The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1874-01-23
MISS GREY, OF SANDY GULoH.

Heaven has no rewards for this Moneyless Man.
MISS GREY, OF SANDY GULCH.
"Sandy Gulchl You as don't stop
here git breakfast" We had determin-
ed to stop here, and had kept this spot
in view as an objective point during sew
eral hundred miles of stage journeying.
There is something wearisome in six
days continual stage riding-becomes
slightly monotonous in twenty-four
hours cramped up in corner, unable
to lie down or get a good stretch, is
trial to the patience of the ordinary
American.
We cannot present an active looking
picture of our fellow-travelers to your
mind-they were all too stiff and sore,
and we might say ont of humor. The
man who could rest his head anywhere
and sleep was an object of envy and
distrust, and a general desire was felt
by each wakeful one to pinch the man
driving you mad with his delicious
snores. Twas at a time when our
nerves, detached and shaken up, and
our very brains sloshing around, we
heard the welcome sound, "Sandy
Gulch!''
Not a very beautiful name, nor, as we
poked our heads out of the coach win
dow, did it look to be particularly
charming. Two hundred or more min
ers' cabins that seemed to have started
from the stage station and got lost in
all sorts of places along the Gulch {;
odd little boxes of houses perched up
on the very top of an immense rock,
or nesting close to their mossy
sides, down by the roaring mountain
stream, or far up on the mountain
side, as the airy fancy of the rough
owner in fee simple dictated.
The main house" of the Gulch was at
the "Bar," and the bar was at the main
house.
The broad stretch of golden sands,
mountains and deposited near the mouth
of the Gulch, gave the place its name.
The Overland" always stopped at the
main house, we suppose on account of
the bar. The coming of Skaggs, Jim
Jones, and Boss Myers was something
to Sandy Gulch. They were heavy op-
orators, and the owners of the ponder
GUS machines that were up the Gulch
battering away at the silver ore. Even
the bar-keeper shook hands with all
we were unnoticed. We, who had come
to edit the Miners Friend, found none,
no, not one to do us honor. However,
having visited strange towns and edi-
ted several short-lived dailies before,
we were prepared to meet any fate like
philosophers.
There was one passenger we pltled IN
his loneliness-not more than four and
twenty, slender, and delicate, whose
face and form indicated the intellec-
tual man stripped of his grosser attri-
butes-who shrank from the rude caths
and boisterous merriment of his fellow
travellers, and who seemed us untitled
for their society as would an angel. We
say we felt sorry for him-such sorrow
as we sometimes feel for inexperienced
fellow-traveler5 on life's journey. It
was whispered about that he was mis-
sionary. This opinion became fixed
when it was found. after repeated tri-
s, teat he would not drink, nor had he
been known to swear during the entire
trip-something truly wonderful His
place in the coach had been SO far re-
moved from Skaggs, Jones & Co., that,
much as we desired to make his ac-
quaintance, no opportunity was offered.
He, too, got out at Sandy Gulch, and
the greasy register bore the name of
Rev. Milton May.
We learned that he had but Just
graduated from one of our theological
colleges, and had come to look after
the spiritual welfare of the "Gulch."
The "Gplchers," big and little, were
to be brought under the sound of Mr..
Mays voice-that is, if they wanted to.
On the first Sabbath ten of them did.
But Mr.. May, being an enthusiast, and
an earnest christian, determined to in
crease his number and during the sec
ond week climbed sluice-boxes, jumped
bitches, waded the creek again and
again, in pursuit of little working par
ties of miners. Nor did he stop with the
workers. The lonely, weary man, lying
on his bunk, his frame racked with pain,
and seeing in feverish fancy the ap-
prosch of dear wife or mother, was
soothed by the pale-faced man.
The gaudy room behind the bar was
not free from him, for he entered and
invited ''Slick Dick, who was dealing
faro, to come to the services of the log
cabin. Strange as it may seem, he
came, and the room was full of those
whose ears had not heard one word of
these tidings in many, many years. All!
what may not the influence of one man
have on community?
OF course, the latter thought was en-
tirely in connection with ourselves.
The Miners Friend was succeeding
we were able to live and pay off such Of
our liabilities as were pressing. We
were beginning to feel something of the
delights of Independent journalism.
The territorial printing was ours, and
We fondly looked forward to the post
mastership of Sandy Gulch. But there
was always more or less jealousy on
our part of the Rev. Milton May. He
seemed to have made himself immense
ly popular, and we felt that the quiet,
pale-faced man could have beaten us for
the legislature any time.
We had respect for him almost
amounting to awe. One night, coming
fIem our office, we were nearly oppo-
site Jack Bowman's, who was lying
crushed and dying. The door was aiar,
anG the light from a tallow dip was
softly thrown on the bed and forms. At
the bedside, kneeling with face uplift-
ed, and wearing an expression we could
not understand, was Mr.. May. Through
the misty years it comes to us, and we
see it with the reverence we saw it then.
Some pictures impress themselves SO
deeply they are never forgotten, no
matter what trials may rasp the mind.
Mr.. Mey was successful.
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