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 An Irresistible
and Irrepressible Pioneer -
The pioneers of
Nevada were in many
respects, all alike, in this at least they all merited fame and fortune
for the risk they took; the majority of them are still nearer alike, in
another respect, and that is, that the most of them missed both. Still,
there is not one, yet alive, but enjoys a sweet morsel of satisfaction in
the fact of being one of the venturesome band who aided in exploring the
arid wastes, that yielded so many millions of treasure at a time when it
was so badly needed. Many who made the most, have gone to the grave with
the least, and among them, none perhaps had more flattering prospects than
David E. Buel, whose mining operations were principally confined to the
eastern part of the State.
It is not the intention here to repeat his
history, but merely to refer to a few incidents in his
Nevada
career, to show the irrepressible nature of the man. In disposing
of mining properties, he made many trips to the eastern states, at a time
when the ride was all by stage as far as Omaha; and he also made a number
of trips to Europe, and in nearly all cases he was successful. On one of
his eastern trips, after he had started on the road to a
dividend paying property, he told a Gazette reporter, while he was packing
an old well worn sole-leather trunk, as he closed and sat down upon it to
fasten the straps, that it had journeyed with him eight times across the
Atlantic, and altogether had traveled 96,000 miles with him on his various
journeys. He was a rustling, energetic man, never satisfied without more
irons in the fire at once than he could watch, and irresistible in his
purpose to accomplish whatever he aimed at. This trait of character was
well illustrated on his first visit to
London
and Paris. He was an utter stranger to Europe and traveled without a
companion and to make his immense stature, of 6 feet, 4 inches, still more
conspicuous he wore a very long skirted overcoat made of a yellow blanket,
and ornamented with silver buttons of very large size, on each of which
was engraved his monogram. With a pair of number twelve boots, and a
number six hat which he frequently called attention to, he was an object
to attract attention even in the remote mining camps of
Nevada, and when
alone in a crowd in a London fog, or strolling along the boulevards of
Paris, he received more attention than if his head had borne a crown.
During his first visit to Paris, attired in the above manner, he learned
of a grand review of troops to be held for the Emperor and inquiring where
it could best be seen, Buel started for as he termed it, the Imperial
circus. Arriving on the ground he found the crowd so great, that no near
view could be had, unless some point of vantage could be secured. A little
observation disclosed in the middle of the review grounds, a small park,
enclosed with a low iron picket, and what interested Buel most, it was not
occupied. Fearing he would be too late, he asked no questions and pressing
through the crowd, before the troops appeared, he strided across the
parade ground, with his blanket overcoat and silver buttons glittering
like a regalia, making for his chosen point of vantage. As soon as the
crowd discovered his object, they set up a cry of "Vive la American," and
cheered vociferously. When Buel reached the little part he did not stop to
look for a gate, for he was in haste and expected it to be filled in short
order by the crowd, so he stretched his long legs over the fence and, as
he said, made the first location, and turned to watch the scene. He was
all alone, and much to his surprise none were following him, and he was
just congratulating himself on the march he had stolen when he was
notified by the cheering of the crowd of the appearance of the Emperor and
his staff richly mounted and with gorgeous trappings riding directly
toward him. Buel stood, very much interested, taking in the good points of
the horses and riders, when they halted and the emperor raised his hat and
smiled at him. Buel was too much interested to discern what it meant until
an Aide-de-Camp rode forward toward him, saluted and spoke in French
words, which Buel knew not the meaning of; but with sturdy western
independence Buel said, "Spit it out young fellow, I don't know what you
are saying." With this the Aide told him in choice English that he was
occupying the Emperor's private review stand and they were waiting for him
to vacate. Buel said that he wasn't long in doing so either, and was well
satisfied with the distinguished consideration bestowed upon him in a bow
from the Emperor.
Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, February 24, 1891
 Last Words And Wishes -
"Let us cross over the river and rest under the trees," the last words of
the rebel general, expresses a pathetic wistfulness for the final rest we
all must take. But the resignation indicated in the words belong only to
the old and weary, and not to those of youthful grit like the one who
taught Gyp, the rook of Burnaby Rudge, to croak defiance in the words
"never say die." Of the latter class were most of the pioneers on this
coast, as pioneers usually are in all countries, for they embrace the
rugged and strong, who illustrated Darwin's theory of the survival of the
fittest, for the weak ones fall by the wayside ere the goal is reached.
These reflections lead to a recall of the last words of a few of our
pioneers, who with perfect resignation, signaled the grim ferryman when
assured that they must cross the dark river. The ruling passion strong in
death has been illustrated oft and again by the dying sport, when his last
request has been to "pull off his boots." The retention of this faculty to
the last moment cannot be assigned wholly to braggadocio, and whatever it
may be attributed to, it is unnecessary to conjecture, for illustrations
are plentiful that it does exist. Every pioneer can recall some instance
where last words have been impressive, and no matter how rugged they were
expressed, carried with them a gentle pathos and marked the character of
the man.
Joggles Wright was one of the happy-go-lucky mining operators of the early
days, who was always at home where ever night overtook him, and always
ready for fun, no matter how pressing work was. He liked a toddy, but was
never quarrelsome. On his death bed in
Virginia
City
some friends standing
at his bedside were looking sad, when Joggles gave a last look of
recognition and said, "Don't look so solemn boys; the doctors have got a
corner on me, but let's take a drink." Ready hands held his head to the
glass, which he sipped, and settling back was dead.
Red
Frank Wheeler during the latter years of his life never drank anything but
brandy, and his last words were "Boys let's take a night cap," and expired
as they laid his head on the pillow.
Patsey Duffy, the prize fighter, received his death wound from a pistol
shot. It occurred in Hamilton, and as he doubled over and fell to the
floor his last words were, "My goose is cooked." The boys picked him up,
laid him on a table and pulled off his boots as life fluttered away.
But
why multiply the illustrations, when they all point to the ruling passion
and generally mark the leading characteristic of the man.
Article in the Reno Evening Gazette, March 12, 1891
Continued Next Page
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