Both of these have perished, leaving
not a stick and scarce a memory behind them. Tide after tide of
hopeful miners have thus flowed and ebbed about the mountain,
coming and going, now by lone prospectors, now with a rush. Last,
in order of time came Silverado, reared the big mill, in the
valley, founded the town which is now represented, monumentally, by
Hanson's, pierced all these slaps and shafts and tunnels, and in
turn declined and died away.
"Our noisy years seem moments in the wake
Of the eternal silence."
As to the success of Silverado in its time of being, two reports
were current. According to the first, six hundred thousand dollars
were taken out of that great upright seam, that still hung open
above us on crazy wedges. Then the ledge pinched out, and there
followed, in quest of the remainder, a great drifting and
tunnelling in all directions, and a great consequent effusion of
dollars, until, all parties being sick of the expense, the mine was
deserted, and the town decamped. According to the second version,
told me with much secrecy of manner, the whole affair, mine, mill,
and town, were parts of one majestic swindle. There had never come
any silver out of any portion of the mine; there was no silver to
come. At midnight trains of packhorses might have been observed
winding by devious tracks about the shoulder of the mountain.
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