Ben’s Nugget; Or, A Boy’s Search For Fortune

Ben’s Nugget; Or, A Boy’s Search For Fortune

Jr. Horatio Alger
Jr. Horatio Alger

Author: Alger, Horatio, Jr., 1832-1899
Conduct of life — Juvenile fiction
California — History — 19th century — Juvenile fiction
Adventure and adventurers — Juvenile fiction
Gold mines and mining — Juvenile fiction
Ben’s Nugget; Or, A Boy’s Search For Fortune
Turning The Tables.



A Story of the Pacific Coast.


Copyright by Horatio Alger, Jr., 1882.

Three San Francisco Boys,
This Story


Ben’s Nugget” is the concluding volume of the Pacific Series. Though it is complete in itself, and may be read independently, the chief characters introduced will be recognized as old friends by the readers of “The Young Explorer,” the volume just preceding, not omitting Ki Sing, the faithful Chinaman, whose virtues may go far to diminish the prejudice which, justly or unjustly, is now felt toward his countrymen.
Though Ben Stanton may be considered rather young for a miner, not a few as young as he drifted to the gold-fields in the early days of California. Mining is carried on now in a very different manner, and I can hardly encourage any of my young readers to follow his example in seeking fortune so far from home.
New York, May 19, 1882.


The Mountain-Cabin 13
The Missing Chinaman 23
Two Gentlemen of the Road 30
Ki Sing in the Hands of the Enemy 38
Further Adventures of Bill Mosely 46
An Unequal Contest 54
Tied to a Tree 62
Turning the Tables 70
Bradley’s Signal Victory 78
“The Best of Friends must Part” 87
Plans for Departure 95
The Profits of Mining 100
Ki Sing’s Ride 104
Golden Gulch Hotel 113
Bill Mosely Reappears 122
A Travesty of Justice 131
Lynch Law 139
After the Execution 147
Ben wins Laurels as a Singer 151
A Little Retrospect 158
Mr. Campbell Receives Tidings of his Ward 165
A Morning Call 174
A Secret Conference 183
Miss Douglas Receives a Message 188
Walking into a Trap 195
A Hard-hearted Jailer 201
A Star in the Cloud 210
Jones Checkmates Orton Campbell 219
A Wedding Reception 229
The Nugget 237
Job Stanton’s Mistake 246
The House is Mortgaged 255
The Blow about to Fall 260
Conclusion 265





“What’s the news, Ben? You didn’t happen to bring an evenin’ paper, did you?”
The speaker was a tall, loose-jointed man, dressed as a miner in a garb that appeared to have seen considerable service. His beard was long and untrimmed, and on his head he wore a Mexican sombrero.
This was Jake Bradley, a rough but good-hearted miner, who was stretched carelessly upon the ground in front of a rude hut crowning a high eminence in the heart of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Ben Stanton, whom he addressed, was a boy of sixteen, with a pleasant face and a manly bearing.
“No, Jake,” he answered with a smile, “I didn’t meet a newsboy.”
“There ain’t many in this neighborhood, I reckon,” said Bradley. “I tell you, Ben, I’d give an ounce of dust for a New York or Boston paper. Who knows what may have happened since we’ve been confined here in this lonely mountain-hut? Uncle Sam may have gone to war, for aught we know. P’r’haps the British may be bombarding New York this moment.”
“I guess not,” said Ben, smiling.
“I don’t think it likely myself,” said Bradley, filling his pipe. “Still, there may be some astonishin’ news if we could only get hold of it.”
“I don’t think we can complain, Jake,” said Ben, turning to a pleasanter subject. “We’ve made considerable money out of Mr. Dewey’s claim.”
“That’s so. The three weeks we’ve spent here haven’t been thrown away, by a long chalk. We shall be pretty well paid for accommodatin’ Dick Dewey by stayin’ and takin’ care of him.”
“How much gold-dust do you think we’re got, Mr. Bradley?”
“What!” exclaimed Bradley, taking the pipe from his mouth; “hadn’t you better call me the Honorable Mr. Bradley, and done with it? Don’t you feel acquainted with me yet, that you put the handle on to my name?”
“Excuse me, Jake,” said Ben; “that’s what I meant to say, but I was thinking of Mr. Dewey and that’s how I happened to call you Mister.”
“That’s a different matter. Dick’s got a kind of dignity, so that it seems natural to call him Mister; but as for me, I’m Jake Bradley, not a bad sort of fellow, but I don’t wear store-clo’es, and I’d rather be called Jake by them as know me well.”
“All right, Jake; but you haven’t answered my question.”
“What about?”
“The gold-dust.”
“Oh yes. Well, I should say that the dust we’ve got out must be worth nigh on to five hundred dollars.”
“So much as that?” asked Ben, his eyes sparkling.
“Yes, all of that. That claim of Dewey’s is a splendid one, and no mistake. I think we ought to pay him a commission for allowing us to work it.”
“I think so too, Jake.”
They were sitting outside the rude hut which had been roughly put together on the summit of the mountain. The door was open, and what they said could be heard by the occupant, who was stretched on a hard pallet in one corner of the cabin.
“Come in, you two,” he called out.
“Sartin, Dick,” said Bradley; and he entered the cabin, followed by Ben.
“What was that you were saying just now?” asked Richard Dewey.
“Tell him, Ben,” said Bradley.
“Jake was saying that we ought to pay you a commission on the gold-dust we took from your claim, Mr. Dewey,” said our hero, for that is Ben’s position in our story.
“Why should you?” asked Dewey.
“Because it’s yours. You found it, and you ought to get some good of it.”
“So I have, Jake. In the first place, I got a thousand dollars out of it before I fell sick—that is, sprained my ankle.”
“But you ain’t gettin’ anything out of it now.”
“I think I am,” said Dewey, smiling and looking gratefully at his two friends. “I am getting the care and attention of two faithful friends, who will see that I do not suffer while I am laid up in this lonely hut.”
“We don’t want to be paid for that, Dick.”
“I know that, Bradley; but I don’t call it paying you to let you work the claim which I don’t intend to work myself.”
“But you would work it if you were well.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” answered Dewey, with energy. “I would leave this place instantly and take the shortest path to San Francisco.”
“To see the gal that sent us out after you?”
“Yes. But, Jake, suppose you call her the young lady.”
“Of course. You mustn’t mind me, Dick. I don’t know much about manners. I was raised kind of rough, and never had no chance to learn politeness. Ben, here, knows ten times as much as I do about how to behave among fashionable folks.”
“I don’t know about that, Jake,” said Ben. “I was brought up in the country, and I know precious little about fashionable folks.”
“Oh, well, you know how to talk. Besides, didn’t you bring out Miss Douglas from the States?”
“She brought me,” said Ben.
“It seems to me we are wandering from the subject,” said Dewey. “It was a piece of good luck for me when you two happened upon this cabin where I lay helpless, with no one to look after me but Ki Sing.”
“Ki Sing took pretty good care of you for a haythen,” said Bradley.
“So he did. He is a good fellow, if he is a Chinaman, and far more grateful than many of his white brothers; but I was sighing for the sight of one of my own color, who would understand my wants better than that poor fellow, faithful as he is.”
“I reckon the news we brought you helped you some, Dick,” said Jake Bradley.
“Yes. It put fresh life into me to learn that Florence Douglas, my own dear Florence, had come out to this distant coast to search for me. But I tell you, Jake, it’s rather tantalizing to think that she is waiting for me in San Francisco, while I am tied by the ankle to this lonely cabin so many miles away.”
“It won’t be for long now, Dick,” said Bradley. “You feel a good deal better, don’t you?”
“Yes; my ankle is much stronger than it was. Yesterday I walked about the cabin, and even went out of doors. I felt rather tired afterward, but it didn’t hurt me.”
“All you want is a little patience, Dick. You mustn’t get up too soon. A sprain is worse than a break, so I’ve often heard: I can’t say I know from experience.”
“I hope you won’t. It’s a very trying experience, as I can testify.”
“You’d get well quicker if we had some doctor’s stuff to put on it, but I reckon anyhow you’ll be out in a week or ten days.”
“I hope so. If I could only write to Florence and let her know where and how I am, I wouldn’t mind so much the waiting.”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s in ‘Frisco, where nothing can’t happen to her,” said Bradley, whose loose grammar I cannot recommend my young readers to imitate.
“I am not sure about that. Her guardian might find out where she is, and follow her even to San Francisco. If I were on the spot he could do no harm.”
“I tell you, Dick, that gal—excuse me, I mean that young lady—is a smart one, and I reckon she can get ahead of her guardian if she wants to. Ben here told me how she circumvented him at the Astor House over in York. She’ll hold her own ag’in him, even if he does track her to ‘Frisco.”
Some of my readers may desire to know more about Dewey and his two friends, and I will sketch for their benefit the events to which Bradley referred.
Florence Douglas was the ward of the Albany merchant, John Campbell, who by the terms of her father’s will was entrusted with the care of her large property till she had attained the age of twenty-five, a period nearly a year distant. Mr. Campbell, anxious to secure his ward’s large property for his son, sought to induce Florence to marry the said son, but this she distinctly declined to do. Irritated and disappointed, Mr. Campbell darkly intimated that should her opposition continue he would procure from two pliant physicians a certificate of her insanity and have her confined in that most terrible of prisons, a mad-house. The fear that he would carry his threat into execution nerved Florence to a bold movement. Being mistress of a fortune of thirty thousand dollars, left by her mother, she had funds enough for her purpose. She fled to New York, where chance made her acquainted with our hero, Ben Stanton, under whose escort she safely reached San Francisco, paying Ben’s expenses in return for his protection.
Arrived in San Francisco, she furnished Ben with the necessary funds to seek out Richard Dewey (to whom, without her guardian’s knowledge, she was privately betrothed) and inform him of her presence in California. After a series of adventures Ben and his companion had found Dewey, laid up with a sprained ankle in a rude hut high up among the mountains. He had met with an accident while successfully working a rich claim near by.
Of course Richard Dewey was overjoyed to meet friends of his own race who could provide for him better than his faithful attendant, Ki Sing. As he could not yet leave the spot, he offered to Ben and Bradley the privilege of working his claim.
In the next chapter I will briefly explain Ben’s position, and the object which brought him to California, and then we shall be able to proceed with our story.



If Florence Douglas was an heiress, our young hero, Ben Stanton, was likewise possessed of property, though his inheritance was not a very large one. When his father’s estate was settled it was found that it amounted to three hundred and sixty-five dollars. Though rather a large sum in Ben’s eyes, he was quite aware that the interest of this amount would not support him. Accordingly, being ambitious, he drew from his uncle, Job Stanton, a worthy shoemaker, the sum of seventy-five dollars, and went to New York, hoping to obtain employment.
In this he was disappointed, but he had the good fortune to meet Miss Florence Douglas, by whom he was invited to accompany her to California as her escort, his expenses of course being paid by his patroness. It is needless to say that Ben accepted this proposal with alacrity, and, embarking on a steamer, landed in less than a month at San Francisco. He did not remain here long, but started for the mining-districts, still employed by Miss Douglas, in search of Richard Dewey, her affianced husband, whom her guardian had forbidden her to marry. As we have already said, Ben and his chosen companion, Jake Bradley, succeeded in their mission, but as yet had been unable to communicate tidings of their success to Miss Douglas, there being no chance to send a letter to San Francisco from the lonely hut where they were at present living.
Besides carrying out the wishes of his patroness, Ben intended to try his hand at mining, and had employed the interval of three weeks since he discovered Mr. Dewey in working the latter’s claim, with the success already referred to.
The time when the two friends are introduced to the reader is at the close of the day, when, fatigued by their work on the claim, they are glad to rest and chat. Mr. Bradley has a pipe in his mouth, and evidently takes considerable comfort in his evening smoke.
“I wish I had a pipe for you, Ben,” he said. “You don’t know how it rests me to smoke.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Jake,” returned Ben, smiling.
“Won’t you take a whiff? You don’t know how soothin’ it is.”
“I don’t need to be soothed, Jake. I’m glad you enjoy it, but I don’t envy you a particle.”
“Well, p’r’aps you’re right, Ben. Our old doctor used to say smokin’ wasn’t good for boys, but I’ve smoked more or less since I was twelve years old.”
“There’s something I’d like better than smoking just now,” said Ben.
“What’s that?”
“Eating supper.”
“Just so. I wonder where that heathen Ki Sing is?”
Ki Sing was cook and general servant to the little party, and performed his duties in a very satisfactory manner—better than either Ben or Bradley could have done—and left his white employers freer to work at the more congenial occupation of searching for gold.
“Ki Sing is unusually late,” said Richard Dewey. “I wonder what can have detained him? I am beginning to feel hungry myself.”
“The heathen is usually on time,” said Bradley, “though he hasn’t got a watch, any more than I have.—Dick, what time is it?”
“Half-past six,” answered Richard Dewey, who, though a miner, had not been willing to dispense with all the appliances of civilization.
“Maybe Ki Sing has found another place,” suggested Ben, jocosely.
“He is faithful; I will vouch for that,” said Dewey. “I am more afraid that he has met with some accident—like mine, for instance.”
“You won’t catch a Chinaman spraining his ankle,” said Bradley; “they’re too spry for that. They’ll squeeze through where a white man can’t, and I wouldn’t wonder if they could turn themselves inside out if they tried hard.”
“It is possible,” suggested Dewey, “that Ki Sing may have met with some of our own race who have treated him roughly. You know the strong prejudice that is felt against the poor fellows by some who are far less deserving than they. They think it good sport to torment a Chinaman.”
“I can’t say I like ’em much myself,” said Bradley; “but I don’t mind saying that Ki Sing is a gentleman. He is the best heathen I know of, and if I should come across any fellow harmin’ him I reckon I’d be ready to take a hand myself.”
“We couldn’t get along very well without him, Jake,” said Ben.
“That’s where you’re right, Ben. He’s made himself useful to us, and no mistake.”
“I have reason

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