The Trail of Gold and Silver

by Duane A. Smith

  Among those who had left that “city” were Horace and Augusta Tabor, who had joined the rush to Buckskin Joe during its 1862 boom and operated a store and mined there until the decline accelerated. They returned to California Gulch in 1868 and joined the other 250 or so residents who tried hard to revive interest in the area.

  Some Oro City folk traveled to Denver to tell the capital city newspapers about their fair land. They continually sent letters to various papers, some honest in evaluating local conditions, others eternally hopeful. Placer mining was “dull,” no matter what the year, in the “pitted and scarred” gulch. However, “many lode mines are being worked,” with the Printer Boy “paying handsomely” (1871). When a smelter was established at nearby Malta, an arrastra and a stamp mill fell into disuse, serving only to remind visitors of an earlier epoch.

  Oro City #1 was “as dead as Sodom,” and the miners who “remain have settled down for life.” Wrote one correspondent, “its prosperity, like that of other mining towns about, is on the wane, and a single mine is at present its main support.” In a similar vein, another writer said, “I think this county the richest in latent mineral wealth, and the most isolated and inaccessible region now known.” In 1876, a local wrote in the Engineering and Mining Journal that probably “none in the Territory struggled against greater disadvantages.” The “numberless rich discoveries remain unworked simply because there is no ore market,” and, as usual, there was a “want of capital to be employed in the mines.”

  Despite the general inattention, a few optimists—or at least hucksters—always existed. They admitted that not much was seen about Oro City in the newspapers, notwithstanding “it is the liveliest town in the territory. Our little city ‘Oro’ will soon be a rival for Denver.” Another hopeful writer, conceding that 1875 had been a bad year, still predicted that the “very dullest time of the year precedes the most active.” He went on to forecast that there would be a “large number of visitors” coming, and it was hoped “some men with capital” who “would take it into their heads to embrace some of the many splendid opportunities for mining speculation this country abundantly offers.”6

  There was nothing unusual in all this. A handful of Colorado mining districts and camps, some even in worse shape than Oro City and its mines, could have written similar letters. However, an interesting undercurrent kept surfacing in the Oro City missives. Silver was being found. Henry Wood, the territorial assayer at Oro, recorded silver entries in his assay book on several occasions in 1873 and 1874. The highest had 160 ounces to the ton, but the vast majority ranged between 2 and 22 ounces. The national Engineering and Mining Journal, in December 1876, claimed that about $30,000 worth of silver had been mined that year. Also, mid-decade reports noted the discovery of large amounts of lead, and silver-lead ores were quite common in Colorado.7

  All this harked back to an item that appeared in the Rocky Mountain News on October 10, 1860, about a “silver lode mania” in California Gulch. Locals must have known and speculated about how much silver there might be, but what could they do? They simply did not have the resources to develop those tantalizing possibilities.

  Complex silver ore required a smelter. In fact, the need for a smelter to refine silver ores appeared in the News as early as 1872 (a silver lode with “remarkably rich” prospects spurred the idea) and again in 1873. Reaching the ore required underground mining, which took still more money, and Oro City did not currently figure in mining investors’ visions of prosperity. No bonanza deposits had been found, which might have attracted both men with money and those with smelting knowledge. Transportation into the area was not particularly good, and skilled miners and mining engineers remained in short supply locally. At the end of 1876, there were also other Colorado districts that showed a great deal more promise.

  Nevertheless, prospecting started early the next year, and soon reports of rich new discoveries swiftly spread throughout Colorado. On a snowy day in April, the Gallagher brothers (Charles, Patrick, and John), who had worked their Camp Bird Mine in Leadville’s Stray Horse Gulch during the winter, hauled ore to the Malta smelter on sleds and received more than $3,000 for their efforts. A long letter that appeared in the Rocky Mountain News on April 11, 1877, undoubtedly whetted readers’ interest. The Camp Bird Mine, the article stated, was “the largest and best discovery of the year, a carbonate deposit, almost unlimited, going from 60 to 3,000 ounces per ton.” In neighboring Evans Gulch, a “pay streak averaging $300 per ton” had been struck.

  That was enough. Investors started coming, including Governor John Routt, who purchased the Morning Star Mine and worked it when the legislature was not in session. While prospectors roamed around the surrounding hills beyond Oro City, staking claims and sinking shafts, they received two more bits of good news. A sampling works opened in April, and a month later the St. Louis Refining and Smelting Company began construction of a smelter which, by October, had opened a blast furnace. With improved weather that summer, reports of new strikes and mines flew down the mountains to the plains. Frank Fossett, in his 1879 Colorado: Its Gold and Silver Mines, described those days:

  In the fall of 1877 several hundred men were in the district—most of them prospecting or sinking prospecting shafts, but the amount of mining done was considerable. The ore shipments were steadily increasing in volume, and a vast amount of low grade mineral was mined for which no market was afforded. It was becoming more and more evident that the mineral wealth of California district was of immense extent. Mines were being developed on every hand.8

  As interest grew and people began drifting in, a community, soon to be named Leadville, took root in the valley below to provide for the needs of both mines and miners. Among those arriving were the Tabors, from over in Oro City, who started the camp’s second store in July. As fall became winter, excitement mounted about the rich discoveries already made, the nearby smelter that was ready to work the ore, and the camp that had been established to provide the refinements of “civilization.” These Coloradans saw good times coming, and a silver cry echoed in the wind whirling around the mountains and across the foothills.

  Despite the winter snow and cold, people continued to arrive. Then, as the spring of 1878 blossomed, Leadville and its mines became overnight sensations, their fame spreading far and wide. Words such as “roaring,” “magic city,” “fast place,” “glorious camp,” and “marvel” described it for visitors and readers alike. Seemingly endless numbers of people just kept coming. The population count grew from a few hundred in 1877 to an 1880 census tally of 14,820. (Some Leadville boosters stoutly maintained that the 1880 total had been undercounted by four or five thousand.) Colorado had never seen the likes of that before, nor would it again. Almost overnight, Leadville shot from camp status to Colorado’s second most populous town, and some daydreamed about its becoming the state capital.

  Rich strikes seemed to be occurring almost daily in that amazing, wonderful year of 1878. George Fryer staked the New Discovery on April 5, on the hill soon to be named for him. Fryer Hill proved to be the final exclamation point. As Fossett declared, “it had given Leadville its grand preeminence over any other section in the world at the present time.” Lacking funds to develop the claim, Fryer sold his majority share to Jerome Chaffee for $50,000. Investors with money nearly fell over each other, as they arrived in record numbers.

  It was not Fryer, however, but Leadville’s first mayor, Horace Tabor, who brought fame and fortune to himself, Leadville, and Colorado and became a living legend. For years, he had been grubstaking prospectors for a share of what they discovered, without noticeable success. Finally, fortune smiled when he grubstaked George Hook and August Rische, two unpromising, inexperienced prospectors, on or about April 20. They went up to Fryer Hill, staked a claim they called the Little Pittsburg, dug down twenty-six or so feet, and hit an extremely rich vein of carbonate ore. The Little Pittsburg paid Tabor $51,000 in the first month; then $1,000,000 when he sold his share to the Little Pittsburg Co
nsolidated Mining Company in May 1879.

  Tabor’s fame spread, and he, Chaffee, and Denver banker and mining investor David Moffat hosted a party of Eastern capitalists, some of whom owned stock in the company, to come and sample the wonders of Leadville and its mines that same month. The Rocky Mountain News was beside itself with joy: “Their high position cannot but be of advantage to our mining interest when they return and it will be a great help in placing other stocks on the New York market” (May 27, 1879).

  Even the conservative Engineering and Mining Journal caught Leadville fever and got carried away by the grand excitement. Should the visit by these “prominent citizens,” who “are very able experts and sagacious businessmen,” pronounce a “favorable judgment upon the mines, the stock of this company will secure a popularity unequaled by any in this country” (May 24, 1879). They did and it did.

  The Little Pittsburg had paid from the “grass roots,” and Tabor soon added the Chrysolite and Matchless mines to his collection, the three richest mines on Fryer Hill. Thus was the Tabor legend born. Suddenly, almost overnight, Tabor became the symbol of Colorado mining and its bonanza possibilities, epitomizing what mining could do for the individual. Like many of his wealthy mining contemporaries, Tabor entered politics and soon was elected lieutenant governor. Unlike many, however, he poured his wealth back into a variety of ventures across Colorado, where mining profits often flowed out of the state.

  Tabor’s were not the only mines that captured the public imagination in those tumultuous, wonderful years of 1878, 1879, and early 1880. The Little Chief alone produced more than a million dollars’ worth in 1879. The Carbonate Mine, the richest 1877 discovery, startled observers with its ore mined the next year, running 662 ounces of silver to the ton. The Glass-Pendery yielded more than 200 ounces of silver to the ton, plus iron ore. John Routt’s Morning Star Mine made him a wealthy man, earning $290,000 in 1879 alone. The Robert E. Lee, discovered in 1879 and “the latest wonder of this wonderful district,” yielded more than $495,000 in its first three months, a “bonanza of surpassing richness.” It then produced $118,500 in twenty-four hours in January 1880. Sadly, in so doing, the owners ruined the mine by gutting the ore reserves, a fact the astonished American public learned only much later.

  The frenzy was not about just silver. Gold was found in some of the mines, and the lead percentage ran high in most of the properties, which carried a value besides its market price as a flux for smelting. Though everyone had silver on the brain, 1879 Leadville included $90,000 in gold and $1.7 million in lead.

  Many mines sold for six figures, and some incorporated for millions. Even though most members of the general public could not afford to own and operate a mine, they could purchase Leadville mining stock. Both the Chrysolite and the Little Pittsburg, for example, were incorporated and their stocks placed on the market. The Little Pittsburg paid seven straight monthly dividends of $100,000 in 1879, as the price of the stock jumped from $20 to $35. When the Chrysolite declared three monthly dividends of $200,000 each, or a monthly dividend of $1 per share, its stock jumped from $13 to $40. Either through dividends, or buying low and selling high, investors seemed to have found the royal road to wealth.

  That was Leadville in its heyday of 1879. Leadville’s mines and smelters were some of the best equipped and most modern in the country. The latest mining equipment was being used, mining engineers arrived by the score to gain Leadville experience, skilled miners found employment everywhere, and investors lined up nearly begging for the opportunity to invest in these mining stocks.

  The riches were real, but investors, both foreign and American, ran a significant risk in buying western mining stocks. Among countless other possibilities, they could fall victim to watered stock, insider trading, outright dishonesty, overenthusiasm, and their own ignorance or greed. The variety of potential disasters was limited only by the investors themselves and the people they dealt with. Long odds faced them, as they sent their money to Colorado and expected that wealth would return. Nevertheless, dazzling Leadville appeared to be the perfect place to gather a fortune—to “get rich without working.” Ready and willing promoters, trying to sell stock, awaited investors there to relieve them of their money before it became burdensome. Some, like the infamous George D. Roberts, misled the public time after time. Roberts parlayed that old saying about a “sucker born every minute” into a trail of broken dreams and broken mines throughout several western states.

  Meanwhile, the depression days of the earlier 1870s disappeared in an instant and recollections of the gloomy 1860s seemed to be only yesterday’s bad dream. Colorado had been waiting for these good times since 1859. The year 1879 surpassed even those fondly remembered days. Leadville was the talk of the nation. “Nay,” some said, it was the talk of the world.

  For the first time in its history, Colorado mining produced millionaires. In the earlier years, some people made money, even into the several hundreds of thousands range, but Leadville broke the barrier. Horace Tabor, David Moffat, James Grant, Jerome Chaffee, and a few others took bows on the state’s financial, political, and social scene, reflecting their good fortunes. As Mark Twain witnessed with Nevada’s Comstock, “There were nabobs in those days—in the ‘flush times’ I mean. Every rich strike in the mines created one or two.” Leadville created a score or more.

  Leadville was the American dream come to life. Frank Fossett caught this in his revised 1880 edition of Colorado: Its Gold and Silver Mines:

  Numerous instances can be related of men who came to the camp poor, and in a few months retired with a fortune. Others stay to win additional wealth, and have been almost universally successful, for money in this place, combined with experience and good judgment, has worked wonders.9

  Mere words written on dry pages hardly do justice to the feel, the spirit, the never-ending silver atmosphere of those days. However, there was one person on the site who came as near as anyone to capturing that spirit. Few people successfully pictured Leadville at its exciting, dazzling peak when, as Mary Hallock Foote wrote, “All roads lead to Leadville.” The perspicacious, genteel Foote portrayed the fevered times in insightful letters to friends back East as she tried to convey something to them that they had never experienced and probably would never completely comprehend. She captured the essence and spirit of a mining rush and a booming town at a unique moment in time, one seldom repeated on the scale of Leadville.

  With silver virtually gushing from its mines, as miners dug deep into the surrounding hills, Leadville corralled the nation’s attention, along with that of Foote’s mining engineer husband, Arthur. Everything seemed possible and even probable, as each new day brought exciting possibilities even for this refined Victorian lady, who did not fit in with the crowds hustling along Chestnut Street and Harrison Avenue. Few of her neighbors had any misgivings about Leadville and its astounding mines. In a series of 1879 letters, Foote described what she saw about her, although her husband shielded her from some of the more sordid aspects of a town and time where the hand of society’s restraints rested only lightly:

  And all roads lead to Leadville. Everybody was going there! Our fellow citizens as we saw them from the road were more picturesque than pleasing. I was absorbed by this curious exhibition of humanity all along the 70 miles long journey (May 18, 1879).

  I suppose every body here secretly wonders when they first come if there are any people here nice enough for them to associate with and are greatly surprised to find themselves by no means exceptional (May 28, 1879).

  I met Mr. Litchfield, one of the characteristic types of this place. He is a man of good family and education and prospects as an engineer. He gave it all up because he can’t make money fast enough. He is here prospecting, living in a log cabin, has a partner, cooks his own meals, wearing a dark flannel shirt and concealing the gentleman as much as a gentleman can be concealed by such lendings[?] (May 28, 1879).

  [home after a dance] Arthur looked after his pistol. People have been req
uested to hold up their hands even in this reasonably well governed town (May 28, 1879).

  Every woman in Leadville who has a house and a husband is expected to be hospitable to the limit of her room and chairs for there are a great many young men too nice to care for the dark strata of Leadville society who have no where to spend their evenings. In return, they are the most loyal and untiring of friends and helpers (July 8, 1879).

  The saddest thing about life here are the number of letters that come to us from people who made a shipwreck elsewhere and look to this place as a last chance—they are so sure when they get here life will be prosperous. It is so apparently heartless to tell them that this is no place for single women or unsuccessful men however delicately one may try to state the uncompromising truth (September 8, 1879).

  The ride over the range seemed to jolt the crust off people. Affectation is almost impossible or at all events quite unnecessary where we all begin at the root of society again and build on a solid base. There is no concealing what you are in a place like this (November [undated] 1879).

  We are surrounded by people who were good spirits. Young married people reunited after long separations. A few young ladies who are pleased by being in such extravagant demand. Young men making money rapidly or building houses for their wives. A great deal of nonsense and enthusiasm which could easily have been pricked but no one cared to trouble himself about his neighbor’s illusions, while convinced he had none himself. Each man thought his mine was sure to pay or if he hadn’t struck it he felt quite positive he would (November 1879).

  The next year, in June, she wrote about the vicissitudes of mining: “Mines are invariably uncertain property. Don’t you invest any of your money in mines. The only way in which I consider them safe is furnishing careers to resident employees and managers.” Then she added, “this is treason from a manager’s wife.” Looking back over her 1879 and 1880 experiences, Foote made an observation that caught the essence of mining’s impact on so many people: “The men out here seem such boys, to me—irrespective of age!”10