St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1892-01-29


| dared 10 oppose him or be so blunt as
he. He neither drank nor smoked, but
he could swear until everything looked
blue. he was a gentle husband and
rather, but everybody and everything
else had to get out of his way. He could
hold, direct, start and stop his team by
his voice. i have sat on the seat with
| him when he had a six-horse team on
| the canter, when he would shout,
| "Downp' and the whole team would
come into a trot, and then he would say.
loudly, Way down. now" and every an
imai would come to a dead stop. Again
when his team would be approaching a
nice long level stretch between his inn
and Calistoga he would shout, Shake
| 'em up, nowW and every horse would
break into run which 1 thought it i'm
possible 10 check. But ne could check
| them without touching the brake or
refining them up in less than half min
ute. Still, he was generally considered
an unsafe driver, aud his business fell
OIL so largely few years be fore his
death that he had to send for his son
| Charlie, who was driving over the
Yosemite road at the time.
Charlie Foss has no superior in the
world, probably, in his line. He grew
up as driver among the coast mount
ern California and Arizona, and grad
uated in the Sierra. He is nearly as
tall as his father, being more than six
feet. but only weighs 100 pounds He
is temperate in everything and one of
the gentlest and most polite fellows |
have ever known. He drives from the
geysers to Fossyille and return-thirty-
five miles-every day of his life, and
never had an accident or a
breakdown. There is no prettier
grade in America and the entire drive
is picturesque and beautiful. l have
sat alongside of Charlie as he drove
down the last grade into that Plutonian
Paradise, at speed of ten miles an
hour where the curves were so short
that many time could not see the
leaders. He never stops at an in, or
watering place that he does not min
utelv examine the harness and the
brakes and other parts of the wagon.
When he takes his seat he always asks:
Are you all ready, ladies and gentle
men," or, ''Is everybody readY?"
He invariably halts at the summit,
where may be seen a landscape that
has few SuperiOrS. Mountains, valleys.
orchards and villas may be seen for 100
miles when the atmosphere is clear and
rare. Pines, redWoodS, cakes, laurel.
stand up behind the lush grasses and
herbs that embroider the enchanting
way, and here ana there are silver
streamletS that go gurgling away down
to the sparkling PaciTic, which may be
seen at intervals sixty miles away; and
all is enlivened by the notes of birds,
and the scamper of game, and the inef-
fable fragrance of aromatic tree, and
bush, and flower.
Short, stout, jolly Billy Hamilton is
known as one of the oldest and best
drivers upon the Pacific coast, and
man who has owned stage lines in many
parts of Oregon, Nevada and California.
He could handle the ribbons" with
any of them for thirty years, and CON-
menced staging in the Sierras in 1850.
For many years he owned the lines from
ColfaX to Grass Valley, from Los An
geleS to Bakersfield, from Mohave to
independence, and many others. Billy
was fond of his "tod'' when not driving,
For twenty-five years he made
more money than he knew what to do.
with, land he literally threw it away upon
cards and small bottles of wine. He
was generous to fault. and has loaned
more $50 gold pieces in mis- life than you
could put in bushel measure. l have
ridden with Billy in the Sierra, through
range, and considered him one of the
most delightful whips in the world. He
weighs 1870 pounds and is sixty years
old now, and, although he has struck
bed rock pretty closely number of
times, he has often been helped out by
Leland Stanford and Charley Crocker,
who never went back on any one who
had done them service, and now owns
a pretty ranch i'll Kern county, Califor-
mia. where he resides when he is not at
the Palace hotel. in San Francisco,
playing 'cinch" for half-bottles of extra
dry Mumm.
MERGED. Cal, in 1851, was a well-knoWn
Yosemite driver fifteen years ago, but
had driven at times from Portland,
Ore. to Tuscon, Ariz. [ came down
from the valley with him once. when
the only other passengers were two
women from Los Angeles, and two
children and an Eastern clergyman.
Jim was accounted a good driver, but.
upon the occasion referred to, there was
something the matter with the nigh
wheel horse Che was driving only
four horses) which he attempt
ed IN vain vain to discover. The
for about mile, when at last it COM
legs, and finally broke in the dash
board. At this the whole team started
on the run and Jim put down the brake
as far as he could and yanked the team
with all his might, but to no purpose.
His hat flew off and we went like wind
The horses all kicked and ran, and saw
he was getting worn out and scared:
and, although [ believed l could have
helped him if be would have permitted
me. and the two women were
my wife and sister and their
children, l knew the peculiarities of
these fellows and would not offer my
assistance. and merely said to those in
side in answer to their questions: 1.-The
team is running away, but don't jumpp'
Ut course, as we happened to be on a
smooth, wide piece Of road, and
where there were no big rocks or
trees. felt that the team would run it
self tired, and that the stage would
not be turned over if the harness and
brake held and it did not leave the
grade. After the team had ruu four
miles Jim turned and handed me the
ines over the wheelers, saying, DO your
best. old man, for l. m about gone up"
At this juncture the harness was get
ting shakY, and two of the traces had
given away, but the undergear and the
and we struck a stretch of deep sand
and at last brought up the team within
few hundred yards of swing sta
ton, which we managed to reach in bad
condition. Jim was limp with fatigue,
so much so that he could not
swear properly. We all drew long
breaths, although none inside realized
the closeness of the call. In few days
afterward l arrived in San Francisco
and published a description of Jim's
heroic action in the Bulletin. and sent
HIM nice hat and a box of cigars by
Wells, Fargo & Co.'s express.
Hill Beechey, who died at the age of
sixty, twelve years ago, at Elko, New,
was crack driver away back in the
sos, and was known all over the Pacific
coast. He was short and stout and
weighed 200 pounds. He owned good
many stage lines in California, Nevada,
Oregon and Idaho, and died quite rich.