The Young Miner | Page 2

great body of Eastern visitors who
hoped to make a fortune in a year, he did not expect to succeed without
hard toil.
His companions belonged to the same party with whom he had crossed
the plains, under the leadership of Phineas Fletcher, a broad-shouldered
Illinois farmer, who had his family with him. Next to Tom was Donald
Ferguson, a grave Scotchman, and Tom's special friend; a man of
excellent principles, thoroughly reliable, and held in high respect by all

though not possessed of popular manners. On the other side was
Lawrence Peabody, a young Boston clerk, who had spent several years
behind a dry-goods counter. He was soft and effeminate, with no talent
for "roughing it," and wholly unfitted for the hard work which he had
undertaken. He was deeply disappointed in his first work at
gold-hunting, having come out with the vague idea that he should pick
up a big nugget within a short time that would make his fortune and
enable him to go home a rich man. The practical side of
gold-seeking--this washing particles of dust from the dirt of the
river-bed--was in the highest degree unsatisfactory and discouraging.
He was not a bad fellow; and his companions, though they laughed at
him, were well disposed towards him.
Among the rest, mention may be made of John Miles, Henry Scott, and
Chapman, owner of a refractory donkey named after King Solomon.
Not far away from the river were the tents occupied by the miners.
There was but one house, roughly built of logs. This was occupied by
Captain Fletcher and his family. He had not had the trouble of building
it, but had found it ready for occupation, having been constructed by a
previous party who had wandered farther down the river in search of
richer washings. In fact, it was this building which had decided our
party to remain.
"There isn't much difference in places," said Fletcher. "We may as well
stay here."
"Then why was it deserted?" suggested John Miles, dubiously. "That's
rather against it, isn't it, captain?"
"Not necessarily, Miles. You've been on berrying parties, haven't you,
when at home?"
"Many a time."
"You've noticed that many of the pickers leave good places, just from
love of novelty, and wander about the field, often faring worse than if
they remained where they were?"

"That's so, captain."
"Then let us give this place a try. We'll make more working steady in a
medium place than wandering here, there, and everywhere."
So the whole party agreed to "give the place a try."
There had been no brilliant success as yet, but fair luck. In six days
Tom had washed out twenty-five dollars' worth of gold-dust, in spite of
awkwardness and inexperience. Others had done better, but poor
Lawrence Peabody had barely five dollars' worth to show. It must be
said, however, that he had not averaged more than two or three hours of
real labor in every twenty-four. He spent the rest of the time in
wandering about aimlessly, or sitting down and watching the labors of
his companions, while he enlivened them by pathetic lamentations over
his unfortunate position, so far away from Boston and the refining
influences of civilization.
A little transcript of a conversation between Tom and himself will
throw light upon the characters of both.
"This is beastly work," sighed Peabody, resting from his by no means
arduous labors, and looking over to Tom. "I tell you, it isn't fit for a
gentleman."
"It is rather hard to keep one's hands clean, Mr. Peabody," said Tom;
"but you mustn't think of the present. Think of the time when you will
go home, your pockets full of gold."
"I don't see any prospect of it, Tom," sighed Peabody. "Here I've been
hard at work for a week, and I haven't got over five dollars' worth of
dust."
"I have five times as much," said Tom.
"Some people are lucky," said Peabody.
"You haven't worked like Tom," said the Scotchman, plainly. "You

haven't averaged over two hours a day, while Tom has worked eight or
ten."
"I have worked till my back was like to break," said the young man
from Boston. "I am not accustomed to manual labor, Mr. Ferguson. My
friend Tom has worked on a farm, while I have been engaged in
mercantile pursuits. Oh, why did I leave Boston!"
"I am sure I can't guess," said Ferguson, dryly.
"I never expected anything like this."
"What did you expect, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"
"I thought I should find the gold in big nuggets worth thousands of
dollars apiece. I was always reading in the papers about finding them. I
think it's a great shame to deceive people by such stories. I don't believe
there are any nuggets."
"Oh,