The record-union., 1895-03-01
OLD-TIME PIPERS.
They Were Great Men in the Hy.
draulic Mines.
How the Social and Other Features of
the Old-Time Mining Camps
Have Changed.

fool dead YETI"
Once upon a time I had a friend, an
honest sort of fellow, who, whenever he
met me, after one of my long absences,
would rush up to me, his face ablaze
with astonishment. and exclaim: Halle!
You no dead yit ?"
And that is why suppose, the read
ers of the RECoRD-UNIoN will be pain
fully amazed. They have been for
long time fondly thinking that some
where on the face of the earth, or in the
bottom of the deep sea, or high up in the
air that surrounds the earth, my bones
had found restlng-place. But it is not
so. L am still here, laundering along
through the hills and valleys of Bohe-
mianism, wishing / were dude or
butterfly, or an elephant, so that could
make living in peace and do some good
In the world. am still at French Corral.
Several years ago L described French
Corral quite accurately in this paper, and
shall not go into details concer ming the
place again, but shall content myself with
few bling remarks and then pass on
TO more important topics. French Corral
has changed greatly since the organiza-
ton of the Anti-Debris Association. The
air no longer quiyers with the roar of
HyuAdu4Ic BlauLs auu Vo1leys OF e&plou-
Ing dynamite, which once tetotally
drowned the low, sad, plaintive PUNK of
the dogood bird and the dolorous howl of
bucollc JOY as the jaeger homeward
Jagged his weary way. The glorious old
days of prosperity have petered out, the
giants are stored away to be eaten by rust,
and the pipers have either died, left the
country or taken positions of lesser mag
nitude.
When the hydraulic mines were in full
blast the piper was an exalted man.
Like the veteran stage drivers of the
hank Monkian period, he was looked
mp to and respected moro than little.
How some OF the younger men envied
him as he stood by the great monitor,
with his hand on the dehector, directing
the stream aga inst the bank, now throw
ing 1t high up, now pulling it down with
a slap that sent the chunks and powders
flying into cuts in a cloud of spray, or
moving it rapidly from side to side,
knocking back cave and ripping things
up generally. You could tell the old
pipers by their actions. They never
crowded the sluices, but kept just enough
dirt running into them to carry Oft"
| easily, while the new hands would jerk
the stream this way and that way, and
| were half the time ''poking' it into the
cuts to start clog.
When the piper sat down at noon to eat
his lunch he monopolized the conversa-
ton. The other men just threw in a few
| remarks to show that they knew what he
said was truth, and were thankful for the
privilege of being allowed to talk to him.
And when they met him down town in
the evening II was the same. When he
| talked and told the most outrageous lies
| the other men gaZed at him admiringly,
laughed boisterously at his jok es, "Oh"- ed
in sympathy and never refused a drink
at 10 q ha II irolZ ,;tH
the piper, habitualIy with him, as it
were, was thing some of the boys would
not have missed for worlds. The boss
himself was not so admired and envied
and exalted-he was generally hated.
But. as 1 remarked before, those days
have passed. There are no more old
hands going and new hands coming, &C
cidents and funerals and jam borees galore
In the old days society at French Corral
was divided. There was an upper crust
then and lower crust and the mixed
up, shifting population that formed the
meat between the crusts. There was the
tony gang and the Tar Flat gang, antago-
nIstic sections of the upper crust, con-
stantly at war and keeping things lively.
They aided and abetted the social events
and promulgated scandals and "regu-
lated'' the parties and balls and picnics.
and made it their business to see that
romantic affair.
But the tony gang and the Tar Flat
gang have ganged away from their old
time stamping grounds. The social pie
OF to-day is mostly all crust, with mighty
little meat between. There is a whist
club which meets, on Thursday nights,
when prizes and BOBBY prizes are
awarded, large quantities OF cold and
clammy cakes are devoured, and gallons
OF strong, hot coffee are i'm bibed and that
is all. The old, merry I-don't-care ex-
preston of the bygoue years have been
replaced by that hopeless, bilious air
that makes countless millions mourn.
Once upon time French Corral man.
who had abode with his wife tor years
and years, had little quarrel with her,
and he straightway took up his bed and
went out OF the house and made it again
under tree, and swore with a violent
swear that he would never sleep in the
house where his wife was again. And
his wife smole a fendish smile, and
locked the doors and fastened the win
dows, so that burglars might not break
IN and steal her, and went to bed and
dreamed sweetly.
And it came to pass that the nights
waXed cold and shivery, and the man
under the tree began to murmur and
utter complalnlngs, and rheumatic sYmp-
toms began TO sprout in his bones, so
that he was driven in his extremity to
knock on the door and ask his wife to
take him in and not let him die.
But his wife refused. She spake through
the keyhole. calmly and dispassionately
and said that whereas he had made him
self bed under a tree he should lie in il,
etc. And he went back and froZe until
morning and spent the day thinking up
scheme, and he remem bered that his
wife was very much afraid of fire. And
" hen in the silent watchas of tho
his obdurate wife lay sweetly snoozing,
he hammered loudly on the door of his
house, and raised up his voice and cried
Fire! Fire! Get up, Mary! Fire
FIRE!! FIRE!!! For Gods sake, Mary,
get up! The house is atire! ofre
AFIREn
And Mary got up and screamed, and
the neghbors got up and screamed, and
the dogs barked, and some body rang the
bell on the schoolhouse, and others
dragged out their blankets and feather
beds and pitched their mirrors and pic
lures into the street, and then Mary
opened the door and asked: "Where is il?
O, where is it? " But the old man lust
rushed into the house and hoped into
the warm bed and snuggled down COM
fortably, and said he'd be darned if he
knew where it was; they could hunt for
it. And unto this day there are people
here who look upon that man with sus-
picion.
Why is it that the newspaper artists,
the photographers and other people who
paint and sketch and engrave, have never
yet been able to faithfully portray Cali
fornia miner? They invariably depict
him as great hairy giant, with stiff
brimmed sombrero, a flaming red shirt
breaches stuffed into boots as straight
and stiff and shiny as new marble
shaft, and with halt dozen slx-shooters
projecting from his person.