Once in a blue moon while looking for bottles we stumble across unique items. A pottery plate, a child's doll ~ possibilities are endless. All are evidence of those hearty souls who came this way before us. Some of these items are badly worn ~ some are held close to the bottle god's heart free of defect. The below items came from a gold rush dump in Old Sacramento. Items important enough to have made the journey down the Atlantic Seaboard, South around Cape Horn & North to San Francisco. The trip's last leg inland to Sacramento where these few items fell into an abyss that would over the next hundred years become a time vault.
Lucky me. A little research & a lot of labor brought these few items to light.
First, a scribe's case ~ finely made of brass. It has a low profile ~ low to sit firmly on a ensigns desk....no matter how rough the seas ~ the rolling of the ship would not turn it over. The handle is hollow to hold a quill pen ~ the ink reservoir is sealed by a contrived lid that covers both the ink & pen. Traces of ink still stain the ink pot. With a little loving care this item was rescued & is as good as the day it was made.
And then there were the tools of the trade ~ a shovel or a gun. Sure there were a million other ways to make a living in 1850's California , but they all revolved around the quest for gold. The milliner making a velvet dress for the lady of the night who traded services for the miner's gold. The farrier's labors over the forge pounding out shoes for horses to pull a wagon to the mines in Hangtown. It all comes back to oro.
Below are two tools of trade that found their way into this gold rush site. Both items badly worn, but painstakingly preserved with diligence & care. A Pepperbox pistol, three chambers containing ball & a Colt revolver.
In my minds eye, the scene went something like this : Darkness had fallen ~ two men stumble out of a bar seemingly intoxicated. One man's hat pulled low to conceal his identity. He'd been watching the other win big at the black jack table all night. A short walk from the saloon's front door he quietly whispered his intentions “Sir may I relieve you of that pouch of gold nuggets?†Only slightly intoxicated the other man utters the reply “ Colt trumps derringerâ€. A shot rings out into the night as he draws his weapon from beneath his jacket. Only a fool would leave the bar alone without his hand already on his weapon.
~ not only these items, but a fifty gallon barrel filled with mining crucibles never to make the Sierra mines ~ graduated sets of six packed in straw. They would be sorely missed at the furnaces of the Sixteen To One Mine and yet here they lay in the bottom of this gold rush dump. Again ~lucky me.
Lucky me. A little research & a lot of labor brought these few items to light.
First, a scribe's case ~ finely made of brass. It has a low profile ~ low to sit firmly on a ensigns desk....no matter how rough the seas ~ the rolling of the ship would not turn it over. The handle is hollow to hold a quill pen ~ the ink reservoir is sealed by a contrived lid that covers both the ink & pen. Traces of ink still stain the ink pot. With a little loving care this item was rescued & is as good as the day it was made.
And then there were the tools of the trade ~ a shovel or a gun. Sure there were a million other ways to make a living in 1850's California , but they all revolved around the quest for gold. The milliner making a velvet dress for the lady of the night who traded services for the miner's gold. The farrier's labors over the forge pounding out shoes for horses to pull a wagon to the mines in Hangtown. It all comes back to oro.
Below are two tools of trade that found their way into this gold rush site. Both items badly worn, but painstakingly preserved with diligence & care. A Pepperbox pistol, three chambers containing ball & a Colt revolver.
In my minds eye, the scene went something like this : Darkness had fallen ~ two men stumble out of a bar seemingly intoxicated. One man's hat pulled low to conceal his identity. He'd been watching the other win big at the black jack table all night. A short walk from the saloon's front door he quietly whispered his intentions “Sir may I relieve you of that pouch of gold nuggets?†Only slightly intoxicated the other man utters the reply “ Colt trumps derringerâ€. A shot rings out into the night as he draws his weapon from beneath his jacket. Only a fool would leave the bar alone without his hand already on his weapon.
~ not only these items, but a fifty gallon barrel filled with mining crucibles never to make the Sierra mines ~ graduated sets of six packed in straw. They would be sorely missed at the furnaces of the Sixteen To One Mine and yet here they lay in the bottom of this gold rush dump. Again ~lucky me.
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