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Show Memories of Silver Reel In a recent J issue of the Utah Historical Quarterly, Mark A. Pendleton Pen-dleton writes interestingly of the early days at Silver Reef, the great silver mining camp near Leeds which flourished from. 1876 to 1903. The article, reprinted in the News with permission of the Utah Historical Society, follows: There was a glow in the east as we headed our auto northward from St. George. Soon the red peaks and pinnacles resplendent, proclaimed the rising sun. Streamers Stream-ers of light flowed through the gorges and canyons, glorifying in places the desert wastes. To the north the Pine Valley mountains loomed blue and protectingly. As ' the sun peeped over the horizon the red mountains to the west, stretching twenty miles northward, were a blaze of glory. . .. Near the northern extremity of this resplendent arched ridge of broken mountains was our goal for the day. Here was not a pot of gold, but the strangest deposit of silver in the world, that in the years 1876 to 1903 yielded silver valued at over $10,500,000. Near Leeds, a short turn to the left from the highway brought us in full view of a ridge where once flourished the noted mining camp, Silver Reef. The changes that had come to the camp were most tragic. trag-ic. Where once, dwelt 1500 souls, only two buildings were intact and occupied. Ruins everywhere. The ence well kept cemetery with grass, Lomhardy poplars, shrubs, flowers and white picket fence, was desolate deso-late save for a riotous growth of trees of heaven. Now almost as silent as a grave, fifty-odd years ago this lusty camp was a challenge to St. George for the county seat, and the Temple City, alarmed, appealed to the territorial ter-ritorial legislature for aid. The white metal camp is com-mandingly com-mandingly located on a boulder-strewn boulder-strewn ridge. To the north are the deep blue Pine Valley mountains, moun-tains, protecting Dixie from winter win-ter blasts, and from where cool breezes in summer flow when the shades of night fall, pushing back the hot breath of the desert. To the east stretches a desert waste then mountains, black, grey and red. To the southeast three large craters of extinct volcanoes vol-canoes dominate a broken plain black with lava, and beyond, capping cap-ping the escarpment of the great Hurricane fault, are colorful, fantastic fan-tastic peaks and pinnacles where the shadows and lights play, making mak-ing it a region of enchantment which my boyish fancy had peopled peo-pled with strange beings. To the southward desert wastes and tawny taw-ny shifting sands, where whirlwinds whirl-winds sport, and broken mountains as far as the eye can see. To the west are red mountains in all their beauty of coloring. An entrancing panorama at sunrise, at sunset, or by moonlight. As of yore, great masses of white clouds of fantastic fantas-tic shapes, ever changing, floated lazily in the blue sky, casting shadows on the landscape. Thrilled as I was by the wonderful won-derful panorama about me, I did not forget the heat of summer, the whirlwinds that sported with the desert sands, or the cold blasts that howled down Ash creek canyon, can-yon, chilling Dixie's inhabitants, blasting fruit crops and vexing the desert. And I remembered the reptiles rep-tiles and insects, the venomous rattlesnakes, rat-tlesnakes, the giant lizards, the Gila monster, the fearsome spider called the tarantula, and the many-legged swift-moving centipede. centi-pede. And who could forget the flow- ers in spring? I have s.en this desert region transformed by miles of flowers of many hues. The Indian In-dian paintbrush, the brilliant honeysuckle, hon-eysuckle, the pink marigold, the desert willow, a shrub with a pink-white pink-white bloom; the tree cactus with yellow-green flowers, the white daisy, the blue larkspur, the four o'clock, the infinite variety of prickly pear, many mighty lak a rcse. The most conspicuous plant was the yucca. One variety we called Adam's apple, and another Spanish bayonet. Two or three years had passed and the yucca had not bloomed. Then our hearts were gladdened because out of the heart of the plant shot stems several feet high that branched and produced great clusters of white wax-like flowers. The plant, thus adorned, seemed like a shrine. I fancy it was a trail-breaking padre, who, as he journeyed afoot over the desert and beheld this beautiful cluster of flowers, knelt in adoration and called it the candle of our Lord. To a boy from a quiet village, Silver Reef, with its brightly lighted saloons and stores and ceaseless activities, was a never-ending never-ending delight. Peddlers and freighters were constantly coming and going. Wagons loaded with ore and others loaded with cord wood were ever on the move to the hills where the stamps pounded the ore to powder. Hundreds of miners were on the trails mornings and evenings on their w'ay to or from the mines, carrying the regulation dinner pail. These men, Americans, Cor-nishmen, Cor-nishmen, Irishmen, fine specimens of manhood, after ten hours of toil in the mines, emerged from their cabins dressed in the best that money could buy and walked the streets with the air of kings. Chinatown with its queer inhabitants in-habitants and strange tongue, its unusual merchandise and Oriental colorings, was a source of wonder. Saloon brawls and gun play that often resulted fatally, certainly took the monotony out of life. (Continued next week) |
