THE WHISKEY BARREL BANKER

Placerville, Boise River, May 2, 1863

     One of the crowd that followed us in said to our guide "Can you tell us anything about Wells Fargo and Co?  We understood that they were going to establish an agency here."  "Yes" says the guide "they are, and that man in spectacles is the agent." The next instant I heard a shout taken up and repeated through the whole town "Wells Fargo have come."  In less than three minutes I was surrounded by an excited crowd of two or three hundred men, who hardly allowed me time... to get my saddle off from my mule before they almost dragged me into a large unfinished building on the Plaza, as they called the square.  The carpenters were at work, but were stopped at once, the shavings were cleaned out, a couple of boards put on tressels [sic] were fixed up for a counter, one man ran for a whiskey keg to make me a stool and another brought in a pair of scales and a yeast powder box to put gold dust in and installed himself to weigh for me.  I had brought in with me about 400 letters, and now proceeded to call them over.  As news of my arrival spread the crowd increased and for eight mortal hours my tongue had to wag without cessation.  I disposed of a great many letters though at a dollar apiece and about eight o'clock at night broke up business in spite of the crowd, being very hungry and tired and started out to get something to eat.  This was my introduction to Placerville.

cooking his own grub, baking bread in a frying pan.  But he wasn't ready for the boisterous reception he got from miners who desperately needed a way to get news in and mail and gold dust out.  A little too boisterous as the rest of his letter shows.)

     I found my hands full as long as I staid (sic).  I was busy from morning till night and very soon began to see that there was a great deal of money in the country and that the office, when fairly established would do a tremendous business.  Everything reminded me of '49 times in California. Money was easily made and recklessly spent.  Nearly every finished house in the town was a gambling saloon and all were crowded every night.  Fighting, shoooting, etc., were every day occurrences.

     On Sundays there would be two or three thousand people in the town.  Sometimes it would be almost impossible to elbow your way across the plaza for the crowd.  During the day there would probably be half a dozen fights and two or three shooting scrapes, and as all the gambling houses kept a band of music in each in full blast, the uproar and confusions would be perfectly deafening, about as strong a contrast to a quite New England Sunday as you could well find.

     I saw a little incident one night, very characteristic of the times.  I had been at work quite late at night and before going to bed went out to sit down awhile on the steps in front of the house.  There had been a crowd in the plaza all the evening, but they had all gone home except one party of three or four who had been particularly noisy and obstreperous...  Just then a man on horseback came riding through the Plaza very fast, and as he passed this party one of them jerked out his revolver and fired a couple of shots after him.  "What the devil are you shooting at the man for" say his companions.  "Pooh" was the answer in a tone which evidently implied that fuss was being made about nothing, "there's no harm done.  I didn't hit him."

     Excerpt from Letters of Charles T. Blake published in California Historical Society Quarterly, June, 1937.  For more information about life and commerce in the early West, contact the California Historical Society at (415) 567-1848.

(Story is used courtesy of Wells Fargo.com)