NEVADA LEGENDS

A Midnight Adventure in Nevada

Major Ben C. Truman in 1881

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For a long time "Baldy Greene " was the favorite stage-driver upon the overland route between Virginia City and Austin, Nevada. This remarkable specimen of a modern Jehu was a thoroughbred in every particular. He was called Baldy on account of his caput, which was singularly bare, and he rejoiced in the name. He once drove Ben Holladay from Virginia City to Austin, 185 miles, in nineteen hours. He let himself out some seventeen or eighteen years ago upon Mr. Colfax and party, and upon one occasion drove them forty-five miles in three hours and a half. As a judge of the ambrosial decoction known as punch, Baldy was a success.

The son of Nimshi never found himself in greater ecstasies of glory than has Baldy upon a fine spring morning, with his six-horse team of grays, and a gang of good fellows to draw, and a start from Virginia City promptly on time. 

Stagecoach in 1899.

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At the bottom of the deep cañons the gurgling stream meanders its rocky bed 'twixt mingled light and shade. The spectacle in the woods, where from tree to tree run girandoles of icicles -- sparkling gems of winter's casket -- beggars description. Their branches look like the arms of a constellated luster, and by moonlight transmit a wilderness of dancing colors from the faucets of their prisms. Every shadow seems sentient, reaching out as if with instinct to touch the margin of the moonlight's silver line. There is something impressive in the silence of the night. All nature sinks to rest the moon, madonna of her sweet repose, sails off the coast of night, and all is still save when the wood, swayed by the timid breeze, seems whispering back in plaintive answer to the bubbling stream.

I shall never forget the beautiful sunset upon this particular evening. In the dim distance were the grand old Sierra Nevada mountains, lifting their imperishable snow-capped heads to the kissing heavens, which were brilliantly beaming through dissolving clusters of kaleidoscopic clouds. The great orb was just dipping behind their summits, upon which the glittering objects of ice and snow seemed like silver fantoccini. The thin, gauzy clouds assumed the most exquisite changes of shapes and colors. First they looked like a vast arc of liquid fire, and then broke into ragged and fantastic transformations with thrice the colors of the rainbow. The slanting rays of the great planet streaked everything with the glitter of gold; fragmentary sections of fleecy clouds darted off in a thousand infinitesimal directions, diffused with misty blue, and purple- edged, and floated off into the thin darkness which was spreading its network of night. The picture below was not without its effect. Seemingly at the base of the detached ranges, and dotting the landscape wherever the eye might wander, were the sinks of the Carson and the Humboldt, looking like miniature lakes of burnished silver as they twinkled in the rays of the parting sun.

I have often been struck with the strange and unexpected characters to be met with while traveling over these long stage routes upon the Pacific Coast. At a well-known station, called Big Meadows, at which place we arrived about ten o'clock, I encountered one of the pleasantest adventures of my life. Anxious to stretch my legs, and enjoy a near approach to a sparkling fire which sent its light through the chinks of the cabin, inviting the weary traveler to its comforting influence, I entered the premises and seated myself upon a stool near the hearth. Glancing at the interior, I discovered a table near, covered well with books. Opening one, I found Caesar's Commentaries. Surprised to find such a book in such a place, so far removed from academic shades, I hastily turned to the fly leaf, and found there, in a neat running hand, the name of the owner. Looking further at the collection, I discovered the works of the immortal Shakespeare, the Life of Franklin, Milton's Paradise Lost, and a copy of Tom Moore; and last, but first in importance, a Bible! It at once occurred to me that these books had been left by some weary pilgrim desirous of lessening his burdens in his Occidental wanderings; and I was beginning to speculate upon his history, when the hostler, who was quite a youth, entered and announced that the stage was nearly ready. Resolved upon the penetration of this delightful mystery this treasure in the wilds of the great interior desert I asked the young man who was the owner of the books. He modestly said "They belong to me;" and in reply to my rapid questions, he informed me that he was a graduate of a college in Indiana; that, seeking his fortune, he had come to the far West, met disappointment, as thousands had before him; and that, nothing better offering, and determined to earn his own living and to keep his misfortunes from the ears of his parents, he had accepted the humble place of hostler to the stage line. He was cheerful, hopeful; and the keen glance of his gray eyes, the eloquent compression of his finely chiseled lips, gave all the assurance that success with him was only a matter of time.

What a charming lesson for the curled darlings of languishing ease, raised and existing in luxury and idleness, without a thought beyond the glittering fashions and follies of the day. Here was manhood, stern courage, calm determination to conquer fate and a destiny a future full of moment to society, and of renown for its possessor. It will not surprise me to meet this boy hereafter in an exalted position. Of such stern stuff are most of our great men made; and from such humble positions have risen many of the noted men of the Pacific Coast.

But to the adventure of the night: As I have remarked above, there were nine of us; seven inside, and two with the driver. Upon the front seat was a Frenchman, named Lamoreux, and Ashley, Ex-Member of Congress from Nevada. On the middle seat were two army officers and a German. The back seat was occupied by myself and a man named Siebler, one of the discoverers of the Belmont mines, the largest of which had just been sold to a New York company for a million of dollars, Horace H. Day and others having been the purchasers. Like Comstock, who once owned the great lode which perpetuates his name, and which has yielded hundreds of millions of dollars, Siebler, was a poor prospector, and parted with his share of the claim for less than a song. The discovery of this section, ninety miles from Austin, was made by four men -- Siebler, Billman, Straight and Smith -- in October, 1865. Immediately, the four persons named above located their claims, according to law, and subsequently took possession of what is now known as the Highbridge lode. Shortly after, Siebler sold out his claim to his companions for $200 in currency; and in a few months thereafter, Smith, Billman and Straight sold out their entire interest to the Combination Company for $40,000. Prior to this transfer, Straight, who was the deputy recorder at the time, attempted to defraud his companions and get the whole interest into his own hands. He therefore destroyed the records establishing the true ownership, and in some other book recorded the claim as belonging entirely to himself. The forgery was so apparent that Straight was immediately arrested and taken to Austin. Here, he confessed the deed he had committed, and was allowed to escape the law, and subsequently received $10,000 as his share of the pay. Mortified at the discovery of the base attempt on his part to commit a stupendous swindle, Straight shortly afterward departed for the East, and has not since been heard of. Smith and Billman also went East to spend their money. Siebler, who sold out for $200, snored soundly by my side. Once he essayed a song, and might have kept up his dismal serenade, possibly for some minutes, had I not hit upon the novel method of falling heavily against him at the first chuck-hole, which jammed all of his infernal melody out of him, and closed him up for several hours.

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