The Old Stage Drivers - Page 2

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But when the Comstock was discovered, stages and stage drivers reached perfection. The coaches were beautiful, the horses magnificent, covered with ivory rings, tassels on their head stalls, and trappings generally as splendid as could be invented. There were two rival lines: the California Stage Company's line from Dutch Flat via Donner Lake to Virginia City and Wells Fargo & Company's pioneer line from Placerville via Genoa and Carson City to Virginia City. The drivers were the finest that could be found. Among these were John Burnett, whose sobriquet was "Sage Brush;" Wm. Gephardt, "Curly Bill;" Charlie Livermore, and others.

"Sage Brush" was a wonder with the reins. He was driving for Jack Gilmer in Nebraska and Dakota when in a quarrel one night he killed or desperately wounded a man. The difficulty was fixed up some way, but he thought best to leave that region, and finally reached Sacramento. He was a small man and was much travel worn, but he walked into the stage office then in charge of Grant Israel and asked if he needed a stage driver.

Stagecoaches meeting along the trail by

Frances Benjamin Johnston, 1903.

This image available for photographic prints and

 downloads HERE!

Virginia City, Nevada, 1866.

The officer made an insulting reply, whereupon "Curly Bill" reached in, took him by the collar and hauled him out, bringing the door of the coach with him. The officer was appalled by the terrible strength of the driver, appalled and sobered. He apologized to "Curly Bill" and to the lady, and for the rest of the journey was "childlike and bland."

The teams driven in and out of Virginia City were marvels, but when the climbing of the Sierras began, less valuable horses were used. One day at Hunter's Station on the Truckee, Spaulding, superintendent of the road, asked "Curly Bill" if he would not for a few days exchange his team going west from there for that of "Sage Brush." At this "Curly Bill" demurred, saying that he had taken pains with his team, that they traveled together like clock work, and he did not want to give them up. Then Spaulding said: "But that team of Sage Brush's are big half-breeds, wild as Zebras and a bit vicious withal, and 'Sage Brush' is afraid that some day when he has a big load of passengers on the grade something will happen and he will have a spill."
 

"Oh, that is different !" said Bill. "Give me the right-of-way and I will try them." The next day the passengers were seated in the coach and Bill was on the box when the "devils" were brought out. It required two men to each horse to hook them to the stage, then the reins were passed to Bill, and he nodded to let them go. They all sprang into a run, over the bridge they flew and up the road for a mile, when Bill said to a man beside him: "I wonder if they are real game." With that he gathered the reins, touched his foot to the brake, and all six went up into the air as though they had struck a stone wall. "Why, they're dunghills," said Bill, and, taking his whip, he lashed them for a mile, then threw them up into the air again, and thus lashed them and hauled them up by turns all the way to Crystal Peak. They went into Crystal Peak in a sickly lope. They were all afoam and trembling almost in a collapse of exhaustion.

"Sage Brush" had crowded Bill's team to the utmost, and reached the Peak a few minutes later.

Bill, pointing to the panting, trembling horses, said: "They are broke, Sage Brush." And Sage Brush replied: "They look it."

When the railroad superseded the stage, "Curly Bill" established a livery stable in Virginia City and later removed it to San Francisco, where he died last year.

"Sage Brush" drifted to White Pine and then back to Austin. There one night he ran upon his own sister in a questionable place, went to his room and shot himself dead.

Charlie Livermore drove out and into Virginia City on the Placerville route.

At the beginning of this paper I made reference to Big John Littlefield. After losing his situation in California, he went to Virginia City and his friend, Deland, who had the Eclipse mine, gave him a fine six-horse team and wagon and set him to hauling quartz. But he got full, let the team get away from him and smash the wagon. Livermore told me that one morning he was driving his coach up the steep grade through Gold Hill. He had his pet six-horse chestnut team with all their trappings on, a full load, inside and out, of passengers, ladies and gentlemen, and he believed he had the finest team and coach in the world. Then he caught sight of Big John -- who had driven the Troy coach and eight horses between Marysville and Sacramento -- driving a donkey not much bigger than a jack rabbit on a whim close beside the road. Livermore said: "I was foolish enough to call to him and say, 'Why, John, what are you doing there?' when, in a voice like a fog horn John shouted back, 'I am trying to see to how d----d fine a point I can reduce this stage-driving business'."

Littlefield went north and died, I believe, in Oregon many years ago.

After the collapse of staging in Nevada, Livermore went to Arizona to drive on a line there. He had nothing left but one ivory ring such as are used where the reins cross between a team.

His first drive was in the night, and his only instructions were to follow the road. He was given four mules as wild as deer. It took several men to hitch them up; when they started it was on a run. A jolt put out all the lights. After a few minutes the coach stopped and the leaders disappeared in the darkness, the lead reins being pulled through Charley's hands. His first word was "Keno !'

Someone trying to find water had sunk a great shaft fifty feet deep, the lead mules had run directly into this shaft. As they fell the goose neck of the wagon pole broke, leaving the wheelers and coach on the brink. Asked what he thought, Livermore said: ''I knew in a minute that my ivory ring was gone forever."

When Big Jake gave up staging he went to Virginia City and opened a bank, not a national bank, but one of King Faro's, and became wealthy. Each year when the snow was deep and the sleighing good, it was his custom to hire a four or six horse team and sleigh with double bob-runners, fill the sleigh with robes and children and give the children the ride of their lives.

They are all gone. I do not know one of the old band that is left.

The world will never see their like again unless somewhere in the Cordilleras or Andes another Comstock may be found, beyond the reach of railroads, where steep grades will have to be climbed and descended and sharp curves rounded and commerce will have to return to old methods.

As it is, the old race have all passed away as did that driver in Sacramento, who, when dying, whispered: "It's a down grade and I can't reach the brake."

Added March, 2008

About the Author:

Charles Carroll Goodwin was a Nevada Judge, journalist, and newspaper editor who had an active interest in Nevada mining. During his lifetime he authored numerous newspaper articles, short stories, poetry, and several books including As I Remember Them, in 1913. Old Stage Drivers is a chapter of that publication.

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