Originally, Nevada was a part of Utah and was called Carson county; and a
pretty large county it was, too. Certain of its valleys produced no end of
hay, and this attracted small colonies of Mormon stock-raisers and farmers
to them. A few orthodox Americans straggled in from California, but no
love was lost between the two classes of colonists. There was little or no
friendly intercourse; each party staid to itself. The Mormons were largely
in the majority, and had the additional advantage of being peculiarly
under the protection of the Mormon government of the Territory. Therefore
they could afford to be distant, and even peremptory toward their
neighbors. One of the traditions of Carson Valley illustrates the
condition of things that prevailed at the time I speak of. The hired girl
of one of the American families was Irish, and a Catholic; yet it was
noted with surprise that she was the only person outside of the Mormon
ring who could get favors from the Mormons. She asked kindnesses of them
often, and always got them. It was a mystery to everybody. But one day as
she was passing out at the door, a large bowie knife dropped from under
her apron, and when her mistress asked for an explanation she observed
that she was going out to “borry a wash-tub from the Mormons!”
In 1858 silver lodes were discovered in “Carson County,” and
then the aspect of things changed. Californians began to flock in, and the
American element was soon in the majority. Allegiance to Brigham Young and
Utah was renounced, and a temporary territorial government for “Washoe”
was instituted by the citizens. Governor Roop was the first and only chief
magistrate of it. In due course of time Congress passed a bill to organize
“Nevada Territory,” and President Lincoln sent out Governor
Nye to supplant Roop.
At this time the population of the Territory was about twelve or fifteen
thousand, and rapidly increasing. Silver mines were being vigorously
developed and silver mills erected. Business of all kinds was active and
prosperous and growing more so day by day.
The people were glad to have a legitimately constituted government, but
did not particularly enjoy having strangers from distant States put in
authority over them—a sentiment that was natural enough. They
thought the officials should have been chosen from among themselves from
among prominent citizens who had earned a right to such promotion, and who
would be in sympathy with the populace and likewise thoroughly acquainted
with the needs of the Territory. They were right in viewing the matter
thus, without doubt. The new officers were “emigrants,” and
that was no title to anybody’s affection or admiration either.
The new government was received with considerable coolness. It was not
only a foreign intruder, but a poor one. It was not even worth plucking—except
by the smallest of small fry office-seekers and such. Everybody knew that
Congress had appropriated only twenty thousand dollars a year in
greenbacks for its support—about money enough to run a quartz mill a
month. And everybody knew, also, that the first year’s money was
still in Washington, and that the getting hold of it would be a tedious
and difficult process. Carson City was too wary and too wise to open up a
credit account with the imported bantling with anything like indecent
haste.
There is something solemnly funny about the struggles of a new-born
Territorial government to get a start in this world. Ours had a trying
time of it. The Organic Act and the “instructions” from the
State Department commanded that a legislature should be elected at
such-and-such a time, and its sittings inaugurated at such-and-such a
date. It was easy to get legislators, even at three dollars a day,
although board was four dollars and fifty cents, for distinction has its
charm in Nevada as well as elsewhere, and there were plenty of patriotic
souls out of employment; but to get a legislative hall for them to meet in
was another matter altogether. Carson blandly declined to give a room
rent-free, or let one to the government on credit.
But when Curry heard of the difficulty, he came forward, solitary and
alone, and shouldered the Ship of State over the bar and got her afloat
again. I refer to “Curry—Old Curry—Old Abe
Curry.” But for him the legislature would have been obliged to sit
in the desert. He offered his large stone building just outside the
capital limits, rent-free, and it was gladly accepted. Then he built a
horse-railroad from town to the capitol, and carried the legislators
gratis.
He also furnished pine benches and chairs for the legislature, and covered
the floors with clean saw-dust by way of carpet and spittoon combined. But
for Curry the government would have died in its tender infancy. A canvas
partition to separate the Senate from the House of Representatives was put
up by the Secretary, at a cost of three dollars and forty cents, but the
United States declined to pay for it. Upon being reminded that the “instructions”
permitted the payment of a liberal rent for a legislative hall, and that
that money was saved to the country by Mr. Curry’s generosity, the
United States said that did not alter the matter, and the three dollars
and forty cents would be subtracted from the Secretary’s eighteen
hundred dollar salary—and it was!
The matter of printing was from the beginning an interesting feature of
the new government’s difficulties. The Secretary was sworn to obey
his volume of written “instructions,” and these commanded him
to do two certain things without fail, viz.:
1. Get the House and Senate journals printed; and, 2. For this work, pay
one dollar and fifty cents per “thousand” for composition, and
one dollar and fifty cents per “token” for press-work, in
greenbacks.
It was easy to swear to do these two things, but it was entirely
impossible to do more than one of them. When greenbacks had gone down to
forty cents on the dollar, the prices regularly charged everybody by
printing establishments were one dollar and fifty cents per “thousand”
and one dollar and fifty cents per “token,” in gold.
The “instructions” commanded that the Secretary regard a paper
dollar issued by the government as equal to any other dollar issued by the
government. Hence the printing of the journals was discontinued. Then the
United States sternly rebuked the Secretary for disregarding the “instructions,”
and warned him to correct his ways. Wherefore he got some printing done,
forwarded the bill to Washington with full exhibits of the high prices of
things in the Territory, and called attention to a printed market report
wherein it would be observed that even hay was two hundred and fifty
dollars a ton. The United States responded by subtracting the printing-
bill from the Secretary’s suffering salary—and moreover
remarked with dense gravity that he would find nothing in his “instructions”
requiring him to purchase hay!
Nothing in this world is palled in such impenetrable obscurity as a U.S.
Treasury Comptroller’s understanding. The very fires of the
hereafter could get up nothing more than a fitful glimmer in it. In the
days I speak of he never could be made to comprehend why it was that
twenty thousand dollars would not go as far in Nevada, where all
commodities ranged at an enormous figure, as it would in the other
Territories, where exceeding cheapness was the rule. He was an officer who
looked out for the little expenses all the time. The Secretary of the
Territory kept his office in his bedroom, as I before remarked; and he
charged the United States no rent, although his “instructions”
provided for that item and he could have justly taken advantage of it (a
thing which I would have done with more than lightning promptness if I had
been Secretary myself). But the United States never applauded this
devotion. Indeed, I think my country was ashamed to have so improvident a
person in its employ.
Those “instructions” (we used to read a chapter from them
every morning, as intellectual gymnastics, and a couple of chapters in
Sunday school every Sabbath, for they treated of all subjects under the
sun and had much valuable religious matter in them along with the other
statistics) those “instructions” commanded that pen-knives,
envelopes, pens and writing-paper be furnished the members of the
legislature. So the Secretary made the purchase and the distribution. The
knives cost three dollars apiece. There was one too many, and the
Secretary gave it to the Clerk of the House of Representatives. The United
States said the Clerk of the House was not a “member” of the
legislature, and took that three dollars out of the Secretary’s
salary, as usual.
White men charged three or four dollars a “load” for sawing up
stove-wood. The Secretary was sagacious enough to know that the United
States would never pay any such price as that; so he got an Indian to saw
up a load of office wood at one dollar and a half. He made out the usual
voucher, but signed no name to it—simply appended a note explaining
that an Indian had done the work, and had done it in a very capable and
satisfactory way, but could not sign the voucher owing to lack of ability
in the necessary direction. The Secretary had to pay that dollar and a
half. He thought the United States would admire both his economy and his
honesty in getting the work done at half price and not putting a pretended
Indian’s signature to the voucher, but the United States did not see
it in that light.
The United States was too much accustomed to employing dollar-and-a-half
thieves in all manner of official capacities to regard his explanation of
the voucher as having any foundation in fact.
But the next time the Indian sawed wood for us I taught him to make a
cross at the bottom of the voucher—it looked like a cross that had
been drunk a year—and then I “witnessed” it and it went
through all right. The United States never said a word. I was sorry I had
not made the voucher for a thousand loads of wood instead of one.
The government of my country snubs honest simplicity but fondles artistic
villainy, and I think I might have developed into a very capable
pickpocket if I had remained in the public service a year or two.
That was a fine collection of sovereigns, that first Nevada legislature.
They levied taxes to the amount of thirty or forty thousand dollars and
ordered expenditures to the extent of about a million. Yet they had their
little periodical explosions of economy like all other bodies of the kind.
A member proposed to save three dollars a day to the nation by dispensing
with the Chaplain. And yet that short-sighted man needed the Chaplain more
than any other member, perhaps, for he generally sat with his feet on his
desk, eating raw turnips, during the morning prayer.
The legislature sat sixty days, and passed private tollroad franchises all
the time. When they adjourned it was estimated that every citizen owned
about three franchises, and it was believed that unless Congress gave the
Territory another degree of longitude there would not be room enough to
accommodate the toll-roads. The ends of them were hanging over the
boundary line everywhere like a fringe.
The fact is, the freighting business had grown to such important
proportions that there was nearly as much excitement over suddenly
acquired toll-road fortunes as over the wonderful silver mines.
