Bonanza Gold!

"The mines of Arizona, varied and numberless, are no doubt the sources of the future wealth of the Territory... These mines, especially those of the precious metals...are of wonderful extent and richness, and are destined at no distant day to astonish the world by the immensity of their product."

Hiram C. Hodge 1877: Arizona As It Was

Bonanza Gold A Saga of Arizona's Gilded Age

Hope springs nowhere more eternal than in the heart of the goldseeker . . . ancient or modern. His passionate desire for the yellow metal is timeless and free of all restraints. In each era, on each continent, the saga of his search for gold consistently provides the substance which makes history more interesting than fiction.

Big, black, brazen Estévan was Arizona's first gold-seeker. He was dispatched by Antonio de Mendoza, viceroy of Mexico, to act as escort and guide for an ill-fated expedition in 1539, in search of the fabled Seven Cities of Cibola. Estévan and most of his followers died at the hands of the Zunis.

Later, Francisco Vasquez Coronado, in the field more than two-and-one-half years (1540-42), reached the Zuni pueblos and conquered them, nearly losing his life in the struggle. The vicStory was bittersweet. The golden streets were merely dust.

Ironically, Coronado's course had taken him over some of the world's greatest mineral wealth, but he could not see it. He was looking for ready-mined gold which could easily be carried back to Mexico.

Forty years passed before Don Antonio de Espejo, a successful miner in the Zacatecas area of central Mexico, organized and funded his own expedition. He discovered rich silver somewhere south of the San Francisco Peaks, but realized the impossibility of mining ore in such a remote location.

In 1598, Captain Marcos Farfan, a member of the Don Juan Oñate party exploring New Mexico, was sent to rediscover the mineralization reported by Espejo.

Eighty-seven years later, in 1691, Father Kino entered present-day Arizona. Although he had little interest in mining, his memoirs reported ". . . many good veins and mineral lands bearing gold and silver . . ."

There is evidence of some mining activity during the missionary period in Arizona. Historians disagree on the amount and significance of it, however. According to Hiram C. Hodge, 1877: Arizona As It Was, "Mines of gold and silver were known to exist in what is now Arizona two years or more since, and some successful workings were carried on by the old Jesuit priests, who first explored the Territory, and who employed Mexican and Indian laborers."

Only sporadic mining took place after Mexican Independence in 1810. But after the Gadsden Purchase in 1854 American interests in the area developed rapidly.

Arizona's first gold rush occurred at Gila City, 18 miles east of Yuma. Within three years of its discovery in 1858, more than 1000 miners were each making from $30 to $125 per day. (These figures, as are all the others in this article, are based on the gold values of the period being discussed.) The recorded gold production at Gila City (now a ghost) reached $2 million.

Of the time, an early traveler wrote: "There was everything in Gila City within a few months but a church and a jail.. ." Describing early mining towns, he continued: ". . . they opened up with a saloon to supply the necessities of life and later added a grocery store and a Chinese restaurant for the luxuries."

With the coming of the American Civil War, exploration and mining activity in the Southwest was severely curtailed. And when federal troops were withdrawn, Apaches and Mexican renegades had a free-for-all, murdering the miners left to fend for themselves. Others like Charles D. Poston were able to make good their escape.

Of his own departure from the mining camp at Tubac during this time, Poston wrote in his book Building a

State in Apacheland: "It was sad to leave the country, that had cost so much money and blood, in ruins, but it seemed to be inevitable. The plant of the company at this time, in machinery, materials, terials, tools, provi-sions, animals, wagons, etc., amounted to considerably over a million dollars, but the greatest blow was the destruc-tion of our hopes-not so much of mak-ing money as of making a country...."

While Poston and others made haste to move out, some daring prospectors continued their quest for gold in Arizona during the 1861-65 period. One such group was the J. R. Walker party.

Hardened to Apache terror tactics, the party prospected on the "Haviamp," later known as the Hassayampa River, near today's Prescott. They found placer gold and established the Pioneer Mining District in 1863. By mutual consent, the miners established boundaries and agreed on rules for governing the area. Their production was meager, and their interest shifted to Lynx Creek. There Sam C. Miller had shot a lynx, and gave the creek its name. Miller's first panful of gravel yielded $4.80 in gold. Recorded production on the Lynx is $2 million, making it the most productive stream in Arizona.

The Walker District was organized, and later the town of Walker was established. Other less fruitful explorations were made to Agua Fria, Big Bug, Turkey, and Granite creeks, all named by the party. The miners worked in pairs-one digging while the other held a cocked rifle.Early prospecting stories frequently credit finding rich mineralization with the search for lost animals. Pauline Weaver, A. H. Peeples, and Jack Swill-ing claim that was the case with the richest placer find in the state and one of the strangest discoveries ever made in mining, according to old-timers. On a mesa 28 miles north of Wickenburg, the trio found coarse gold. First called the Weaver Diggin's and later Rich Hill, the deposit yielded between $500,000 and $1,000,000 from one acre of ground.

Here the nugget gold was found in crevices and pockets, Hodge reported, and to some extent on smooth, bare rock. It was worn smooth like that found in rivers, and gulches, and was removed with hunting knives. "How the gold came upon the mountain's summit in such quantities, smooth and water-worn, is a query which has puzzled most old miners...."

In 1863, Henry Wickenburg located the Vulture Mine. He made one prospecting trip into the area alone in 1862, and on returning to La Paz, Arizona, learned that the Peeples-Weaver party had just departed. Following them, he joined the jubilant miners too late to share in the Rich Hill discovery. On his own again, he found the rich crop-pings southwest of the present city of Wickenburg.

While most mines were located by tedious search, Wickenburg's discovery was said to be the result of his throwing a rock at a vulture nibbling on his lunch. He missed. The rock split open and....

Ore from the Vulture Mine had to be packed 12 miles by burro to the Hassayampa River, where arrastras, primitive ore grinders, could be built. Wickenburg eventually sold his ore in place in the mine for $15 per ton. Purchasers had to mine, transport, and mill the ore for whatever they could get out of it. Because the mine was not developed systematically, the high-grade ore soon played out. Later Wickenburg sold a four-fifths interest in the Vulture to Benjamin Phelps for $85,000. Phelps built a 20-stamp mill at Wickenburg, later increasing it to 40 stamps. The Vulture's production during the first six years of operation was reliably estimated at $2,500,000. In the second six, it was approximately $1,850,000. Eventually, an 80-stamp mill at the Vulture Mine, using water pumped via pipeline from the Hassayampa, made it profitable to process large quantities of lower-grade ore, which included the walls of mine buildings made of dump rock. Operations during this period (1879-88) yielded another $2 million.

In the last decade of the 19th cen-tury, two separate factors contributedto increased gold production. A major depression in 1893 caused a decline in silver and copper prices, which resulted in the increased value of gold. The success of the Vulture, Congress, and other mines of the period were known to investors in the East, where it was generally thought that rich deposits would yield immediate rewards. A minor gold rush ensued.

to increased gold production. A major depression in 1893 caused a decline in silver and copper prices, which resulted in the increased value of gold. The success of the Vulture, Congress, and other mines of the period were known to investors in the East, where it was generally thought that rich deposits would yield immediate rewards. A minor gold rush ensued.

Improved technology provided the second stimulus to increased gold production. The cyanide process for extraction of gold and silver from ore was introduced at the Congress mine, making it profitable to rework old tailings.

Success was clouded by tragedy, however. Heavy rains filled to capacity a dam below Walnut Grove on the Hassayampa River, and rapidly melting snow caused it to burst. Seventy persons lost their lives in the raging flood.

Any history of the yellow metal in the Southwest, particularly during the mid to late 19th century, would be sadly lacking if it did not pay its respects to the men who dug up the gold, who risked life and limb for $3 a day, dropping down into the inky blackness of the earth, to shiver in the cold and damp, and rot their lungs with rock dust.

To say their work was risky is an understatement. Aside from bodily harm caused by climbing about deep in the ground with very little light, with no protection from killing gasses or haphazard construction, no safety programs, and no medical support systems of any kind, the hardrock miner of the past also was subject to instantaneous zapping from dynamite misfire.

A properly drilled and detonated round would break out about 32 tons of ore and advance the tunnel about three feet, depending, of course, on the nature of the ground and the mood of the mining gods. After two rounds, again depending on the ground, it was usually necessary to extend the timber set, and, if the ground was loose, to nail and bolt up the lagging.

But it didn't always happen quite so simply. Sharp rock often cut the Bickford fuse, causing holes to misfire. Then it was always possible for the rock to carry an unexploded charge under the muck pile with the fuse still smoldering, to explode when the crew returned to the face on the next shift.

In blasting with dynamite, the detonator is placed in the second charge from the hole face. If the rock shattered wrong, the next driller might drill right into the lifter charge that had failed to explode. This was called "drilling into a miss," and the term was used for any situation caused by neglect.

After the round had been shot down, the muckers began loading the ore and taking it to the hoist shaft for lifting "to the grass," as the miners called ground level.

These were the hardrock miners, men of Cornwall and Glasgow; boomers, roughnecks of no particular parentage, who wandered the West on the rails of the early trains; Italians and Germans, Mexicans and Greeks, Indians and Slavs.

They were very much a breed unto themselves, distinctive even down to the clothes they wore.

The hard hat, worn while working below ground, was made of felt and had a narrow brim. It was usually worked with resin to make it stiff. And on the front of the brim was a lump of clay to which the miner attached a candle, his only illumination. Beneath the hat he might wear a linen skull cap.

For underclothing, the miner of the mid to late 19th century stuffed himself into a "union suit," woolen underwear with long legs and short arms. When it was hot and humid, the suit was worn unbuttoned and pulled down to the waist.

His pants were "Yorks," heavy trousers that were "shagged" or roughly cut above the ankle to reduce the accumulation of mud. They were someTimes tied with Bickford fuse, black-powder wrapped in braided twine, just below the knee.

Miners also wore a jumper, a heavy denim jacket that reached below the waist. It was worn into the mine and then, most often, hung on a nail at the face of the drift until he was off his shift.

Life was hard above ground in the gold camps too, especially places like Hedges in the Cargo Muchachos, LaPaz, Kofa, and other rough camps scattered helter-skelter throughout the hills of the Southwest. Living places many times were little better than hog pens, and shootings and suicides often were the normal course of events, just as fires and cave-ins below ground.

But there were some diversions, that is other than women, whiskey, and stud poker, which were payday luxuries.

The hardrock miners from Cornwall, called Cousin Jacks, brought with them native dishes they introduced to the camps. Kiddley broth, marinated pilch-ards, fermades, limpets, saffron boons, and figgy hobbin also were served by the so-called restaurants of the camps, usually little more than shacks or tents.

But the staff of life was the "pasty," a meat and vegetable pie with a football-shaped crust. When properly pre-pared, the men called it a "letter from home."

The lunch break down in the hole meant a few moments rest from hard hand labor, but it also provided the perfect time and place for practical jokes, such as removing the pasty from someone's lunch tin and replacing it with "road apples," that is if the mine had mule transportation. And if a friend happened to be caught napping, and he was wearing Yorks held up with Bickford fuse, he was a likely candidate for a gaff which involved lighting the fuse and standing back to wait for the fun to start. Since Bickford fuse was little more than black powder encased in braided twine, the show could be counted on to be a spectacular.

hand labor, but it also provided the perfect time and place for practical jokes, such as removing the pasty from someone's lunch tin and replacing it with "road apples," that is if the mine had mule transportation. And if a friend happened to be caught napping, and he was wearing Yorks held up with Bickford fuse, he was a likely candidate for a gaff which involved lighting the fuse and standing back to wait for the fun to start. Since Bickford fuse was little more than black powder encased in braided twine, the show could be counted on to be a spectacular.

But the most novel diversion for the men in the mines, working 12-hour shifts, was to catch some innocent on the potty car and remove the brakes, sending him careening down toward the derail switch at the hoist station on that level, yelling wildly all the while, as he fought to untangle himself from his pants in time.

Sleeping men also woke to find themselves nailed to planks or stripped bare and run between levels in the cage, forcing the hapless one to hang in the winter's cold and damp or summer's heat, with no way to signal the hoist engineer, until someone rang for the cage.

Early in the 20th century, gold production remained consistent in Arizona while production of copper increased dramatically. Uncle Sam's attempts to stimulate gold production to help pay for World War I failed because of the government's own fixed price of gold - $20.67 per ounce. Many gold mines were forced to close because of increased costs. Cyanide became scarce; the main supplier had been Germany.

Wartime production figures for gold did rise, however, as did the amount of copper produced in Arizona. The former accompanied the latter in a trend which continues today. Where there is copper there is gold. Sadly for the independent miner who plodded and struggled, most often failing but once in awhile striking it rich, copper requires large capital investment, or-ganization, and the latest technology to be mined successfully.

The last surge of gold mining (present activity excluded) began in the 1930s, when lower copper prices stimulated gold production. The government raised the gold price to $25.56 per ounce in 1933 and to $34.95 per ounce in 1934. Arizona's production increased 12 per cent, mainly from placers and small lodes. Similar increases were experienced each year until the government issued its gold mine closing order, L-208, in 1942. Produc-tion figures from 1912 to 1942 show half of the gold production coming from gold mines and placers. The bal-ance as a by-product of the copper mines.

(Following panel, pages 8-9) Oatman in the early 1950s. The area was unique among Arizona's gold-mining centers, prospering into the early 1940s. Today some activity has been reported in the area but no one is talking about it. David Muench Unique among the great gold mining centers of Arizona, during this period, were Goldroad and Oatman, three miles downgrade on Old Route 66, unique because their birth, boom, and bust all took place within the 20th century.

The Goldroad lode, discovered by a Mexican prospector in 1900, was sold only a few months afterward for $50,000. By February, 1903, 150 men were employed in the mine and in building a cyanide plant. After completion of the plant, the work force increased to 300, and gold bullion shipped monthly amounted to $15,000. By 1931, after being sold once again, the gross yield was $7,300,000.

But despite its 30-year record as a money-maker, the Goldroad mine was a low-grade proposition, producing ore throughout its active life averaging only $7.00 per ton.

Today, Goldroad is a ghost, nothing remains but a few low adobe walls slowly returning to the soil.

Three miles downgrade, along the deteriorating blacktop of Old Route 66, is Oatman nee Vivian.

In 1907, Ben Paddock, a half-breed Indian, was said to have been riding along the trail when he noticed free gold sparkling on the ground. He stayed long enough to locate a claim. By 1904, after several resale transactions, the claim became the property of the Vivian Mining Company of Los Angeles.

In a short time, a post office was established, and, in the next three years, the town of Vivian grew to include a dozen stores, two banks, a hotel, and a railroad depot, all due to the considerable gold and silver mined in the area.

The town's name was changed to Oatman in 1909, named after either a prominent local miner or an emigrant girl kidnapped by Indians in 1851.

Between 1908 and 1932, the several mines in the vicinity boomed, The Bluebird producing over $13 million; the United Eastern, $15 million.

Oatman prospered, and by 1934 it had a population approaching 10,000. Its main street, Route 66, was the largest business district in Mohave County.

Then in 1942, on the order of the Federal Government, all working gold mines were closed, including those supporting Oatman. The once bright boom town was at death's door. Then came the final blow. A 46-mile cutoff by-passed the town, and Oatman was dead.

Today, some life has returned to the old town, and some development work seems to be going on at one or two of the old mines, thanks to the increase in the price of gold. But nobody is talking about it.

The latest available gold production figures for Arizona show 90,220-troy ounces mined in 1978, for a value of $17,384,000, representing 9 per cent of the total output of the U.S., and giving the state the rank of fourth in the nation.

Today's gold seeker, it seems, has as much reason to hope as did his counterpart a century ago.