge at a grade or inclination of twenty-two degrees. It shows a fine, rich ledge in its face and at other points. The general dip of these ore veins is considerably flatter than that of the Comstock, being from twenty to thirty-five degrees. And most decidedly these mines are full of

ORE VEIN ECCENTRICITIES.

As before remarked, the veins are small, from three to six inches wide, occasionally bunching out to a foot or two in width, but they are condensedly rich, the ore, as worked in the mill of the company, which is near at hand, averaging from $250 to $300, or thereabout, per ton. It is essentially silver ore, carrying little or no gold. It contains antimony, iron, copper and other metals of the base sort, but is successfully worked by the dry crushing, Stedefeldt process. The mill works less than thirty tons per day on the average, and it keeps the mines working very lively to supply that amount of ore. In fact this cannot always be done, and the mill has had to lie idle for months at a time waiting for a good accumulation of ore. There are thirty or forty of these little ore veins, more or less, which have been worked from the surface down to the 600 level, and they are all the way from 20 to 300 feet apart, the general country rock between and around being granite or gneiss. They were composed largely of chloride in their surface workings, but changed to sulphuret as the water level was reached. The water is easily handled by the pumping and draining arrangements. But the chief eccentricity of these little veins consists in the

"BREAKS."

Not one of these veins has been followed downward without a break. This is evidently owing to the fact that the whole surface or side of Lander Hill has been disturbed, bodily broken, and slid to the southward and west through some overpowering influence in its internal economy, thus causing very abrupt breaks in the continuity of the general vein formation of its bodily make-up. These breaks are more frequent and demoralizing near the surface than in the deeper workings. A section of the vein may be followed for 40 or even 300 feet in sinking, but then must come a break. At once a drift eastward is started, and sooner or later, perhaps in 20 or 300 feet, the other portion of the vein will be found. Thus the old, original veins have been followed from the surface down through frequent breaks without losing their identity. When a bonanza on the Comstock peters out there is no rule for finding any more of it, but here it is "go east, young man." It pays to do so.

TRIBUTERS.

The uncertainty thus attending the following of the veins, and the large amount of "dead work" involved in hunting for the breaks or lost portions, gradually induces the adoption of the tribute system, so common in the old country. Tributers are allowed to work certain vein sections for a certain portion of the ore or bullion result. Many old miners prefer this to regular day’s pay. Some of them thus work for year without realizing a cent, while some lucky ones who strike a "good pitch" clean up hundreds, and even thousands of dollars in a very short time. One or 200 men are probably working on that same layout in these mines to-day, the Manhattan Company furnishing them the requisite tools, powder and all other working facilities, and even supplies of food.

BENEFICIAL.

Probably 600 men are kept constantly employed by the company, either on the pay-roll or "on tribute," and the system adopted has been of permanent benefit. As a real matter of fact the company directly or indirectly supports and maintains the entire town. Yet there are numerous men who roundly abuse the Manhattan Company, although they cannot very lucidly and logically explain why they do so. They simply like to on general principles.

IMPROVEMENTS.

Encouraged doubtless by the present long-continued and lucrative run of the mill, the Manhattan Company have had a plank floor laid in their machine-shop, and treated their dilapidated old office to a new coat of whitewash inside. Chief clerk Farrell has also got him a new coat, and everything looks prosperous, and the tributers and dump pickers are hurrying in small lots of ore to the mill in order to get a little money with which to properly celebrate

THE GLORIOUS FOURTH.

All the stores and business houses will close at 8 o'clock A. M. on that festive day, and everybody proposes joining in the grand celebration. Austin has not celebrated for three or four years, and she is going to do it up brown this time. John Frost, the old locator of the mines, has been unanimously chosen for Grand Marshal, and is out daily practicing on horseback, in order to get a toney Napoleonic style onto his saddle appearance; the music and the powder and fireworks are all engaged, plenty of money is raised for all purposes, and if Austin does not have a snorting old celebration it will be because there is some unaccountable miscue somewhere.

ALF DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Sunday……….July 8, 1883

FROM EASTERN NEVADA.

How the Fourth Got Celebrated—An Affluent Bonanza of Explosives—Fumigation—Musical Notes—Celestial Amenities—The Boss Team of Any Procession—Indians and Engines—Talking Under Fire—Reese River Pioneers on the Ball-Room Floor—What They Tell Me and What They Do—Canine Unpleasantness.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., July 6, 1883.

Unusually glorious was the celebration of the recent Fourth in Austin. That proud National day has been celebrated here in good style many times, but never quite equal to this time. Our mining and other interests have shown increased prosperity and promise during the past year, therefore a better feeling and desire to celebrate on this occasion was the natural result. Many people were in from the ranches and neighboring mining camps, and for the time our little old town did look right lively. Austin is rather of a pretty place for this section, and added to the green shade trees and shrubbery about the private residences were extensive rows of young pines and cottonwoods ranged liberally all along each side of the main street, every awning post being thus adorned. Flags fluttered in affluent abundance, Comstock style, and when you come to firecrackers, bombs and similar heathen explosives, here’s where we had them. The various fancy goods dealers had laid in unreasonably heavy supplies of these things, yet fell short after all in supplying the demand. All the previous night, and all the day celebrated, there was an incessant rattle and fizz. Cannon firing National salutes added to the general rumble and roar, and the pouring rain of firecrackers, until the air was thick and heavy with the stench of villainous gunpowder, and noisy dynamite patriotically destroyed, and a cloud obscured Reese River Valley all next day. Firecracker popping was never more popular. And the Chinese were only too glad of a pretext for turning things loose, and the way they did fumigate the filth, and blow out the stench of their quarter, was perfectly refreshing, after the style of your old grandmother burning a rag in a room where there is a bad smell.

MUSICAL.

As I have before remarked, there is plenty of musical talent in Austin. Every other man is a singer or an instrumental musician, and it was here that Emma Nevada developed her wonderful powers as a singer and went forth to conquer the operatic European world. We have two brass bands, two string bands, and material for half a dozen more bands if required. The Chinese band has a new instrument introduced into it; a sort of cross between a hewgag and an insane tom cat, and the old Confucius who runs it tried to ring the changes on it on the Fourth, but had too much opium and rice brandy in him. The band got on the porch of the little Chinese temple, however, and played all day. There are three shifts in the band, consequently no let up after they start in. The drummer is a whole corps in himself, and a perfect stem-winder. The others may stop to drink, smoke or eat, but he, never. He is the most exasperatingly persistent wretch in the world, and all the neighbors would be serenely happy if the drummer law was rigidly enforced in his case. And these Chinese outshone everybody else in the matter of flags on the Fourth. The big red dragon flag and several long streamers floated from the pole of their temple, surmounted with a big square green banner. It looked some like a Chinese war junk under full sail.

A PROCESSION NOVELTY.

Our Fourth of July procession was not quite as long as the generality of yours on the Comstock, there being only about 600 in line, including the Miners’ Union, civil societies, military, firemen, children and citizens generally. But it contained one very novel and effective feature—it was probably the only procession in the United States where the Car of State was drawn by a locomotive. The grade of the railroad which passes up through the main street of the town from the depot of the Nevada Central, is twelve and one-half feet to the hundred (not one foot in eight, as has been incorrectly stated), and being on the natural route of the procession, the locomotive and cars were utilized to most excellent and peculiarly effective advantage. Only two cars were used. These were flats, fitted up with awnings, etc., one for the Car of State and the other for children generally. The States were represented by the prettiest little girls in town, appropriately dressed, Miss Maggie Burchfield personating the Goddess of Liberty most angelically and tastefully. All went smooth and easy enough going down the steep grade, the brakes being in very competent and responsible hands, but many mechanically appreciative individuals were curious to see how it would be in coming up—whether the speed could be regulated to the pace of the procession marching before and behind. But that gallant little motor, weighing 33,000 pounds, just worked its way up the steepest plain railroad in the country slowly, carefully, with the precision of clockwork, and regulated exactly to the gait of the procession. There was no difficulty whatever about it. You doubtless had numerous Indians in your procession, but our one engine could certainly have got away with all of yours.

INCIDENTAL.

The exercises were first-rate throughout, with the exception of the poem, and the oration of Dr. Hammond could not be beaten anywhere, neither in matter nor style of delivery. Judge McKenney, as President of the Day, had a tough little episode in his opening remarks. Just as he commenced, a huge lot of firecrackers were tumbled into the street a short distance below the stand and made a tremendous racket. The Judge faced the music, however, most unflinchingly. He could not hear himself talk, but knew he was talking. It was nip and tuck for awhile, but he finally outwinded the crackers, and made some of his remarks heard. The hoodlum turnout and procession in the afternoon was very funny, and many, especially the youngsters, considered it the best part of the celebration. The Goddess had a quartz wagon all to herself, and it took two yoke of oxen to haul the big gun. Those oxen came across the plains in ’49, and never can look any older.

THE PIONEERS’ BALL.

The festivities were not marred by any disagreeable incidents; everything was excellently managed, and the ball given by the Society of Reese River Pioneers, at International Hall, in the evening, was well attended. They give a ball every year—not for profit, but merely as annual landmarks along down the banks of the River Time, recording their progress as they drift down stream toward the broad sea of eternity. And these balls are annual tests of endurance, correctly indicating how the natural powers of the old stiffs are holding out. One by one they fail to step out on the floor when the dance is called and the fiddles sound, and those who yet continue to respond are not as limber in the knees and ankles as they used to be. But they can lie just as hard as ever when they expatiate to you about what splendid dancers they used to be; the way they did the double shuffle, sailors’ hornpipe and all that sort of thing. Their double shuffle was done with cards principally, and their hornpipe was more like a tobacco pipe. It’s comical sometimes to hear one of these bald-headed old reprobates tell about how he danced the Highland Fling, when we know all the time that he never even saw it, except from the orchestra seats of a melodeon. One of them at this ball, after telling me a lot of yarns about his former dancing achievement, got on the floor with the prettiest young lady in the hall, having the vanity to think he could work through a plain quadrille. He got caught out, though, on the first turn, and retired in confusion. “No use,” remarked the old rooster, apologetically, “the music and the figgers is altogether different to what they used to be. Hard to keep run of ‘em.” The “Rheumatics” also interferes with some of these old boys in their terpsichorean efforts. Bill Ford and Ed. Allen are the best dancers among these Pioneers. There is a sharp rivalry between them. Allen does the pigeon-wing very neatly, but Ford stands him off with his chloride jig.

DOG POISONING.

The other morning one of the finest dogs in Austin laid down and died from eating a bit of poisoned meat he had found somewhere. His master has always tried to secure him against anything of the kind, buying the best of meat for him, keeping him well fed, and putting a muzzle on him whenever he thought there was any special danger. A year ago another very valuable, much prized dog, belonging to J.A. Wright, formerly of your city, went the same way. In neither of these cases was it supposed that the poisoning was intentional. The way of it is, somebody, recklessly and meanly, puts out poison to kill offensive cats and the dogs get it, or some blunder-headed humanitarian concludes to wipe out a few dozen of the surplus curs. But the miserable curs, not having sense enough to find the meat prepared for them, escape, while fine blooded dogs, with keener scent, are most liable to pick up the poison and experience the result. The dog poisoner is never found, but the dogs evidently find the poison. The only way to avoid thus losing your valuable, dearly beloved dog, and consequent broken-heartedness in the family, is not to own any dog. ALF. DOTEN.

TERRITORIAL ENTERPRISE

Tuesday……….July 17, 1883

Entered at the Postoffice at Virginia City, Nevada, as second-class matter.

FROM EASTERN NEVADA

The Hot Wave—Austin Timber Resources—Veins Without a Mother—Some Outside Mines and Ore Working—The Leaching of Silver—A Sad Episode—Journalistic Improvements—A Bad Break and Disgraceful Tumble.

[Correspondence of the Enterprise.]

AUSTIN, Nev., July 13, 1883.

The sun’s great hot eye still continues to glower scorchingly down upon the numerous sinners of Eastern Nevada, and what few saints there are of us are losing patience, and getting heated into a grievous state of exasperation. The average thermometer has got permanently gaited to about ninety degrees in the shade, and bids fair to stand at that for the next two months. The long-continued drought is beginning to tell severely upon the crops, especially grain, and the hay will not turn out as well as was expected. Even the suckers and catfish in Reese river have cause for alarm, for there may not be enough of that famous stream left next Winter to freeze ice for a cocktail.

TMBER.

According to the veracious traditions of the Reese River Pioneers the hillsides and canyons in and around Austin were originally well wooded with nut pine and cedar, but it is certain that no such desirable condition exists here at present. Ranchers and fuel dealers haul wood from far-off localities among the mountain fatnesses, and the cars bring numerous cords daily from away down along the railroad somewhere, but the native woods of Austin disappeared and their roots were dug up long ago. In proof of their assertion that some kind of timber once grew here, the old Pioneers triumphantly point at a cedar which stands in John Booth’s back yard, carefully fenced and preserved. This giant of the forest is ten feet high, six inches in diameter, and it wears a hump-backed, bandy-legged look, suggestive of extreme old age. Its foliage consists of a moppy bunch of green, which throws about shade enough for two beetles and a grasshopper to hold a picnic in, but it is an indisputably genuine relic of past timber probabilities, and entitled to proper reverence as such. As a contrast to the numerous locust, poplar and other varieties of shade trees and ornamental shrubbery growing so thriftily throughout the town it is peculiarly interesting. Booth would not take $1,000 for it.

THE MOTHER VEIN.

In a former letter I made descriptive and elaborate mention of the numerous small, but rich silver veins forming the famous and steadily productive mines of this locality. They permeate the country formation for miles in extent, and have been worked in the body of the mines, to the depth of 600 or 800 feet. Their general direction, dip and uniformity of character suggest the idea that way down in the deep levels of the world they may concentrate and come into one main mother vein; in fact, a grandmother vein, so to speak. There is nothing at all unreasonable in the proposition, and it certainly would be a very desirable arrangement. With so many exceedingly rich branches it surely should be a wonderfully affluent bonanza with untold billions of bullion in it. Every rusty old pioneer has always had full faith in the existence of this mythical mother vein; it fact, is willing to swear to it over four fingers of beverage on any proud occasion. What are veins without a mother? The very idea of so many rich little veins being simply branches from one parent stem is a gorgeous possibility, but the probabilities and chances that any of the present generation will ever arrive at the root and solve the problem as bona fide stockholders in this very desirable mother vein, are, to say the least, extremely problematical.

JEFFERSON MINES.

Away south, about seventy-five miles from here, are the mines of Jefferson Canyon. They were discovered in 1866, and have yielded richly at various times since. The bullion contains more or less gold, but not enough to disturb their integrity as silver mines. The ledges are large and well defined traceable for miles, there are two of them, running parallel in a northerly and southerly direction, but which is the father or which is the mother vein is not yet decided. Some very rich chimneys of ore have been developed and worked in them in times past, and Jefferson has contained quite an extensive and lively population; but through mismanagement and other adverse circumstances the mines gradually fell into disrepute, and now comparatively little work is being done there. Two mills—the Jefferson, of fourteen tamps, and the Prussian, ten stamps—were erected there; but both are lying idle at present. E. S. Goodrich, representing Minnesota capital, has several of the mines bonded at strong figures, and for some months past has been running the Jefferson mill with good results, making frequent shipments of bullion. He says he shall start up the mill again in a few days. Charles Kanrohat, chief proprietor of the Union mine, on the main Jefferson ledge, is now in Austin, having brought in a small lot of four tons of ore in order to test its working by the process used at the Manhattan mill. The ore is of a strong reddish cast, of a free milling character, containing a small proportion of gold, and is rich in horn silver. The bullion yield runs up into the hundreds, and with suitable works near the mine it should pay well. There are, evidently, millions in it, and the only trouble is to get it out properly. He says he shall now construct an arastra and adopt the leaching process. The ores of Jefferson comprise horn silver, black antimonial and ruby silver, sulphuret and chloride forms of silver and more or less gold. The ledges vary from three to thirty feet in width, dip east, and have been worked to the depth of 700 feet. Owing to the strong flow of water encountered deeper working will involve the employment of considerable capital, but there is enough good ore in the upper workings to keep practical mining men and bullion producers busy for years.

LEACHING.

At Belmont, between here and Jefferson, the trouble has been to find the proper process for working the ores to the best advantage. The conclusion has been arrived at that the leaching process is the best, and the one to be adopted. The principal mill in therefore about to be changed to a leaching establishment, and the result will demonstrate itself before long. There are many mines and mining districts in this State languishing for the proper process for working their ores. Leeching has been sometimes advantageously resorted to in surgery, and perhaps the same may be said of the Leaching process in ore reduction.

A SAD EPISODE.

One of the saddest events in the youthful society element of Austin which has occurred for years was the sudden death of Eddie Rowe on Tuesday last. He was a robust, healthy young man of eighteen, son of James H. Rowe, late President of the Austin Miners’ Union, and employed himself in surface mining operations. He was a prominent member of the Junior Baseball Club, which went from here to a contest with the Eureka Baseball Club a few days ago, at which time he is said to have received a severe strain. He also contracted a bad cold, resulting in subsequent trouble at times. He participated actively, however, in the celebration of the Fourth, and danced among the gayest and happiest at the Pioneer ball in the evening. Subsequently he was attacked by a very decided obstruction, or strangulation, in his bowels, resulting speedily in death. He had plenty of medical attendance, and a surgical operation was proposed, but was not allowed, neither was a post-mortem examination allowed, therefore the actual cause of his death is not definitely understood. He was a most exemplary young man, and a general favorite, and the news of his sudden and most unexpected death spread general consternation, for when so promising a young man, in the full vigor of life and health, thus lies down and dies, all naturally wonder whose turn will be next. On his death-bed he called for his young friends and companions, bade them all a final adieu, coolly and calmly made his requests as to the arrangements for his funeral, designating the songs to be sung, the pall-bearers, order of procession, and other details. The funeral was very largely attended, and the numerous grief-stricken friends of Eddie Rowe will long remember the sad occasion.

ONE DAY EARLIER

The gratifying change in railroad and mail time gives us the ENTERPRISE one day earlier now throughout Eastern Nevada, we receiving it here in Austin only the next morning after its publication, instead of two mornings afterward. Thus we are precious little behind in the matter of latest and fullest telegrams, or anything else in the shape of news, from all parts of the State and the world, when we thus get hold of the ENTERPRISE. If your circulation is not many times increased forthwith throughout this section, it ought to be, for the price of the paper brings it within the means of everybody.

THE AUSTIN “DEMOCRAT”

Died last Tuesday a death which was not glorious, for it crawfished most wretchedly, abjectly and inconsistently on its death-bed. It pulled down its own colors, sat down on them and defiled them. It’s a filthy bird that befouls its own nest, and when the former friends and supporters of the Democrat read its valedictory obituary in its own columns they were sorry that the “sooner” had not died sooner. The old standard pioneer paper of Austin, the Reveille, now has the local journalistic field entirely to itself. The field is limited, and can only support the one paper anywhere near decently. The Reveille is a first-rate, well-managed paper, and well worthy of even more liberal support than it receives. A good local paper is always one of the best elements of success in behalf of any well-ordered, social and business community; and the people of Austin should not fail to substantially recognize that fact.

ALF. DOTEN.