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The Call of Gold (1936) by Newell D. Chamberlain



(First published, September 10, 1853, by J. M, Hutchings.)

A man spake these words, and said; I am a miner, who wandered ‘from away down east’, and came to sojourn in a strange land, and ‘see the elephant’.

And behold I saw him, and bear witness, that from the key of his trunk to the end of his tail, his whole body has passed before me; and I followed him until his huge feet stood still before a clapboard shanty; then, with his trunk extended, he pointed to a candle card tacked upon a shingle, as though he would say ‘Read’, and I read the



Thou shalt have no other claim than one.


Thou shalt not make unto thyself any false claim, nor any likeness to a mean man, by jumping one; whatever thou findest on the top above or on the rock beneath, or in a crevice underneath the rock; for I will visit the miners around to invite them on my side; and when they will decide against thee, thou shalt take thy pick and thy pan, thy shovel and thy blankets, with all that thou hast, and ‘go prospecting’ to seek good diggings; but thou shalt find none. Then, when thou hast returned, in sorrow shalt thou find that thine old claim is worked out, and yet no pile made thee to hide in the ground, or in an old boot beneath thy bunk, or in buckskin or bottle underneath thy cabin; but hast paid all that was in thy purse away, worn out thy boots and thy garments, so that there is nothing good about them but the pockets, and thy patience is likened unto thy garments; and, at last, thou shalt hire thy body out to make thy board and save thy bacon.


Thou shalt not go prospecting before thy claim gives out. Neither shalt thou take thy money, nor thy gold dust, nor thy good name to the gaming table in vain; for monte, twenty-one, roulette, faro, lausquenet and poker, will prove to thee that the more thou puttest down the less thou shalt take up; and when thou thinkest of thy wife and children, thou shalt not hold thyself guiltless—but insane.


Thou shalt not remember what thy friends do at home on the Sabbath day, lest the remembrance may not compare favorably with what thou doest here. Six days thou mayest dig or pick all that the body can stand under; but the other day is Sunday; yet thou washest all thy dirty shirts, darnest all thy stockings, tap thy boots, mend thy clothing, chop thy whole week’s firewood, make up and bake thy bread, and boil thy pork and beans, that thou wait not when thou returnest from thy long-tom, weary. For in six days’ labor only thou canst not work enough to wear out thy body in two years; but if thou workest hard on Sunday also, thou canst do it in six months; and thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, thy male friend and thy female friend, thy morals and thy conscience, be none the better for it; but reproach thee, shouldst thou ever return with thy worn-out body to thy mother’s fireside; and thou shalt not strive to justify thyself, because the trader and the blacksmith, the carpenter and the merchant, the tailors, Jews, and buccaneers, defy God and civilization, by keeping not the Sabbath day, nor wish for a day of rest, such as memory, youth and home, made hallowed.


Thou shalt not think more of thy gold, and how thou canst make it fastest, than how thou wilt enjoy it, after thou hast ridden roughshod over thy good old parents’ precepts and examples, that thou mayest have nothing to reproach and sting thee, when thou art left ALONE in the land where thy father’s blessing and thy mother’s love hath sent thee.


Thou shalt not kill thy body by working in the rain, even though thou shalt make enough to buy physic and attendance with. Neither shalt thou kill thy neighbor’s body in a duel; for by ‘keeping cool’, thou canst save his life and thy conscience. Neither shalt thou destroy thyself by getting ‘tight’, nor ‘stewed’, nor ‘high’, nor ‘corned’, nor ‘half-seas over’, nor ‘three sheets in the wind’, by drinking smoothly down— ‘brandy slings’, ‘gin cocktails’, ‘whiskey punches’, ‘rum-toddies’, nor ‘egg-nogs’. Neither shalt thou suck ‘mint-julips’, nor ‘sherry-cobblers’, through a straw, nor gurgle from a bottle the ‘raw material’, nor ‘take it neat’ from a decanter; for, while thou art swallowing down thy purse, and thy coat from off thy back, thou art burning the coat from off thy stomach; and, if thou couldst see the houses and lands, and gold dust, and home comforts already lying there—‘a huge pile’—thou shouldst feel a choking in thy throat; and when to that thou addest thy crooked walkings and hiccuping talkings, of lodgings in the gutter, of broilings in the sun, of prospect-holes half full of water, and of shafts and ditches, from which thou hast emerged like a drowning rat, thou wilt feel disgusted with thyself, and enquire, ‘Is thy servant a dog that he doeth these things?’ verily I will say, Farewell, old bottle, I will kiss thy gurgling lips no more. And thou, slings, cocktails, punches, smashes, cobblers, nogs, toddies, sangarees, and julips, forever farewell. Thy remembrance shames me; henceforth, ‘I cut thy acquaintance,’ and headaches, tremblings, heart burnings, blue devils, and all the unholy catalogue of evils that follow in thy train. My wife’s smiles and my children’s merry-hearted laugh, shall charm and reward me for having the manly firmness and courage to say NO. I wish thee an eternal farewell.


Thou shalt not grow discouraged, nor think of going home, before thou hast made thy ‘pile’, because thou hast not ‘struck a lead’, nor found a ‘rich crevice’, nor sunk a hole upon ‘pocket’, lest in going home thou shalt leave four dollars a day, and go to work, ashamed, at fifty cents, and serve thee right; for thou knowest by staying here, thou mightst strike a lead and fifty dollars a day, and keep thy manly self-respect, and then go home with enough to make thyself and others happy.


Thou shalt not steal a pick, or a shovel, or a pan from thy fellow miner; nor take away his tools without his leave; nor borrow those he cannot spare; nor return them broken, nor trouble him to fetch them back again, nor talk with him while his water rent is running on, nor remove his stake to enlarge thy claim, nor undermine his bank in following a lead, nor pan out gold from his ‘riffle box’, nor wash the ‘tailings’ from his sluice’s mouth. Neither shalt thou pick out specimens from the company’s pan to put them in thy mouth, or in thy purse; nor cheat thy partner of his share; nor steal from thy cabin-mate his gold dust, to add to thine, for he will be sure to discover what thou hast done, and will straightway call his fellow miners together, and if the law hinder them not, they will hang thee, or give thee fifty lashes, or shave thy head and brand thee, like a horse thief, with ‘R’ upon thy cheek, to be known and read of all men, Californians in particular.


Thou shalt not tell any false tales about ‘good diggings in the mountains’, to thy neighbor, that thou mayest benefit a friend, who hath mules, and provisions, and tools and blankets, he cannot sell, lest in deceiving thy neighbor, when he returneth through the snow with naught save his rifle, he present thee with the contents thereof; and, like a dog, thou shalt fall down and die.


Thou shalt not commit unsuitable matrimony, nor covet ‘single blessedness’, nor forget absent maidens; nor neglect thy ‘first love’—but thou shalt consider how faithfully and patiently she awaiteth thy return; yea, and covereth each epistle that thou sendest with kisses of kindly welcome—until she hath thyself. Neither shall thou covet thy neighbor’s wife, nor trifle with the affections of his daughter; yet if thy heart be free, and thou dost love and covet each other, thou shalt ‘pop the question’ like a man, lest another, more manly than thou art, should step in before thee, and thou covet her in vain, and in the anguish of disappointment, thou shalt quote the language of the great, and say ‘let her rip’, and thy future life be that of a poor, lonely, despised and comfortless bachelor.

A new Commandment give I unto thee—if thou hast a wife and little ones, that thou lovest dearer than thy life,—that thou keep them continually before thee, to cheer and urge thee onward until thou canst say, ‘I have enough—God bless them—I will return.’ Then as thou journiest toward thy much loved home, with open arms they shall come forth to welcome thee, and falling upon thy neck, weep tears of unutterable joy that thou art come; then, in the fullness of thy heart’s gratitude, thou shalt kneel together before thy Heavenly Father, to thank Him for thy safe return. AMEN—So mote it be.


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