The Amalgamator - Skidoo 1909
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This article was originally written by Jim E. Ehrhart and was preceded by the following statement:
This story was written down in 1958 by my late Great-grandfather, Louis Daniel Spaulding, who, as a young man early in the Twentieth Century, worked at Bob Montgomery's mile-high gold mill in the mining camp of Skidoo, in the Panamint Mountains in Death Valley country. The mill was powered principally by water, which flowed by gravity through a 23-mile pipeline (whence the name "Skidoo") from Birch Spring, high on the west side of Telescope Peak.
Here, he tells of his adventures as he traveled to Skidoo and worked in the mill, and of how he walked 62 miles across Death Valley with an injured hand from Skidoo to Rhyolite, Nevada, on Christmas, 1909.
The original version of this article can be found here: Adventures in Skidoo and has been republished here with permission.
Adventures in Skidoo
In the early days of lode gold mining, stamp mills were used for crushing the ore. Where there was free gold in the ore, a silver-plated copper plate was placed so that the discharge through the screen from the mortar, with the addition of water, flowed down over this plate which was coated with quicksilver, allowing the free gold to become amalgamated and retained on the plate. The man who operated such a mill was called an amalgamator.
In September of 1909, Bob Montgomery came to my home to discuss sending me to Skidoo to run his mill. He had learned from his chauffeur, a friend of mine (Cecil Loomis), that I was an amalgamator. Arrangements were made for me to go to his office the following Monday to care for financing the trip. He advanced me fifty dollars and the pay for my services was agreed upon as seven dollars a day and board. I took the train from Los Angeles to Barstow, where I transferred to a combination train to Johannesburg. From there I went by stage to Ballarat. The distance was seventy-two miles, past Searles Dry Lake at which point the horses were exchanged. While this was being done, I talked with the man on the front porch of the station shack. Hanging by bailing wire wrapped around the bare plant was a small cactus with a single reddish pink blossom on it. The man told us that Mr. Searles himself had hung it there fifteen years before, and now was the first time it had blossomed or shown any sign of life. He figured the desert air contained more moisture this particular year.
Arriving at Ballarat, which at that time had a store, post office, restaurant and hotel I made arrangements for bed, meals etc. At six in the morning, having had breakfast, I was on the stage as sole passenger with Ed Robinson, stage driver for Skidoo. The trip was through Wild Rose Canyon by way of Harrisburg Flat, a distance of 43 miles. I amused myself on the way shooting at coyotes with a Colt automatic pistol. We got into Skidoo just at dusk.
I had been downspirited because of having left a year-old baby who was becoming dear and interesting to me, and also the thought that there would be no one at Skidoo whom I had previously known. (A coincidence was that my wife had been born in Virginia City, and the daughter in Searchlight, Nevada, where I had been an amalgamator in the Quartette Mill.) As I got off the stage, the first person I saw was Austin Young, who had been postmaster in Randsburg and was now the Skidoo postmaster. Also I talked with a miner I had known previously who was later killed at the Arondo mine. I was driven to the mine about a half a mile further and met Bob's superintendent, Al Davis. I had my supper at the mine boarding house, which employed a middle-aged lady who had been a registered nurse. There was also a younger woman for dishwashing and a handyman, a young man in his early twenties named Potts.
It was agreed that I would take up my duties the second day following. I was to replace a man who had become careless and was losing amalgam from the plates. I was given a room in the house which had a bed, chair, water pitcher, and basin. As I had a sailor's hammock with me, I decided to sleep in that. It was a bad idea, for one of the supports broke in the night giving me a painful fall. In the morning I had breakfast and went down to look over the mill which was eight or nine hundred feet down in a steep gulch below the office.
The mill was fifteen, ten-hundred-and-fifty pound stamps, run by a Doble type water wheel without a governor. It was possible to walk under the floor on which the amalgam plates were located. Under here was a Continental gas engine with hit-and-miss type governor. This engine by a belt could be hooked to a line shaft to give additional power when crushers on the upper floor were operating. It also served when thus hooked up to a certain extent to govern the water power.
I began immediately to improve amalgamation, and with the help of Fred Davis, the superintendent's brother, to make repairs to the mill. I cleaned up twice a month and recovered from nine to fourteen thousand dollars each clean-up. We had some trouble with the pipeline, which was twenty-three miles long coming from Telescope Peak. It was broken once while it lay on the surface near the mill.
I had only made one clean-up when Mr. Montgomery sent word to Al Davis to put me in charge of the mill. An amusing but rather dangerous accident happened in the assay office one day. It is the custom to take the sponge gold after retorting away the mercury, and placing it with proper flux into a plumbago crucible. The old one looked rather weak, so there being a new mate to it, I used the new one. When the gold is thoroughly melted it is poured into four-pound bricks, as at this time the post office would not transport larger sizes. This crucible would hold about two-and-a-half or three gallons of liquid. The method of handling is shown here: One man on each handle, protected by long gauntlet asbestos gloves, would lift the crucible, thus pouring the gold into one mold after the other. The ring in this case was not tight enough. The crucible tipped out of the ring and upside down, spilling the molten gold on the concrete floor where it ran in every direction. The superintendent, who was helping me, and I had to step lively to escape the molten gold from striking against our feet, as it would have burned right through the sides of our shoes. Afterwards we used a smaller crucible which could be handled with tongs by one man.
Another amusing incident occurred at the mill. We were operating two twelve-hour shifts. I had replaced the other amalgamator with a new man named Perch Douglas, who not only was a capable man but very conscientious. I had been in the habit of carrying balls of amalgam in a large iron pot up to the main office safe, but it being very heavy, I decided rather to hide it in a large carpenter and tool box in the mill. Hiding it for the first time under the tools and locking the box with a padlock, I forgot that Perch might have to use tools during the night and I failed to mention it to him. In the morning when I relieved him he said that during the night he had needed tools and was quite miffed. When I told him why and upon showing him the several thousand dollars’ worth of amalgam, he said if he had known it he would have been worried all night for fear of being knocked on the head and robbed.
Things went along almost in a routine way until a day or so before Christmas when I had trouble with the gas engine having a tendency to run away. I had a pair of pliers for which I had sent to Chicago, similar to Model-T Ford pliers, with one handle having a screwdriver’s edge on it, and which cost me forty-five cents. I attempted to make an adjustment on the governor without stopping the engine. There was a weight about four inches in diameter and two inches thick on one spoke of the flywheel. This was a part of the governor mechanism. In some manner it struck the pliers and drove the screwdriver handle into the center of the palm of my right hand. I had a sharp pain in the back of my right hand, and thinking it had knocked my hand against the hood of the engine and knocked the pliers from my hand, I began looking for them on the floor; suddenly I discovered that they were still sticking in my hand, and had to put them in a vice on the work bench and pull my hand off from them.
I left the mill in Fred's care and went up to the mine office, where we had a first aid kit. The strongest antiseptic we had was Peroxide of Hydrogen. I cleaned and dosed my hand with this and Al wrapped it up for me. That evening Mrs. Davis roasted an onion which I placed on the hand, but I slept very little that night, and in the morning had a terribly swollen hand. Our doctor had gone prospecting, so Al Davis advised me to take the stage to a doctor at Randsburg. As it was seven below zero in the morning and there was a foot and a half of snow on the ground, I decided against that.
Young Potts had been wanting to go for a short vacation to Los Angeles, so I persuaded Al Davis to let him go with me, and we would walk the sixty-two miles to Rhyolite, Nevada, crossing Death Valley. We carried a small coffee pot, frying pan and a small amount of food, and each of us had a two-gallon canteen of water, and me with my pockets full of onions.
We arrived at Stovepipe Wells by dark. There was only an un-roofed adobe house with a dirt floor, and the so-called well, a hole probably four feet deep and fourteen inches in diameter. We did not use the water from this well, which was heavily impregnated with arsenic. This place being 4.9 feet below sea level, we slept fairly warm inside the house without blankets, which we could not carry.
In the morning, after making coffee and frying bacon, we started up the other side through the Funeral Range. Several miles up the road we came to Daylight Springs where we refilled our canteens. During both days we stopped every two or three hours to roast an onion and place it, as hot as I could bear it, in the palm of my hand with a bandanna handkerchief for a bandage.