Mining and Miners in Arizona by James Harvey McClintock

Mining and Miners in Arizona - Page 2

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The prospector's outfit was of the simplest, in keeping with his life and taste. There was always a burro, usually one that had had years of experience in the prospecting game, and that never strayed far from the camp, however transient it might be. Wonderful tales are told of these prospecting burros of old; they were fond of bacon rinds, and would always leave the sage brush and cat claw, upon which they were supposed to thrive, to join the prospector in consuming the last of the baking powder biscuits.

The prospector of old was a man sustained by a boundless faith and never-quenched hope. In reality, he was a gambler of the most pronounced type; every hill held for him the chance of a bonanza, and no rocky point was passed without an investigating tap from his hammer; every iron-stained dyke had to be sampled in his gold pan.

Prospector with his burros, photo by Detroit Photographic Co., around

the turn of the century.

This image available for photographic prints and downloads HERE!

Most of the prospectors were overly sanguine; they fairly loaded themselves and their principals down with prospects, on which the annual assessment work would have cost far more than the value of the ground. Many a prospector boasted that he held some 100 claims. To have fulfilled the letter of the mining law, such a number of claims would have necessitated the expenditure of $10,000 in annual assessment work, yet the individual speaking might have assets on which could not have been worth even $10.

All through the hills of Arizona are to be found the monuments left by these prospectors, where they first located and then tested claims that were worthless in nearly every instance. They were looking for sudden riches, and failed to understand the philosophy of the latter-day miner, worked out by hard experience, that mining, after all, is a manufacturing industry, and that the greatest profits are not found in rich pockets of silver and gold, but in the percentage of income over expense that can be gained by the working of large quantities of ore of fairly uniform grade, handled almost mechanically and under the most economical conditions.

The prospector's life was rough, and yet not particularly laborious; he drifted through the hills on trips that were limited only by the quantity of grub he carried or could command. As a rule, he slept out in the open, whatever the weather, and his diet was based unendingly upon bacon and black coffee, with sourdough or baking powder bread on the side. Tobacco, of course, was an absolutely essential feature of his ration. When the trip was up and his locations had been recorded, rarely did the professional prospector ever work upon the mines he had found. If the find proved good, he sold out for some modest

sum, which he often spent quickly. Then, it was back again to the hills with the same old burro, living a life which he would not have exchanged for any other.

A very different type was the miner who did occasional prospecting, usually when he was out of work or when he got tired of the darkness underground and wanted a trip into the hills in communion with the face of Nature, instead of her heart. A man of this sort usually paid his own way and held fast to anything good that he found. Not necessarily of higher type than the professional hunter of mines, he was of more substantial character and in hundreds of instances graduated into the class of mine-owning capitalists and became one of the leading citizens of his locality.

A Blind Miner And His Work in Mohave County

Old prospector.

Mohave County has given the world many instances of rare courage in its pioneer days, but nothing finer than the tale of how a blind miner named Henry Ewing, unaided, sunk a shaft on his Nixie Mine, near Vivian, not far from the present camp of Oatman.

It was in 1904, after Ewing, a gentleman of culture, had lost his eyesight. Despite the warning of friends, he persisted in returning to his mine, where he rigged up leading wires, to assure him a degree of safety and then set up a windlass over his 20 foot hole.

He blasted and dug and hauled the ore buckets to the surface and cared for himself in camp, his worst adventure was an encounter with a rattlesnake and narrow escape from death on the trail. Another experience was falling from a ladder a distance of 30 feet, receiving serious injuries, yet managing to climb out and seek assistance at a nearby mining camp.

Almost as much pluck has been shown by several miners who have developed their claims alone. In the Hualpai Mountains, Frank Hamilton started upon such a work in 1874 and alone sunk two shafts, 100 and 50 feet deep. In the same district, a memorandum has been found of J. L. Doyle, who alone sunk two 65-foot shafts and connected them with a drift. Enoch Kile, a Yavapai County miner, single-handed sunk a 75-foot shaft and doubtless many other such instances could be found.

Written by James Harvey McClintock in 1913, compiled and edited by Kathy Weiser/Legends of America, updated July, 2010.

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Notes and Author: This article is primarily a tale told by James Harvey McClintock between the years of 1913 and 1916, when he published a three volume history of Arizona called Arizona: The Youngest State. However, the article that appears here is far from verbatim. While the story remains essentially the same as originally published, heavy editing has occurred for spelling and grammar corrections, revisions for the modern reader, and updates to this historic tale.

McClintock began his career working at the Salt River Herald (later known as the Arizona Republic). He later earned a teaching certificate, served as Theodore Roosevelt’s right-hand-man in the Rough Riders, and become an Arizona State Representative. He died in California on May 10, 1934 at the age of 70.

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