The Semi Weekly Miner

THE WANDERING MINER.
Introductory and Personal.

[WRITTEN SPECIALLY FOR THE MINER.]

'Quamquam ridentem dicere verum quid vetat?'-Horace.

I'm a wanderer through the accidents of fate, fortune, nature, character and disposition, a quintette of circumstances over which I have had very little-if any-control. It is a characteristic of the miner to wander. The miner is not a Solon or a Solomon, though he may like good mining laws, lovely women, witching wine, whisky sour or lager beer, as well as either of these wise men of old. Suffice it, then, to say, at the start, that I never felt the pangs of hunger or knew what they meant until I struck Idaho, the paradise of idiots, suckers, coyotes and mosquitoes, and Montana, the purgatory of tenderfeet, tramps, mules, 'bulls' and 'bears' of both the biped and quadruped species. I state this fact distinctly in commencing, to prevent all chance of your readers confounding me either with Hibernian Bonanza King McKay, of Virginia City and world-wide fame, or with that less known Hibernian Tom Cruse, of Helena and Drum Lomond distinction; or with the Anaconda far-famed Hibernian Superintendent Marcus Daly; no offense, however, being intended to either of the fortunate miners and patriotic Hibernians named, as they are men from whom I have never asked a favor, and probably never will.

I'll not enter into my family history any further than to observe that I was born in dear green, old Erin; that within a few miles of my birthplace I beheld the first copper mine I ever noticed, called Curraun, in Achill sound, on the iron-bound coast of Mayo. I entered college ere I was ten years in existence, and, owing to my being always in hot water, I was transplanted from that Irish college to the celebrated English college from which the late ever to-be lamented Thomas Francis Meagher, the brilliant orator and once acting-governor of Montana, graduated. From that English college was transplanted to a leading university on the continent, and getting tired of Latin, Greek, philosophy, logic, science, etc., I caught the mail steamer at Valetta, in Malta, and took the peninsular and oriental steamers, via Alexandria, Aden and Galle in order to study practical geology on the Australias goldfields. I took that wild-goose chase over a score of years ago without consulting parents, friends, university professors or students, or even bidding a fond farewell to old 'Alma Mater'-and why I abandoned brilliant prospects in Europe for a miner's life has been to myself a mystery ever since.

Now, I often have heard with regret men of supposed common sense and intelligence rejoice in caricaturing men of the Irish race. What brings the Irishman to America, or any other section of the globe? I do not intend to flatter my countrymen, but I do say that given 'a fair field and no favor,' equal opportunities, etc., they are the equals of any race this day under the canopy of 'God's Heavens.' The Irishman is brimful of hope and love, the hope that never despairs, the love that is never extinguished; dispersed and scattered as we are, that love makes us all meet as brethren; that love brings the tear to the eye as soon as we think of those long in their graves, that love that makes us treasure the traditions of our history, a history the grandest of all the nations of the earth. For the last seven hundred years Ireland has been struggling and fighting in the sacred cause of freedom. The Irish exile is a name recognized and emblazoned upon the annals of every nation of the earth. Let us briefly glance over the pages of United States history. Who was the first Commodore and 'Father of the American Navy?' Commodore Barry-an Irishman. Who was Washington's favorite general, who fell under the fortress of Quebec and to whose remains forty years after the great Empire state of New York accorded a public funeral and erected a monument to his memory in Trinity church? General Montgomery, an Irishman. Whose electric words thrilled through every heart, 'Give me liberty or give me death?' Patrick Henry's. Of what race was Carroll, of Carrollton, whose wealth was greater than that of all the other signers of the immortal 'Declaration of Independence' combined. The name is a sufficient index. Of what race was General Sullivan, of Revolutionary fame? Ask Eugene Sullivan, of Walkerville. Of what stock was Archbishop Carroll, who did all he could to arouse the Canadians to help the struggling colonists? Ask Foreman Carroll, of the Anaconda and St. Lawrence mines. What did Washington, the 'Father of his Country,' say? Here are his words: 'Before the French came to our aid, there were one hundred Irish to the one of any other nationality fighting in the cause of freedom. Let truth and justice then entwine the shamrock with the laurels of the Revolution.' etc. What did the Duke of York write about those Irish soldiers who had to be tied hands and feet before they would go on shipboard in Europe to fight against the Americans? Here are his exact words: 'Send me Hessian troops. I cannot depend upon those Irish. They desert in whole troops to the American side.' It is needless to add the British government acceded to his request and forwarded Hessians. Who have been truer to the sacred cause of American freedom than the Irish? Let the heroes and campaigners of the late civil war answer. I could ask and answer a thousand similar queries, but I will come to the present day. Who is the President of the United States? Arthur, the son of a poor north of Ireland preacher and teacher-his honest father would be glad enough to get a 'square meal' of potatoes, salt and buttermilk on the 'side;' but the would be aristocratic son would prefer 'loafing' with Grant, or the shoddy, thieving, swindling Vanderbilts, Astors, et hoc genus omne. Who is the Commander-in-Chief of the American army? Gallant, heroic Phil Sheridan, the son of a decent Connaught man. The true American citizen will never sneer at or endeavor to caricature the Irishman. No! it is only the mongrel, half-breed know nothing or dude, or shoddy aristocrat, or bigoted scoundrel, or thieving official, who thinks it is smart to 'take off' their superiors, and who would betray both their God and country for the sake of a dirty few dollars-it is only such wretches attempt this caricaturing.

I told you I would be personal in this introductory contribution. I know you and your readers will both excuse me when I tell you that I heard a few days ago in Helena comments and sneers cast upon Irishmen that just made me spoil for either a fight or a reply. In Helena I only encountered one practical good Samaritan, who is and ought to be a universal favorite there as well as everywhere else. His name is Charles Curtis, a brother of your well-known citizen, John Curtis. I don't know John Curtis personally as yet, but I can swear to the fact if necessary that the Hon. Charles Curtis is one of nature's real nobility. He has a generous spirit, a tender heart-nothing seems wanting to him.

Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man,-

and such a man as Charley Curtis should be appointed by the next Democratic President Governor of Montana. There may be ten other men like him in Helena, but I very much doubt that I could find one in that decaying mining camp that would do unto me as Charles Curtis did. Hail and success, Charley! When you are Governor, I'll be on your 'staff.'

To know as well as I do the 'ups' and 'downs' of mining life, one must have panned, cradled, sluiced, drilled, picked and 'petered' out on 'bed-rock' in more senses of the word than one. I have tried my fortune on nearly every gold field in Australia and New Zealand; and in the diamond mines of South Africa. Six months after placing my foot on American soil I was 'dead broke' in San Francisco, losing in a mining mania in that city an amount of money which, if I had the good luck to place it out at eight per cent. interest per annum, would bring me a yearly income of eight thousand dollars as long as I lived without touching a cent of the principal. In another hemisphere I often went to new 'results' or 'camps' with only a few dollars and came out of them with scores of thousands of dollars to my banking account. I have also gone to such with a large banking account to my credit and traveled out of those far-away but ever glorious gold fields 'dead broke.' Tell me now, if you can, oh! Miner editor, how it happened that I left over forty pounds of my flesh, blood and bones in the Coeur d'Alene mining camp, luxuriating on 'sow-belly' straight and 'beans' rather scarce and old on the side-that could never indulge in hog, as I hate the cursed, grunting, dirty brute worse than any Jew ever did.

What false pride, cursed fate or destiny decided that my first four days in Montana should be on water, water, water. Oh! ye Gods, when I reflect upon the way the chords of my stomach began to twist and twist and twist, through pure unadulterated, downright hunger, I am inclined to follow the example of the 'Prodigal Son' and return to my father's house-and if he should cast me out, which I would fully deserve from him, for my ingratitude in squandering considerable of his hard earned cash in my younger days, why unless my maternal grandfather's house in old Connaught is the victim of a combination of almost incredible circumstances like I am myself, why I'll take shelter in it and wouldn't exchange it either for any residence I've yet seen in Montana.

My grandfather must have had a prophetic vision ere his demise over a quarter of a century ago, of how I'd have to suffer perhaps for his sins in the wilds of Idaho and Montana; or else he never would have left me what I have neither seen nor entered since his death. If I strike anything in Butte I'll soon see it if only to clear a mortgage that got ground up in a Virginia City mining mill. I have to go to the Metropolitan restaurant now to recruit my fallen frame and fame. If I had only a thousand meal tickets to be 'punched' at that famous Metropolitan, how I'd wax fat! But alas! I have not. Still who knows but I may earn that number from the Miner-in a few days. Now how easy you can reconcile it to your conscience to reproduce a thousand fac simile restaurant cards of 21 tickets each. Let me see if I go into the scalping business like the New York rail-road gentleman and many other railroad ticket agents. Why 1,000 cards of 21 meal tickets at nine dollars a card would be nine thousand dollars. Say that I'll give you a margin of one thousand dollars for the cards and printing that will repay you princely for an outlay of ten dollars or so- Then I'll give say another thousand dollars to sub-agents, I'll have all the tramps in Butte my 'subs'-that will leave me an income of seven thousand dollars a week clear. See what it is to be a son of a genius dear Miner editor. Though I am now dead broke--I have not a dime, a nickel, a cent, my programme will enrich us both, if we can only keep out of Sheriff Irvin's clutches whilst we're 'bursting' the restaurant reprobates and driving them to a financial hades. Now, you must make up your mind to hear some strange stories of mining life in various lands in future contributions. One thing you may rely upon, I'll avoid personalities after this 'introductory,' and hit principally at the follies, fools or frauds of mining life.