The Daily state journal. [volume] (Alexandria, Va.) 1868-1874, 1874-02-21

Sandy Gulch You as don't stop here
pit breakfast We had determined to
stop here. and had kept this spot in view
as an objective point during several hun
dred miles OF stage journey. There is
something wearisome in six days contin-
ual stage riding-it becomes slightly mo.
notonous in twenty-four hours; cramped
up in corner, unable to lie down or get
good stretch, is trial to the patience Of
the ordinary American.
We cannot present an active.looking pic
ture Of our fellow travellers to your mind
they were all too stiff and sore, and we
might say out 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 wakeful one
to pinch the man driving you mad with his
delicious snores. Twas time when our
nerves, detached and shaken up, and our
very brains sloshing around, we heard the
welcome sound Sandy GulchW
Not beautiful name, nor, as we poked
our heads ont of the coach window, did it
look to be particularly charming. Two
hundred or more miners 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 messy
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" oil 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 noun
tains and deposited near the mouth of the
tiulch, 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, aud
Boss Myers was something to Sandy
Gulch. They were heavy operators, and
the owners of the ponderous machines
that were up the Gulch battering away at
the silver ore. Even the bar-keeper 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
aud edited several short-lived daiies be-
fore. we were prepared to meet any fate
like philosophers.
There was one passenger We pitied in
his lonelincss-not more than four and
twenty slender, delicate, whose face and
form indicated the intellectual man strip
ped Of his proper attributes-who shrank
from the rude oaths and boisterous merri-
ment of his fellow travellers, and who
seemed as untitled for their society as
would an angel. We say we felt sorry
for him-such sorrow as we sometimes
feel for inexperienced fellow travellers, on
LIES journey. 1t was whispered about
that he was missionary. This opinion
became fixed when it was found, after
repeated trials, that he would not drink,
nor had he been known to swear during
the entire trip-something truly wonder
ful. His place in the coach had been so
far removed from Skaggs, Jones & Co.
that, much as we desired to make his ac-
qnalntance, no opportunity was offered.
He, too, got out ct Sandy Gulch. and
the greasy register bore the name of Rev.
Milton May.
We learned that he had but just graiu-
ated from one of our leading 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 increase this num-
Der; and during the second week climbed
sluice-boxes, jumped bitches, waded the
creek again and again, in pursuit of
little working parties 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
agony the approach 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
"Sick Dick" who was dealing faro, to
come to the services at 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 in
i1uence OF one man have ON community :?
OF course the latter thought was entire
ly 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 be-
ginning to feel something of the delights of
independent Journalism. The territorial
printing was ours, and we fondly looked
forward to the postmastership of Sandy
Gulch. But there was always more or
less Jealousy on our part for the Rev.
Milton May. He seemed to have made
himself immensely 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 amount
ing to awe. One night, coming from our
Office. we were nearly opposite Jack Bow
mans, who was lying crushed and dying.
The door was ajar, and light from a tai
low dip was softly thrown on the bed and
forms. At the bedside, kneeling with face
upliited. and wearing an expression we
could not understand, was Mr.. Nav,
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 mat
ter what trials may rasp the mind.
Mr.. May was successful.
So much so that it was determined to
start school. Think of it, school at
Sandy Gulch. Well, do yoa suppose that
they did not q want school at the princi-
pal town of the territory? We're there no