An Arizona Boom Town: The Draw of Silver after the Civil Wa
A Serial - 19th Century Arizona Journey of Hope
INSTALLMENT 1
A-Tiny-Story-Romance-and-Savagery-in-19th-Century-Southwestern-Arizona
Installment 2: Apache-Land-Travels-and-Surprises
Installment 3:
an-old-time-arizona-silver-mining-pioneer-adventure
Installment 4:
arizona-silver-country
On Their Way
The sunbaked landscape of Arizona stretched out before Jack and Nell as the couple rode into the small settlement of Harshaw. Jack, his face weathered by the journey, squinted against the relentless desert sun. Nell was sitting not so straight on her horse, her Stetson shielding her fair skin from the harsh rays of the sun.
Their excitement was palpable. They had heard tales of Harshaw—a place where dreams could take root, where fortunes could be made. The promise of a new life beckoned them, and their hearts swelled with hope. Jack's calloused hands gripped the reins, guiding the horse along the dusty trail. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for the first glimpse of their new home.
As they approached the settlement, the adobe buildings came into view — humble structures with red-tiled roofs, nestled against the backdrop of rugged mountains. Jack's chest tightened. This was it — their fresh start. The house they had purchased sight unseen awaited them — a modest abode with whitewashed walls and a terracotta tiled roof. It might not be grand, but it was theirs.
Beyond the home about a quarter mile was the bustling activity of a thriving mining community. Harshaw was named after David Tecumseh Harshaw, a cattleman-turned-prospector who first discovered silver in the area.
“Jack, it’s as charming as they said! We will find work here, won't we?”
They dismounted; legs stiff from the long ride. The air smelled of mesquite and promise.
Jack smiled, his sun-bleached mustache twitching. “I reckon so, Nell. The mines are booming, and there’s talk of a new railroad coming through. We’ll find our place.”
Whitewashed Adobe Never Looked So Good
A Livable Place
They walked toward their new house. The wooden door stood ajar, inviting them inside. The floors were bare, but the sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the empty rooms. Nell traced her fingers along the rough-hewn walls, imagining curtains and furniture filling the space.
Mining for A Good Life
Outside, Jack surveyed the land — the arid soil, the distant hills. He knew the work would be hard, the days long. But he also knew that here, in Harshaw, they had a chance. A chance to build something from nothing, to forge a life together.
The first thing he looked for were signs of silver shafts.
Evening Approaches
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert, John and Mary sat on their porch. The stars blinked to life above them, and they whispered their dreams into the night. Harshaw, would be their new beginning, their oasis in the vastness of the Arizona wilderness.
Jack was a bit uncomfortable. He had been waiting to tell Nell of his plans. Now was the time.
"I'll be up early to head to town. It is important to make a connection. The best place for that is the saloon. I will be out at sunup."
And so, with hope in their hearts and the promise of work on the horizon, they settled into their house—their own piece of the American dream, carved out of sunbaked earth and determination.
An Early Appointment
Jack was up early the next morning. He had tried to be quiet, but Nell was already rustling and anxious to start the new day cleaning a preparing their dated casita.
With a puzzled look, Nell stated, "You're up early. Clean clothes and a shave sound serious."
'You don't land a job in the mines looking like a bum. It's after you secure the job that you look like a bum,' Jack retorted. And then as if to put a fine point on it, he holstered his Colt Single Action Army revolver.
"Going to town shouldn't necessitate that!", she blasted. Nell was holding on to her Eastern upbringing where everything was more civilized.
A Disagreement
“Jack,” she said, her voice a mix of curiosity and suspicion, “why in the name of all that’s sensible do you need to be at the saloon at this ungodly hour?”
Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding her direct gaze. “Nell,” he began, “it’s about the job. You know how things are—opportunities don’t wait until high noon.
Nell crossed her arms, her apron strings digging into her waist. “Opportunities, you say? Jack, we’ve been scraping by, living on hope and dust. What kind of opportunity awaits you in that dimly lit saloon?”
He cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. “You see, Nell it’s not just any saloon. It’s where the miners gather—the ones who’ve struck copper veins or silver lodes. They talk business, share secrets, and make connections. If I want work, I need to be there.”
Nell’s eyes softened, but her skepticism remained. “Connections, you say? Jack, you’re not much of a drinker. What kind of connections can a sober man make in a place reeking of whiskey and desperation?”
Jack leaned against the rough-hewn wall, tracing the grain with his calloused fingers. “True, Nell. But it’s not about the drink. It’s about the conversations—the hushed exchanges over cards, the nods exchanged at the bar. Men who’ve been through hell in the mines—they know things. They know who’s hiring, who’s expanding their operations, who needs a steady hand.”
Jack kissed her on the cheek and smiled.
Walking through the doorway he could smell dust and saw some smoke from the hills. Despite the air not being pure, he was anxious to make contacts in town. Harshaw was a bustling place. He mounted his horse counting on some friendly social interaction at the local saloon. Though not unpredictable, Jack would encounter a brief surprise.
Preliminary Observations
His former race horse was walking steadily on the dirt road leading to Harshaw. Not yet to the entrance to town, heading southeast, Jack could see the outlines of townspeople.
On entering town, he rode past the general store, its sign creaking in the breeze. A few townsfolk glanced their way, curiosity etching their faces.
Most of the houses were made of sunbaked adobe brick. Some were whitewashed, others the color of mud. Hitching posts and water troughs purported a lot of horse traffic. He noted a hand-cranked water pump standing just before the saloon. His horse lowered its head and shook; this arid land encouraged animals to drink when they could.
The syncopated rhythm and cheerful melody drifting from this tavern was lively and upbeat. Jack heard a honky-tonk piano playing in the background. The sounds of happy voices and loud singing were quite audible.
Jack was thinking, "This is the place," when a large man, beard and mustache covered with dust, came stumbling out of the saloon through batwing doors. Jack immediately detected the sweet, yet sour odor of pungent alcohol. Jack quickly ruminated about his luck, "My first human encounter in Harshaw is with a drunk. That might not be a bad thing."
Confederate Vets and Union Vets Inhabited Southern Arizona
Some 200 Confederate cavalry (1862) were located in Tucson, while some Confederate militia also existed. By 1863, 2000 Union troops arrived in Arizona from California. As is the usual process, soldiers lingered and decided to stay in Arizona after the hostilities between North and South concluded.
Civil War Consequences
From the doors, Jack could see a long wooden bar. He approached the bar, a space available between two men, obviously miners. The fellow to his left gave a gradual glance at Jack. He quickly turned, standing perfectly straight and shouted pointing to Jack's holster "Yankee!!"
Immediately, Jack felt a large glass mug impact his head. Startled and momentarily wobbly as he leaned slightly forward, Jack mustered enough strength to apply a left hook to this enraged laborer. Spittle sprayed on the bar counter. As it settled Jack gave him a very firm right cross to the other jaw, followed by a quick left uppercut. The worker's head swung back along with his body, and he went down with a heavy thump. He didn't move.
Two other bar goers dragged the unfortunate fighter out of the saloon. His boots scuffed along the wooden floor sounding like a soft scuffing drag.
Jack found a nearby table and pulled up a chair. He was bent forward and moving his head side to side slowly while his hand touched his head. He was in a state of relative disbelief. Nell had more or less warned him. Unfortunately, he had fancied this would be a gentlemanly introduction to the town and a way to have a conversation with those employed in the town.
Chew Adaptations
Many saloons had gutter-like troughs at the bottom of the bar, which were often made of brass. They ran the length of the bar, and fresh water flowed through them to wash away waste, including tobacco spit, to an awaiting drain.
An Introduction
"Howdy," was what Jack heard as he stared at the shiny brass fixture below the foot rest at the bar.
"You will have to forgive Reb. When he's had his limitation of spirits, he can fly off the handle. You Yanks need to be more careful about your garb."
Dismayed, Jack replied, "What you know about it?"
"That holster says it all," came the retort from this mystery man.
Garb Can Do You In
An Introduction
"My name is John Walther, owner of Copper Ridge Mine. You seem to be plenty strong enough to swing a miner's pick and know pugilistic skills for sure. Those are skills I am looking for. Would you be interested in hiring out to me?"
Jack quickly reflected about this. Things did happen fast in Arizona. And he wasn't daft enough to turn down a possible job.
"Yes, sir!" Jack responded smartly.
"Done. Be at the Copper Ridge tomorrow morning. Seven sharp." They shook hands.
Then there would be Nell upon his arrival at home. She always seemed to put a spin on bad news. First, she would watch him come in the door and say, "Are you hurt, what happened?" Then she would blurt, "Seems you’ve upgraded from ‘saloon socializing' to ‘mug dodging’!"
More Reading
For more stories of gold, buried treasure, silver, and other grand things of value, see, Golden Legends Tales of Buried Treasure, https://goldlegendstalesofburiedtreasure.blogspot.com/
Historical Contributions
Trimble, Marshall. (Sep 29, 2020) True West History of the American Frontier. Wyatt’s Stallion, the Apache Kid and the Code of the West - True West Magazine
Chatterton, Liz. (November 18,2010). LIfestyle Blog. A Lesson in Tavern History – the Fresh Flow Trough Spittoon (kegworks.com)\
Lyons, Chuck. (January 9, 2017). Uncategorized Historynet.The Bank Crowd and Silver Kings Made a Fortune From the Comstock (historynet.com)
Vlorel, Jim. (August 10, 2018). Paste. The 1800s: When Americans Drank Whiskey Like it was Water - Paste Magazine
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