HEN the roaring quart:
mills of the!
mines were crushing and
grinding the rich ore of the famous
BigBonann, which added four hun-
dred millions to the world's supply
d gold and silver Virginia City.
New, built over the Comatock
W. was called the liveliest min-
ing camp in thesworld. “Camp" was
an inherited descriptive title well
past its proper use as applied to
w Virginia City in, the days of the
-, bonanza. for the amazing wealth
production and the score of thousand
of miners steadily employed at high
wages were reflected in substantial
bank and business buildings, a
modern, theater, restaurants pat-
“ terned after the best in San Fran-
dsco and many handsome homes
built on terraces of Mount Davison;
and, to come to my subject. three
daily newspapers, all equipped with
ancient mechanical plants, and hav-
ing editorial staffs able to produce
daily issue-sin which sprightiincss in
manner was considered essential.
I Have a V‘Newspnper “Pal."
I early became acquainted with
the newspaper situation. for my first
friend there. Samuel P. Davis.
was on the staff of the Evening
Chronicle and had earned more than
a Statvwide reputation as 3 humor-
ist and poet. I was fitting myself to
be a mine superintendent, doing my
work — occasionally —— with another
similarly engaged youngster, but not
ih the least shlrking my manual
training. which consisted in nothing
less than uncoddled eight hour shifts
in a miner’s work every day for a
year. These shifts began at seven
o'clock in the morning, three in the
afternoon and eleven at night. The
hard work did not bother me; I‘d
spent two or three hours a day the
previous your in the San Francisco
Olympic Club gym. where my occa-
sional exercising companion was an
amiable. quick smiling junior bank
clerk named James Corbett.
“'e miners changed shift evrry two
. weeks so that at times I had utter-
,. noons off. when I accompanied my
friend Davis on his news assign-
ments, and at times! my evenings off.
when 1 was also often with him at
the theater or whatever entertain-
ment he was reporting. So I shlrked
my book work. My duties as a miner
I could not Hllil‘k had I wanted to,
for an older brother, who was asso~
ciated with St-naior John P. Jones in
his mining interests, had, as I after
ward learnvtl. written to the super-
tendent of lho mine that I was not
to be codilrd us to hours. shifts or
character of employment.
At times I helped Davis, covering
some minor event or taking an end
of a. story to lighten his work. He
said that I had the makings of a.
newspaper man in me. and in that
belief asked me to attend a per-
formance of "Camille" by Madame
’ww * *' TreTena Mmljvska which would give
him leisure to run down to Reno
on business—J think it was a party.
I tell of this Modjeska incident be—
cause it relates to another story to
be told. That I was to write the
notice was not to be known in the
Chronicle office: I was to turn in my
copy to Davis early in the morning
and he would handle it.
/
I Became Mojeelta's Slave.
Davis had taken me with him to
cell on Madame Modjeska at her
hotel the day she arrived in Virginia.
‘ aty, and as we. of course, became
her devoted slaves and our youthful
admiration amused her, we had been
permitted to call every afternoon for
w three or four days before the “Ca-
' mills" performance. The great Polish
A Reporter s»
sctrem had only recently. come to
this country and after an engage-
ment in San Francisco had been ad-
vised to spend a month or two in the
long glass and sage brush theaters
practicing hex En gush before appear-
ing in New York. She had never
played "Camille." she told me, and
oddly hid never seen it played, al-
though she had been playing in some
city, Paris. I think it was. when Ban
Bernhardt was appearing in the
play. ‘These facts, supplemented by
my boyish devotion to the star, im-
pelled me to draw ccpiOUSIY on m!
vocabulary of superlatives in writing
about the performance. I afterward
rejoiced when her nationwide re-_
nown Justified my early enthusiasm.
My piece was printed as I wrote
it, but our little plot of secrecy was
punctured. "The old man,”
told me after the paper had gone to
press. “read the piece and promptly
asked me where I was last night. I
told him and he tagged me proper.
But he didn't rag your stud," my
friend added generously. Then he
further added, “If you tell Median
that you'wrote it I‘ll murder you."
So we called on Madame Modjeska.
who received us beamingly, took both
of my friend's hand and thanked him
prettily for having praised her first
performance of the famous role. She
showed us autographed photographs
of famous European actors 'uld
artists and talked interestingly about
them. gave us tea and was charming.
Davis lost no opportunity, unseen by
her, to shake his lists at me and
mouth horrible threats if I revealed
his duplicity, but as we were‘about
to leave he knelt before our hostess,
raised prayerful hands and exclaimed
dramatically, "Madam, I am a min-
ister‘s son-I cannot lie! This cub.
indicating grinning me, "wrote the
Camille notice."
She boxed his ears, gave me her
photograph. threatened never to give
one to the penitent—but she did-—
and invited us to a supper she was
to give to her company that night.
with the proviso that Davis should
sit at the foot of the table. I at the
head by her side.
One day of the following week ‘I
went to the Chronicle office to meet
my chum, but. the paper having gone
to press, I found only Mr. McCarthy,
the proprietor and editor, there. He
told me to wait as Davis might re-
turn, and I picked up a paper to
read when a messenger entered with
a telegram. Mr. McCarthy read with
rapidly growing interest, looked about
the office, growled something which
sounded like “Damned clock watch-
ers," read the telegram again,
snatched up a railway time table, and
then glowered about until hi.
gaze rested upon me, speculatively.
"Townsend," he snapped out, "there’s
been a bad pfison break in Carson;
two or three prisoners killed. 33?:
’ _' fifi—mfifi' ”07 ‘W‘Teiésfapmxfi Warden
Matthewson wounded. The only train
that will do us any good leaves in
five minutes. I don't know where
Davis. where McEwen. where any}
. one is.
Will you go down there and
get that story?"
"There Has Been a Prison Break“
I gulped, but managed to say, "I’d
like to try, but I've had no expo“.
ence."
"You don’t need experience for A
'story like this," he urged. hastily.
"See all you can: hear all you can;
then tel. .. .. \"l -.c you've seen and
heard—tell it on paper." I venture
to remark here that such success as
I gained later as a reporter came
from following that quick firs advicr
about my first assignment. shot at
me by the veteran and briliihnt Idl-
Davis,
tor, Denis McCarthy. He jammed
on his hat, I followed him on the
run and we arrived breathless at
- the railway station as a locomotive .
was coupled to. a train of several
freight cars, one closed car contain-
ing gold and silver bullion. The sta-
tion master shook his head when
\icCarthy asked permission -for me
to ride to Carson on the engine. "It's
rm .g LY. AUGUST 11,19:
- err—h;
tr
—
f
lfe in Legendary Days
By EDWARD W. TOWNSEND.
assignment to the Carson State
prison break story was immeasurable.
I Galloped to Prison.
It was dusk when we reached Car-
son. Thesnglneer and fireman who
had sensed my excitement and may
havo guessed its cause wished me
“Good luck, .old son!" and twenty
minutes later, mounted on a broncho,
7 room, reachedby a. flight of stairs
which in its course passed a window
barred on the outside The Warden
had but stepped upon the workroom
floor when, at a signal. convicts
dashed to his side, surrounded him.
those nearest holding razor sharp
knives against his body. In this
fashion they rushed him down stairs,
threatening him with death if he
.. .-—p~..* “‘1. .
N 0 general
introduction
Chimmie Fadden, Major Max and Miss Famf
,, L, fiurfit‘he subject this time is so different. being his reminiscences of cub and
gendary West, it ought to be made plain
asc, will personally appear.
other reporter days in the rich and le
that Mr. Townsend, in the movie phr
is required for Edward W. Townsend, whose
salute “- wfi—rimrfioan—nis name.
a bullion train, Mr. McCarthy." be
said. 'and orders are strict against.
any one but the crew riding on it."
"Do you think I'm trying to get a“
bullion thief aboard?"
roared.
The engine gave a warning toot.
“Climb aboard," the station master
said to me, and to McCarthy, "I'll
to get the division superintendent
the wire to give instructions to
Gold Hill to let your reporter go
McCarthy
' through."
At Gold hm. one of the railway's
stations on the Comstock, a few miles
below Virginia City, the train dis-
patcher handed to the engineer a
71”?! 72114449,; ;
' down '1’"
I was galloping over the rough road
to the prison, to the scene of my
story. Outside the great prison gate
a lantern light disclosed armed
guards. “Well!" one challenged
Shh-I'D”. “what's your name?" I told
him. "Who sen} you?" I answered
that question. "How did you come
I informed him. He ex-
amined a telegram he held—sent by
McCarthy, of course-and in a few
minutes I was standing «with a
surgeon by the side of the Warden‘s
bed.
It is my purpose here not to rewrite
stories. rather to tell about such of
them as developed features of per-
made outcry. Passing that window
the Warden crashed his foot through
it, and for that one threatened to
kill him. but the leader cried, “No.
We need him at the gate.” Across
the prison yard. milling as cities to
him as they could, the convicts
rushed their prisoner toward the
double gate which was open to allow
passage of trucks carrying rock from
a quarry inside the grounds. The
crash of glass had. alarmed the
guards patrolling atop the high
stone walls, and they were running
toward the gate from each side.
Nearing the gate. and before it could
be closed convicts shouted to the
Presently I heard, certainly I thought I heard, rappings hideously like the hoof beats of
slip which the engineer read and
passed to me. It read, "Reporter of
Chronicle, 0. K. to Carson," and was
signed by the superintendent. It
.validated my first news assignment!
Years later I was assigned by Tax
New You Sun to cover, alone. the
Lexow vice investigation, which was
covered by many other papers with
two. three or four special writers in
relays. The Lexow assignment I ac-
cepted as all in the day's Work—it
horses.
manent as well as newsinterest, so
this much I must relate 'of what
Warden Matthewson told me (111391153
, freQuently cautioned by the surgeonx
that it would not improve his ternper-
ature to talk much.
That morning the Warden went
alone and. unarmed, as was his daily
custom, to inspect the shoe factory
in the prison grounds. The first floor
contained offices and store room. the
second floor was the convict workr
guards, "If you shoot or close the
gate we’ll kill the warden."
"Shoot!" the Warden yelled, and a
convict stabbing at his
slashed hisshouider. “Shoot, damn
you, shoot!" Matthewson shouted. A ‘7
guard shot. His bullet killed a con‘
throat»
munded. a few escaped_ before the
gates could be closed and the rioters“
sullenly driven to their cells at the
”muzzles of cocked rifles.
I saw the dead. Convict watchers
stood near them. I spoke to the
watchers but they stared at me as
silently as those lying there on rude
litters. The warden had given an
order for silence that night and
prisoners were obeying his orders—-
that night.
My mind‘was in tumult on the ride
back to town. I tried mentally to
write my story, arrange the inci-
dents. pick out high spots for em-
phasis; I shuddered now and then at
the thought of the watchers who
only stared, as the dead stared. when
I questioned‘theln; frankly, at times,
I gave thought to the escaped. to one
who might be lurking in some deeper
shade“. waiting for a lone rider
“hose mount would serve well for
furtiur flight. I was young, liked
riding; but youth and the joy of
outdoor sport polled upon me. I was
not happy. By the time I reached
the town's streets I longed as never
before for lights and for pleasant
companions. ‘ A flash of memory re-
lieved my spirits: Modjeska. was
playing in Carson that night! I ran
from the livery stable to the theater.
sent in my name from the stage door
to the company manager, Fred
Maeder, and a minute later the star
greeted me in the wings. '
“You are just in time for5 Adrienne
Lecouvreur's death!" she exclaimed
"Gentlemen," she said to Maeder
and the player of the old man part,
James Vinson. “we must work up a
. strong death scene for my friend."
‘wife and Mr. and Mrs. Adams.
vict’ whosewknife was at. the War? W
den's throat, and also wounded the
Warden. “Shoot! Shoot!" he again
commanded.
Two convicts were killed. um.
\Deat‘h! I had no time to’ explain
to the amiable lady that I would
have preferred a comedy, even a love
scene, to death!
“You must have supper with me—
and you and you." she said, including
)Iaeder and Vinson in her invitation.
$he told her son Ralph, a half grown
boy, to go to the hotel and order
supper, a commission he accepted
with alacrity.
They worked up that poison bou-
quet'ficath scene with enthusiasm.
directed by experience in every» trick
of the stage. “How did the scene
:0?" Maeder asked me as he walked
off after the curtain was dowu. A
cry from Modjeska's maid sent us
running onto the stage. The star
had fainted. We waited until the
maid reported from the dressing
room that Madame was much better.
was quite well, and that we were to
meet her at the hotel. We sent back
our excuses; it would task Madame
too much to act as hostess. and then
ltaeder, Vinson and I went to a. com-
fortable little place we knew of
where the beer and sandwiches were
good. We were raising ourigliassies
A.i 7 mom file’s fil’rfis‘it! 'fiwhen my evil
genius prompted me to say, "The
Chronicle prints a San Francisco dis-
patch reporting the death- in A1154
trails of Ned Adams."
The look In lu‘aeder's eyes told me
that I was traveling backward on
the road to cheerful compasi'onshm.
Maeder had known Adams inti-
mately, and not long before that sea-
son had been with that well known
actor in'Australia, Maeder and his
He
told us this story: "My wife and I
arrived in Sydney a day or two be-
fore Ned and his wife were due on
a. ship from another port. They were
delayed by a terrific storm, and
when we went to the pier to meet
them found Ned so in that he had
to be carried from the ship. It was
the storm, he told us when we
greeted him. but later he told me
again and again that his nerves had
been shattered as he lay in in his
berth by the cries and hoof beats of
horses between decks. The cries dur-
ing the awful storm had sounded to
him like the cries of humans in mor-
ta] terror. and the beating of their
hooi‘s"—Maeder illustrated with a.
knife, rapping rhythmic thuds on
the table.
of business and the actor in him
knew it, and at dramatic intervals
during the rest of the story telling
= repeated the trick until it took
fl.
, ten-ens, This cub wrote.
It was an effective pifi James Oliver CH5“.
' -‘ He knelt before our hostess and exclaimed:
but little imagination ngo
cries of frightened ho mammary“.
to Wish that I had ”maimed 1k“!
the primal COrrldo, Whiting,
quick were as silent as th
Maeder did not Want to e d
Vinson, I was conv go
to. and I “as willin
writing for an hroiu:
chance that
would dispel cho d
Maeder’s proper line \i, .
edy. Vinson's low (1171:: “g
were as little displayed m;
Pip at Mrs Haii
sat in my room aim;
I was to write mav
sunk in dejectim. I-
an accumulation (r
mourning on with ‘
friend. Presently
I thought I been,
like the hoof bCJi'
the seven and nix;
multiplication inl?‘
the formula of {Sr
minerals in
with rock is tin:-
the different an]
of the Identical.
usually effective a"
failed; my torture! r
solace of aritlunc:
were sensitive only
tattoo. I glanecd
caught him staring
"Did you hear it
“Of course I as
petulantiy, as if I l
he were awake.
Fred?" he added.
"Yes, I do," llaedrr i-.('::".I:!ed_
"Then stand up azill m .
from the table,' \inSo r.
all stand up away In m c
We stood apart,
from the furniture as: 2 .
"rap-rap. rap-rap, ran—m
rap.” continued, so we 5-”
night clerk, and with him
cursions to llli'esllza'e;
agreeing that the sruml,
it was seemed to come ix
directly across the hall fr
"But no one is in that r: ,
clerk said. “The man who
it is away for a day or .1:
over that old lumber fl m: 6 rec: in
abandoned stage station ’
t0
:l'lcnd' WEE at
to pomflOl' .9
or two
melhjng
. r1: Ssh};—
a:
Gun. ‘1?
"il‘ :1
'35 ll]
in» .
«\JI .
“H- h- how did he tram-i1" Vinita
faltered.
"On horseback," the tier}; an-
swered.
“Pretty good stuff, my
McCarthy said the next:
when, with quick estim:
had run through my rap-y.
a feeling of frighzle‘rrss
anyway. Where did
you left the prison?’
"I went around 1;. :‘K, “
While; ' I told hi to
He smiled.
KC .1
Walt W]; ‘
is to be prcsmxwl.
fir be the ’r‘ l
relies. This ll
gave one the lmgrlzsw "
of an old sailor. He
65. “'ait settfcd ml
canary, whose cage ‘
flowers in the w. 'ndow. . .
first home the poet had or ~
and it was in the little from
the lower floor that he spent
01 his happiest days.
man‘<‘
'm“ if:
The restored cabin whit-hence
sheltered Mark Twmn on Jackass
Hill, at Sonora, Cal, was presented
on June 10 to Tuolumne county by
YV. J. Lox-ing, a mining Operator,
i with Gov. Stephens making the prin—
At the barbecue which
for
clpal address.
followed there was provision
2,000 guests.
O 0 O
"The Eat-Crown Princes L
says L. E Keen in an interv: as with
the former German Cleo:- I‘r: - ‘
the London Times. l"‘ :12!
Ethel 31. Dell to El. G. “‘3‘:
Baroness Ox-czy to John 3
Keynes. The Crown l‘r
. . . thlltliis f.i'."l‘.!:
his leisure hauls “an:
Kipling ‘They :1
said. ‘Tlicy write
and the. wide spa--
Jack Land)! is my in"
’
.W zrclkYF‘i/‘w‘
/" //
,/
“I cannot '1
the story.”
Norwalk Chronicler