The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1874-01-22
MISS GREY, OF SANDY GULCH.

MISS GREY, OF SANDY GuLCH
"Sandy Gulch! You as don't stol
here git breakfast" We had determin
ed to stop here, and had kept this spo
in view as an objective point during sew
eral hundred miles of stage lourneying
There is something wearisome in sil
days continual stage riding-become'
slightly monotonous in twenty.foul
hours cramped up ia 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 travellers to youl
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 general desire was felt
by each Gakeful one to pinch the man
driving you mad with his delicious
snores. Twas at time when our
nerves, detached and shaken up, and
our very brains sloshing around, we
heard the welcome sound, "Sandy
Gul h"
Not 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 fnr 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,
washed by the heavy rains from the
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-
erators and the owners of the ponder
Ous machines that wara mp th' Gulch
battering away at the silver ore. Even
the bar-kceper shook hands with all
and said, "What, is it Skaggsy !" But
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 pitied in
his loncliness-not more than four and
twenty, slender, and delicate, whose
face and form indicated the intellec-
tual man stripped of his grosser attri-
butes-wlo shrank from the rude oaths
and bOisterous merriment of his fellow
for their society as would an angel. We
say we felt sorry for him-such sorrow
as we sometimes feel for inexperienced
travellers on life's journey. 1t
was whispered about that he was mis-
sionary. This opinion became fixed
when it was found. after repeated tri-
$, 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 SAaggs, 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 "Gulchers," 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 tho
workers. The lonely, weary man, lying
on his bunk, his frame racked with pain,
and seeing in feverish fancy the APP
proach 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 "Slicb 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 tho quiet.
pdle-faced man could have beaten US for
the Legislature any time.
We had respect for him almost
amounting to awe. One night, coming
from our office, we were nearly oppo-
site Jack Bowman's. who was living
crushed and dying. The door was aiar.
ana the light from a tallow dip was
softly thrown on the bed and forms. At
the bedside, kneeling with face uplift-
cl and wearing an expression we could
40 understand, was Mr.. May. Through
tuo mTsfy years it comes TO us, and we
see il with the reverence we saw it then.
Some pictures impress themselves 50