Old Bookaroo
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- Dec 4, 2008
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THE LOST BREYFOGGLE.
from The Miner’s Guide; A Ready Handbook for the Prospector and Miner, by Horace J. West (Los Angeles: Second Edition – 1925)
Ash-Meadow Charley, bad man of the Piute Indian tribe, is probably more to blame than any other living agency for the loss of a quartz mine that, from specimens assayed, showed value of one hundred thousand dollars a ton, for it was he who with an ax hit James Breyfoggle in the head and mentally deranged him for the remainder of his life, in periods of a few days and, as he grew older, almost continually.
Breyfoggle in 1863 had found his way into Austin, Nevada, and from there had proceeded in a leisurely manner southward into the Funeral Range of mountains, which border upon that desolate and unalterable waste of heat and mystery, Death Valley. In his wanderings he remained well within the boundaries of Nye County, so far as research has been able to ascertain.
One evening, while making ready for his camp, a terrific storm, the kind that comes but once or twice a year in that section of the world, broke in all its windy fury, and Breyfoggle camped on the side of an abrupt peak and beneath a hanging ledge which afforded protection from the storm. He hobbled his horse (some men claim it was a burro, but from more reliable sources it is generally conceded a horse) and turned him loose to browse on the spare vegetation to be found there.
The storm had little effect in keeping him awake, and with the rise of the sun he was ready to go on. Lo and behold! his horse had disappeared. For an hour or more he trailed it up and down, finding its broken hobble, and returning eventually to his camp. After a bite of food, he climbed to the opposite side of the peak beneath which he had rested and, gaining an eminence of considerable extent, he pulled out his field glasses for a survey of the general profile of the country.
Tired from his arduous exertions, he leaned against a ledge and quietly gazed upon the surrounding country, locating on his right a heavily timbered mountain and on his left a broad valley which showed considerable vegetation, very unusual for that part of the mountains.
His horse failed to come with his range of vision, and in half despair he turned and started to obtain a position a trifle higher up on the ledge. His hand struck a loose rock that, turning, glinted brightly in the sun which was just edging its way from among the dark gray clouds. He caught his breath. He looked a second time. Sure enough, it was gold, real gold, and not the metal that is its counterpart and has oft been designated “fools’ gold.”
The dull sheen came not alone from the single rock that he held in his hand. It cropped out from the surrounding rock as far as he could reach to brush away the particles of crumbling quartz. It was everywhere, and he broke off large pieces of the ore in his delirium of discovery. While it lasted he reveled in his new found riches, sat among the hard rock pillows that spelled millions and continued his examination of the ground.
After hours he came to his senses and also to a realization that his horse was still straying. With a start he collected all of the ore he could carry and continued to trail through a few available mountain washes, passing sun-blackened, weather-beaten cliffs, into dust-gray sage and the debris of countless ages until he located a lone willow.
His horse had been forgotten in the increasing thirst which had made itself a factor by gnawing at his stomach, demanding relief. The willow stood for water, and hastily he stumbled over the corroding, gold-filled ledges to find himself finally before a spring that bubbled out of this forsaken ravine. Then, spurred again by the thoughts of his animal, the good that he had left behind and the desire to get out and announce his discovery to the world, he wandered off into the twilight and, soon, the night, which comes suddenly in that portion of the world.
For days – how many Breyfoggle was never able to compute – he wandered about almost aimlessly, stumbling at last, more dead than alive, into Stump Springs, which are located twenty-two miles from Sandy and nine miles from Manse, all situated in Nye County. It was there that he encountered the band of wandering Piute Indians. Their love for the white invader was small, and although not of the same fighting blood as the Apache or the Sioux, they fell upon the half-crazed miner, who in all probability stirred their animosity by some untoward act, and Ash-Meadow Charley, so named for the fact that the had resided for a time in after years at Ash Meadows in Nevada, struck with an ax.
The blow was a glancing one, inflicting a severe wound, and it would have been followed to its termination by others had not one of the other Indians interceded. They packed Breyfoggle on one of their horses, and when near Las Vegas started him for that place, where he landed in a half-dead condition, but nevertheless clinging closely to his ore. In several weeks he was physically able to be sent to Austin, Nevada, where his family resided.
After more months of rest he at intervals had periods that were lucid, and in these he told of all his hardships and sufferings. His discovery was sent to an assayer’s office and the production, according to the samples, would have run over one hundred thousand dollars to the ton, so rich was it in gold. [At this time ore that assayed five hundred dollars to the ton would be reckoned a bonanza.] Had it not been for the ore, little credence would have been given his tale because of the deranged condition of his brain at most times.
Nor did he stop with telling of the discovery. Time and again he set out with his horse and pack-saddles into the territory which he thought held the riches that would put him beyond the haziest dreams of Midas. He enlisted his friends and even went so far as to locate Ash-Meadow Charley, who lived in after years in the Pahrump Valley, to assist him in the search, but all in vain.
About twelve miles south of Daylight Springs, where the eastern edge of the Funeral Range approaches Death Valley, there is a place called “Breyfoggle’s Despair,” for the reason that here, in the middle of the sun-parched desert, are five of his trails, meeting in a star-like center and leading off into the solitudes of the surrounding country without reaching the ultimate goal. On his deathbed he declared that whoever would locate his discovery would have sufficient to enrich all of this friends and pay off the national debt.
Whether or not the Breyfoggle discovery continues among the great lost mines of the country is [not?] a doubtful question with many mining men who are thoroughly familiar with all its details and who have been among the many to try to rediscover the wealthy ledges. Breyfoggle’s continued endeavor to rediscover his property, and his story of the wonderful find, provide the incendiary torch to the imaginations of many prospectors who were fired with the desire to locate the hidden wealth.
Forty years of search has not dimmed the tale in its telling. It is recounted over and over, and continues to draw the daring prospector into that region of little water and hard struggles. Nor have these other prospectors always looked in vain, for other valuable ore bodies have been located by the search.
One of these, the “Johnnie Mine,” is frequently pointed out as the property which Breyfoggle found because of its general topographical outlook. Located in the southwestern portion of Nye County, it stands on a high ledge which has shown wonderful specimens of gold from the surface croppings. On the west of the mine is located the valley of much vegetation, Ash Meadows, where grow the scrub oak, the mesquite and many smaller plants of their own accord. One the other side stands Charleston Mountain, the only timbered peak in all the range, which probably is the timbered mountain of Breyfoggle’s description.
Lenses of very high grade ore, running more than a third pure gold, have been found on the surface, and it is possible that the prospector, in his haste to find his horse, locate his water and return to a place of plentiful food, made only a superficial examination of the property, striking several of the rich lenses and proceeding no farther in his haste to get back to civilization and outfit properly for the real work of obtaining his princely wealth.
to be continued…Next – “The Goler Placer Diggings.”
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lens: A pocket of ore shaped like a magnifying lens – thick in the middle and tapering on its sides. – Prospecting, Locating and Valuing Mines, by R.H. Stretch, E.M. (New York: 1899; Second Edition 1900). Mr. West’s use of the term here suggests an opinion that Breyfogle’s fabulous gold find might have been a “glory hole” – rich ore, indeed, but only a small batch of it. Herman Albert wrote about the “pocket-hunter” who “…digs and pans around the grassroots…looking for those deposits of jewelry rock close to the surface. It’s a game of skill, perseverance, dreams, and optimism which has rewarded many of its practitioners with sudden, often fabulous, wealth.”
Further Reading
Death Valley is somewhat removed from Mr. West’s area of personal experience and expertise, and it shows in this account – starting with his spelling of the protagonist’s name.
There is no shortage of Breyfogle literature, however. The field is vast – and, in some cases, half-vast. One could spend many pleasant days studying Death Valley lore. Fortunate students have not only done that but they’ve written it up, as well. Death Valley is my favorite place in California. There isn’t a more beautiful, interesting, and historic location within the Golden State. When I can’t visit, I do love to read about it.
The Breyfogle hunter should start with J. Frank Dobie’s Coronado’s Children; Lost Mines and Buried Treasures of the Southwest (1930). His account of the yard – found in Chapter XI. “The Challenge of the Desert” – is deservedly famous. Prof. Dobie doesn’t deserve to have his work “borrowed” by numerous subsequent authors, of course, but many have been quite generous high-grading his claim. It is based on what he was told by Donald F. MacCarthy. The known facts – and they are there, albeit quite tangled and difficult to discern – vary considerably from parts of Prof. Dobie’s version.
It is no surprise that Harry Sinclair Drago’s Lost Bonanzas; Tales of the Legendary Lost Mines of the American West (New York: 1966) has a very reliable recounting of the tale.
He terms Harold O. Weight “the best of all Death Valley chroniclers.” This is quite true. Lost Mines of Death Valley (Twentynine Palms, California: 1953, 1961 & 1970) is the single best work ever published on Death Valley’s lost mines and hidden treasures. The third, revised edition (1970) is the best and most complete. I cannot recommend this book highly enough. And Mr. Weight points out that some of Mr. West’s description doesn’t fit the ground.
John M. Townley used a number of contemporary newspaper accounts for his little Breyfogle’s Lost Gold Guidebook; Desert Rat Guidebook Series No. 5 (Reno, Nevada: 1985). He packs an amazing amount of accurate information into just 16 pages. And Douglas McDonald’s Nevada Lost Mines & Buried Treasures (Las Vegas, Nevada: 1981) begins with a solid Breyfolge chapter. This, by the way, is a very good book.
That Breyfogle sought Death Valley’s famous “Lost Ledge” is a theory that has generally fallen out of favor. Personally, I think it makes a good deal of sense. Its genesis is J. Ross Browne’s highly entertaining Adventures in the Apace Country; A Tour Through Arizona and Sonora (New York: 1869); you’ll want to find the edition “with Notes on the Silver Regions of Nevada.”
I highly recommend William Caruthers’ Loafing Along Death Valley Trails; A Personal Narrative of People and Places (Shoshone, California: 1951). It includes a Lost Mines chapter – however, the whole book is a treasure. In no particular order are other excellent Death Valley books: Bourke Lee’s Death Valley (1930) and Death Valley Men (1932), and Dane Coolidge’s Death Valley Prospectors (1937). Two more personal favorites are C.B. Glasscock’s Gold in Them Hills (1932) – although I don’t think John Breyfogle was a blacksmith - and Here’s Death Valley (1940).
The Death Book is Death Valley in ’49 by William Lewis Manly (1894). It is readily available in any number of editions – and it is the foundation for any library on the subject. It is one of the great books about the America West. The book on single-blanket, jackass prospectors is Herman W. Albert’s Odyssey of a Desert Prospector (Norman, Oklahoma: 1967). If there is another early Twentieth Century prospector’s autobiography out there I am not aware of it – and it wouldn’t make much difference, because I cannot imagine it would be any better than this outstanding little book.
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This is Part VI of the Lost Mines of the Desert series. Part I was posted December 26, 2008. Part II – “The Lost Arch” Diggings went up January 3, 2009. Part III – The Peg-Leg Mine; Or, the God of Fury’s Black Gold Nuggets, on January 11, 2009, and may be found under the Lost Peg Leg Mine topic. Part IV – The Lost Papuan Diggings – January 19, 2009. Part V – The Lost Dutch-Oven Mine – was posted January 27, 2009.
Once this series has been completed, I am considering collecting all these stories, along with The Lost Tub Placer yarn that will not be reprinted on the Treasure Net Forum, into a booklet for ready reference and convenient reading. If you would like to be notified when that is done, please send me a PM.
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I can sure tell you two things about it, one, I sure didn't find it, and two southern Nevada is some mighty pretty country! 
Therefore you are more an expert than a lot of us. 
<blush> - dreams of gold and silver are the sweetest kind aren't they! 
