The DIGGINS- The Way it Was

About the Book

These are the exciting times in California history, chock full of the great adventure. However, they have been fictionalized because we can not separate fact from fiction, but they remain wonderful stories. We began our adventure in modern times but quickly regress to the good old days. In the days of old, in the days of gold, in the gold old days of '49.

In the Mother Lode region of California, during and following the Gold Rush Days of 1848, through the early 1900s, there grew up a class of entertainers such as the world is not apt to see again. They were:

Herein our storyteller relates the history of the gold diggins, along the width and breadth of the Southern Mother Lode. The Diggins, both north and south were, at times, easy pickins as they were bizarrely rich É even rich beyond belief.

Also, they were fraught with failures, failures that were ripe with death, starvation, disease and crime, all of which came with those few incredibly rich Bonanzas, where a miner only a few feet away dug no pay dirt and went hungry. These are the stories of those Bonanza Kings, who frolicked in the wilderness, drank moonshine whiskey while betting fortunes in raw gold on the turn of a single card. And those Bummers, next door, who literally starved to death because of their pride. They held "louse races" and ate simple fare, like fried black cat and heavenly sourdough bread.

We are told by our "Old Time Tour-Guide," much that is wonderful, laughable and tragic about life in the gold diggins of the southern mines. He relates some stories that may have been, as "Mark Twain" so amply put it "over fertilized" and hard to believe. But that was real life during the California Gold Rush, where not much could be overstated. These are their stories. Stories of the "would-be" incredibly rich gold miners, who came rushing in from around the globe and stayed on to found California's' golden dream. Obeying only their own laws, they deliriously rushed from shout to shout, draw to the gold like a pack of wild dogs gathering to honor a bitch in heat. In the end, this swarm of adventurers settled down and founded their own brand of "Law & Order," naming it "Miners Law," which was dispensed with a liberal amount of hemp, and they called this occasional marshaling of forces "Diggins Justice."

Since there were few jails, "Justice" had to be quick, therefore stretching hemp was not always reserved for capitol cases. In fact, it was the most common sentence handed down in the wide open diggins. Their reasoning was, there were never any repeats after a hanging. Among other punishments were flogging, nose splitting, ear trimming, cheek branding and banishment. Because this polyglot of wanna-be's came from every quarter of the globe, and every ethnic background, they had to learn the language of the diggins and learn anew about life, -a life so different in a gold rush.

The diggins was a place where whiskey ran like water and was the main source of early day entertainment. In the absence of "Ladies" the miners held "Stag dances" and enjoyed them until the prostitutes arrived and gave a whole new meaning to "Fandango." There was tragic love... thwarted by the hangman's noose. Twisted love for diamonds and gold. A battle for lost souls in a sea of iniquity, where the preachers, preached for their share of the gold, condemning those to hell, who refused to give. It was a love of life coupled with a burning desire for yellow gold and in the end -they all went "Rushing" over the horizon, answering the next shout of: GOLD! GOLD!! GOLD!!!

Comments on The DIGGINS

Well Hemingway of the Sierras, I've been reading your book and am having a lot of fun with it. I want you to know that I'm not looking for punctuation, or sentence structure, or style, I'm simply enjoying it for the content.

Graphics-wise, it's really a very striking presentation. The pages virtually jump out at the reader. I though it was distracting at first, and indeed it was, but soon discovered that was primarily because I've never seen another like it. As far as appearance is concerned, it's definitely in it's own category and an appealing one at that.

As far as the content is concerned, well let's say that it's an interesting, often humorous, sometimes tragic example of true American literature. Tall tales and facts mingle tantalizingly in an atmosphere of dusty streets, rushing rivers, fervent hopes and unmitigated disasters. There's gold and greed and grubb, all tempered with a little whiskey now and then, I'm sure.

After seeing the layout and design, I know now why it was driving you nuts. It's an amazing enterprise and after a few fits and starts, you pulled it off! I admire your tenacity.

One other thing: It was kind of neat to see the finished product after seeing some of the graphics and layout in the rough drafts you gave me. You know, if you're not careful, you're going to inspire me to get off my ass and do MY thing!

Good work, Sourdough. Keep doing it and don't let a churlish old curmudgeon like me keep you from putting your commas and quotation marks wherever the hell you want.

Thank for sharing this work with me.
Terry

About the Author

Peter J. Evans (Sourdough) is a gold mining sourdough writer, and photographer, who enjoys working in the exciting times of California's gold rush past. His long love affair with gold mining and sourdough cooking began at Mam-maw's, (his grand-mother) knee. Peter was born in Oklahoma during the great depression, and like many depression kids of the "Dirty Thirties", Peter spent time at his grandparents farm, while both parents held things together by working any job they could find in the big cities.

Mam-ma, a college graduate, and Peters main teacher, related to him her gold mining experiences on her claim on Cherry Creek, near Denver, and how Uncle Jonathan Cox, the adventurer, worked the gold in far off places like California, Colorado, Montana, Utah and Alaska.

Grand-Dad Cox, a teacher of sorts, a professional gambler and "Moonshiner," taught Peter how to deal stud poker, smoke "Cheroots" roll his own "Bull Durham" and chew tobacco, as they made "White Whiskey" up the holler,- the old fashion way- illicitly. Those were happy carefree days for Peter, few rules, no school, no shoes, hot lazy summer days with the cool shaded water of Green Leaf Creek to skinny dip in. There was squirrel and rabbit stew, or fried fish "al La Catch 'em first" and all the biggest fish worms he could gather, as he followed behind Grand-Dad and his mules, as he plow and planted his "White Corn," the very corn he was presumed to have made the Oklahoma moon-rise and shine with. Peter never knew the tragedy of those hard times, as he always thought this place to be paradise.

It was not until the family moved to New Mexico, did he become aware of the cornbread, bean and biscuit hard times of those depression years. Peter went to school in Albuquerque and when, at the age of twelve, he began working on a ranch close by Taos. He tending the chuck wagon water bucket and camp fife, and for a while, made some pretty bad sourdough biscuits in a Dutch-oven. He cooked beans in a "Bean Hole" and made cowboy coffee, black as sin, strong as death, and sweetened with a touch of moonshine, from the main "Biscuit Shooters" crock jug. He rode fence, punching cows at round-up, branded calves and gave poker lessons in the bunk house on pay days. As a cowboy, and a good biscuit and bean cook, his experiences stood him in good stead when he volunteered in 52.

Navy life was good after the ranch. Plenty of grub and well cooked, but things didn't change much for Peter, as he became a ships baker and cook, rounding up three meals a day for two hundred fifty men. Peter has written five "Cook books.". His latest effort, The Diggins covers the rush from 1848 to 1859.