The semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1882-1886, 1883-04-11
THE ARqONAUrS.

| 4a2 A1tG1ONAOIS.
Their Departure and Their Return
Those Who Never Cana
AS the winter "48" waned the
companies, one after another, set sail
J for the land of gold. The Sunday
preceding they listened to farewell
sermons at the church. I recollect
seeing score or two of young Argo-
nauts thus preached to, writes Prem
tice Mulford in the San Francisco
Chronicle. They were admonished
from the pulpit to behave temperate
~, virtuously, wisely and piously.
How seriously they listened. How
soberly We're their narrow-brimmed,
neutrality-suspicious. little plug hats
of that period piled one on top of the
other in front of them. How glist-
ened their hair with the village bar
ber's hair oil. How pronounced the
creak of their tight boots as they
marched up the aisle. How brilliant
the hue of their neckties. How pa
tiently and resignedly they listened
to the sad discourse of the minister,
knowing it would be the last they
would hear for many months. How
eager the glances they cast up to the
church choir, where sat the girls they
were to marry on their return. How
| few returned. How few married the
girl of that periods choice. How 1t
| tie weighed the words of the minis
ter, a year afterward, in the hurry
| scurry of San Francisco life of '49 and
| 80.
What an inn ocent, unsophisticated,
inexperienced lot were those forty
odd young Argonauts who sat in
those peWs. Not one of them then
could bake his own bread, turn flap
jack, reseat his trousers or wash his
shirt. Not one of them had dug
even a post hole. All had a vague
sort of impression that California
was a nut shell of a country, and
that they would see each other there
frequently and eventually all return
home at or about the same time.
How little they realized that one was
to go to the northern and one to the
southern mines, and one to remain
in San Francisco, and the three nev-
er to meet again!
What glittering gold mines existed
in. their brains, even during the
preaching Of that sermon. Holes
where the gold was thrown out by
the shovelful, from which an occa-
sional bowlder or pebble was picked
out and flung away.
The young Argonaut-church be-
ing dismissed-took his little stiff,
shiny plug and went home to his last |
Sundays tea. Aud that Sunday |
night, On seeing her home from
church, for the last time, he was
allowed to sit up with her almost as
long as he pleased. The light glim-
mered long from the old homestead !
front parlor window. The cold north |
wind roared among the leaflass syca-
mores, and clashed the branches to-
gether. It was sad, sad picture.
The old sofa they sat upon would be
sat upon by them no more for years.
For years? Forever in many cases.
To-day, old and gray, gaunt and
bent, somewhere in the gu!ches, ''up
North," somewhere hidden away in
all obscure mining camp of the Tuol-
umne, Stanislaus or MokalGmne, up
III Cariboo, or down in Arizona, still
he reco!lects that night as dream.
And she? Oh, she dried her eyes
and married the stay-at-holne five
years after. A girl can't wait forever.
And, besides, bad reports, after
time resched home about him. He
drank. He gambled. He found fair
friends among the senoritas, and,
worse than all, he made no fortune.
Sometimes on visiting my native
village [ stand before one Of those
old-fashioned houses from whose
front door thirty-four years ago there
went forth for the last time the
young Argonaut on his way to the
ship. There is more than one such
house in the village. The door is
double. the knocker is still upon it,
the window panes are small, the
front gate is the same, and up to the
door the small stones lie upon the
walk. But within are all strangers.
The father and mother are past anx-
ious inquiry OF their sons.
The sisters are married and live or
have died elsewhere. A new gener-
alton is all about. They never heard
of him. The great event of that pc
riod, the sailing of that ship for Cali
fornia is sometimes recalled by a few
"a few rapidly diminishing. His
name is all but forgotten. Some of
him have dim remembrance. In
his time he was an important young
man in the village. He set the fash
ion in collars and the newest style of
plugs. Oh, fame, how f1eeting!
What is generation? A puff. A
few old maids recollect him. What
u pity, what a shame that we do all
fade as leaf!
What sad place; what a living
grave is this for him to return to!
Where would he find the most famil-
lar names? In the cemetery. Who
would he feel most like: Like "Rip
Van Wrinkle" Who are these
bright and blooming lasses passing
by: Theyare her grown up children
she with whom he sat up that last
Sunday night in the old fashioned
sofa. Where is she: That is she,
that stout, middle aged woman across
the street. Is she thinking Of him:
No; she is thinking whether there
shall be cabbage Or turnips for din
ner. Who is that codgery looking
man going up the street? That is
the man she didn't wait for and mar
ried. Should the Argonaut return
home if he could? No. Let him
stay where he is and dream on of
her as she was, bright, gay, lively,
blooming and possibly romantic.
The dream is solid happiness conf
pared with the reality. Let him at
twilight sit in his cabin door, on De-
lirium Tremens bar, and dream on
while the sun gilds the foothill sum-
mits. If he cannot so dream soberly,
let him get bottle of corn whisky
and dream on that. Better even that
than the hard. cold, damp, gray
reality. What is the end of it all?
Bones! Bones!! Bones!!!
M74 week made at home by the indus
OH rrious. Best business now before