The Republican Journal

MARK TWAIN ON "POCKET" MINING.

In one corner of California is found a species of mining which is seldom or never mentioned in print. It is called "pocket" mining, and I am not aware that any of it is done outside of that little corner. The gold is not evenly distributed through the surface dirt, as in ordinary placer mines, but is collected in little spots, and they are very wide apart and exceedingly hard to find, but when you do find one you reap a rich and sudden harvest. There are not now more than twenty pocket miners in that little region. I think I know every one of them personally. I have known one of them to hunt patiently about the hillsides every day for eight months without finding gold enough to make a snuff-box—his grocery bill running up relentlessly all the time—and then I have seen him find a pocket and take out of it a thousand dollars in two dips of his shovel. I have seen him take out $3000 in two hours, and go away and pay up every cent of his indebtedness, then enter upon a dazzling spree that finished the last of his treasure before the night was gone. And the next day he bought his groceries on credit as usual, and shouldered his pan and shovel and went off to the hills hunting pockets again, happy and content. This is, perhaps, the most fascinating of all the different kinds of mining, and furnishes a handsome percentage of victims to the lunatic asylum. Honest toil and moderate gains in shops and on farms have their virtues and their advantages When a man consents to seek for sudden riches he does it at his peril. [No charge.]

Pocket-hunting is an ingenious process. You take a spadeful of earth from the hill side and put it in a large tin pan, and dissolve and wash it gradually away, till nothing is left but a teaspoonful of fine sediment. Whatever gold was in the earth has remained, because being the heaviest, it sought the bottom. Among the sediment you will find half a dozen shining particles no larger than pin heads. You are delighted. You move off to one side further, and wash a third pan. If you find no gold this time, you are delighted again, because you know you are on the right scent. You lay an imaginary pan, shaped like a fan, with its handle up the hill—for just where the handle is, you argue that the rich deposit is hidden, whose vagrant grains of gold have escaped and been washed down the hill, spreading further and further apart as they wandered.

And so you proceed up the hill, washing the earth and narrowing your lines every time the absence of gold in the pan shows that you are outside the spread of the fan; and at last, 20 yards up the hill, your lines have converged into a point—a single foot from that point you cannot find any gold. Your breath comes short and quick, you are feverish with excitement; the dinner bell may ring its clapper off; you pay no attention; friends may die, weddings transpire, houses burn down, they are nothing to you; you sweat and dig and delve with a frantic interest, and all at once you strike it! Up comes a spadeful of earth and quartz that is all lovely with solid lumps and leaves and sprays of gold. Sometimes that one spadeful is all—$500. Sometimes the next contains $10,000, and it takes you three or four days to get it all out. The pocket miners tell of one nest that yielded $60,000, and two men exhausted it in two weeks, and then sold the ground for $10,000 to a party who never got $300 out of it afterwards.

The hogs are good pocket hunters. All the summer they root around the bushes, and turn up a thousand little piles of dirt, and then the miners long for the rains; for the rains beat upon these little piles and wash them down and expose the gold, possibly right over a pocket. Two pockets were found in this way by the same man in one day. One had $5,000 in it, and the other $8,000. That man could appreciate it, for he hadn't had a cent in about a year

In Tuolumne lived two miners who used to go to the neighboring village in the afternoon, and return every night with household supplies. Part of the distance they traversed a trail, and nearly always sat down to rest on a great boulder that lay beside the path. In the course of thirteen years they had worn that boulder perfectly smooth, sitting on it. By-and-by two vagrant Mexicans came along and occupied the seat. They began to amuse themselves by chipping off flakes from the boulder with a sledge-hammer. They examined one of these flakes and found it rich with gold. The boulder paid them $800 afterwards. But the aggravating circumstance was that these "greasers" knew there must be more gold where that boulder came from, and so they went panning up the hill, and found what was probably the richest pocket that region has yet produced. It took three months to exhaust it, and it yielded $120,000. The two American miners who used to sit on the boulder are poor yet, and they take turns in getting up early in the morning to curse those Mexicans; and when it comes down to pure ornamental cursing, the native American miner is gifted above the sons of men.

I have dwelt at some length upon the matter of pocket-mining, because it is a subject that is seldom referred to in print, and therefore I judged that it would have for the reader that interest which naturally attaches to novelty.