On January13th, 1895, an article from the San Francisco Chronicle entitled A Mine in the Superstition Mountains announced to the world, Jacob Waltz and what would become the Lost Dutchman Goldmine. The article, written by P C Bicknell, is published about three and a half years after the death of Jacob Waltz and after Julia Thomas attempt her hand at finding the lost mine.
The article is quickly reprinted in the Kansas City Journal, on February 17, 1895 and the legend of the Lost Dutchman Goldmine is born.
A Mine in the Superstition Mountains.
The Half-told Tale of an Old Miser.
Afraid to Return to the Source of His Mysterious Wealth.
Phoenix (A.T.), January 9.-That there exists an undiscovered gold mine of fabulous wealth near a point in the Superstition mountains not more than fifty miles from Phoenix has long been an article of faith among a number of mining men in a position to sift the mass of evidence accumulated during the past twenty years. The facts and individual statements, although emanating from widely diverse sources and furnished by persons who could have had no possible communication with one another, all agree in a remarkable manner as to the description of the mine, and, what is still more convincing, are unanimous in indicating a particular quarter of the mountains in question as the place of its location.
Years ago Indians boasted to the early settlers–notably to the discoverers of the celebrated Antelope diggings–of the wonderful wealth of this deposit, and even pointed out vaguely the direction in which it lay. Pimas, Maricopas, Apaches–all claim a knowledge of it, though nothing can tempt one of them to disclose its exact whereabouts. Mexicans–even Mexicans of means–equipped with elaborate maps of the mysterious region, have more than once made journeys from Sonora in the hope of enriching themselves at this storied Ophir. They even name fortunate countrymen of theirs who in former years, running the gauntlet of Gringo and Apache, have surreptitiously worked the mine for a few weeks at a time and returned to the land of Manana with gold-laden burros. Lacking citizenship to enable them to claim the mine, they merely helped themselves hurriedly to what they could get and departed after covering all traces of their work.
The district designated is not extensive. It lies within an imaginary circle whose diameter is not more than five miles and whose center is marked by the Weaver’s Needle, a prominent and fantastic pinnacle of volcanic tufa that rises to a height of 2500
feet among a confusion of lesser peaks and mountainous masses of basaltic rock. One can reach its base only after struggling
through a network of boulder-choked canyons. and well-nigh impenetrable thickets. In its weird loneliness it seems an index
finger marking the location of some hidden mystery. Owing to its resemblance, from one point of.view, to a high-crowned pointed
sombrero the Mexicans and Indians call it Sombrero butte, or rather El Sombrero, and it is the landmark around which cluster all the tales of treasure referred to, whether Indian, Mexican or frontiersman. Americans have given it the name of Weaver’s Needle,
in memory of old Paulin Weaver, the well-known trapper and pioneer of the Southwest.
In regard to the mine, it cannot be doubted, in the face of the conclusive evidence adduced, that it really has an existence;
though in view of the numerous and unavailing efforts to discover it, made during a period of years, it seems more than likely that
it has been forever hidden, by some landslide or Cloudburst, or perhaps by the earthquake that gave this range a severe shaking up in 1887.
During the past year all the old stories have been revived and a new impetus has been given to the search, which has been
conducted spasmodically ever since the settlement of the Territory, by reason of the deathbed disclosures of an old German, who, in his last hours, confided to the woman nursing him how he and a partner worked that very mine in 1863, until the latter was killed by Apaches.
Jacob Waltz, for thus he signed his name, though he was better known as “Old Dutch Yoccub” to the few whom he came in contact, had taken a fancy to the woman, who had, in fact, taken care of him during the last few years of his helpless old life, and had given her gold nuggets on several occasions. He had been a resident of the Territory for thirty years and had lived for twenty years of this time on a little ranch near Phoenix, where he had a small vineyard and orchard. He was morose, miserly and uncommunicative, avoiding contact with men, and was always suspected of having a buried treasure, for he was known to have sold gold nuggets at different times, though he never went out in the mountains. It was only when he was convinced that he had to let go of life that he endeavored to inform the woman–his only friend–how to go to the mine, and also, it appears, to divulge the hiding place of his buried treasure. But he had cultivated the habit of reticence and secretiveness too long, and death overtook him even while he was struggling to make himself intelligible.
Of course his beneficiary lost no time after the funeral in turning over with the shovel every foot of the old man’s little piece of property–which, by the way, he left to her by will–but there are those who have shrewd Suspicions that the treasure was
found by another. The only gold found on the place was a few particles remaining in the seams of four buckskin sacks unearthed
from the bottom of “Old Yoccup’s” trunk. His directions, too, in regard to finding the mine were at fault, or else (which is probable, his hearer being a woman and relying entirely on her memory) she got them mixed. She made several trips to the supposed locality, taking with her experienced prospectors, but all to no purpose. Finally she made the story public, and since then scores
of prospectors have scoured the “suspected district” in vain.
Here is a short outline of “Old Yoccup’s” story as told by himself and repeated by his only hearer: At the beginning of the Civil War, being at that time in Arizona, he went over into Sonora to avoid military duty, and there made the acquaintance of the
Peralta family, with whom he became quite intimate. Speaking of Arizona, they told him that they owned a large grant in that
country, which, however, being nothing but a desert, was valueless, except for a rich gold mine from which they had drawn much wealth. They had worked it in the forties; sending up a band of trusty peons, who always returned in a few months! time, their burros loaded with the precious yellow metal, which was obtained without mill or machinery of any kind. All that was needed was a hammer to break it out of the quartz.
Believing that they had lost the title to their grant as a result of the Mexican War, the Peraltas sold to “Old Yoccup” for a
trifle the information necessary to enable him to find the mine, and their description of its glittering wealth was sufficient to
start him at once back to Arizona. At Tucson he picked up a partner in the shape of another German, also named Jacob, and
together they set out for the Superstition mountains, which, even at that early day, enjoyed the uncanny reputation indicated by
their name. Arriving at the initial point mentioned in Peralta’s instructions–“the first gorge on the south side, from the west end
of the range”–they found, as he had told them, a monumented trail which led them “northward over a lofty ridge; thence downward past Sombrero Butte into a long canyon running north, and finally to a tributary canyon very deep and rocky, and densely wooded with a continuous thicket of scrub oak.”
Here the woman is at fault. She has forgotten whether the canyon enters from the east or west. Proceeding up this canyon
with difficulty, they were startled by a repeated knocking a short distance ahead, as of some one breaking rock, and with rifles ready for instant use they advanced with caution. Presently, on the steep slope about 100 feet above them they spied two Indians busy breaking rock. This was evidently the much desired mine; and if so, it was not time for trifling. They did not propose to be balked of a fortune now almost in their hands by a naked Indian or two. Each picked his man, and taking careful aim, they dropped the interlopers in their tracks. The smoke had scarcely cleared away when they were horrified to see two more Indians, who appeared to come out of the earth. They began to fear that they had got into a hornet’s nest, but they were in for it now, and without more ado they dispatched these two by the same road as the others. Then two more jumped up and began running up the hill, endeavoring to hide themselves in the brush. By good luck they dropped these also, and as no more of them appeared after they remained concealed a reasonable time the Germans climbed up the dump of the shaft–for such they found it to be–congratulating themselves that the golden treasure was theirs at last.
On examination of the bodies of the supposed Indians their exultation changed to horror. The men were Mexicans~-naked, it is
true, but that is the way the Mexican miners prefer to work under ground. They had murdered six men in cold blood! The unfortunates were doubtless some of the Peralta peons, who had been working the mine on their own account. They probably had friends, who, on their failure to return, would come in search of them, and the matter would end in the arrest and conviction of the two Germans.
At any rate, this is what “Old Yoccup” and his partner thought, and on that account they feared it would not be safe to Claim the mine and work it openly. They planned, therefore, to get what gold they could in a week or two of work, and then , after
covering the mine, leave the country to return at some future time.
Their first care was to go back along the trail and throw down all the monuments that had made it so easy for them to reach the
Spot. The bodies they threw into the shaft, for they had found a rich cropping of the auriferous quartz lower down the bank where
there was more gold than quartz. The shaft, it appears, was about seventy-five feet deep, and made in Mexican style, with flaring
walls, rendering ladders unnecessary. After two weeks of work old Yoccup had to make a trip to Florence for supplies. It was a three days’ journey. On his return he found his partner lying dead– killed by Apaches. After that he was afraid to stay there alone,
but before leaving the spot he dragged his partner’s body into the tunnel they had made, which he then walled up and covered over. The shaft, he thought, was not likely to be discovered, as it was high above the gulch and pretty well concealed by the brush.
There are those who believe that “Old Yoccup” murdered his partner after they had worked together covering up the mine, as
they had planned. However this may be certain it is that the old man never profited by his gold. His superstitious fears always
prevented him from returning to the spot. No doubt he believed it to be haunted, and it was so, for him. For the remainder of his
life he was a morbid, fearful and broken-down old man, afraid to look his fellow-man in the eye, and not even daring to enjoy his
ill-gotten wealth. It was believed by his neighbors that he saw ghosts, and persons passing his cabin frequently heard his voice in
tones of fear and supplication as though he were addressing some menacing presence. He never told the woman who cared for him toward the last how much gold he had brought away from the mine, but whether it was $10,000 or $50,000 as some suppose, the amount must be still nearly intact, as he was never known to spend any money. He gave her at one time $5,000 to raise a mortgage, and at other times nuggets amounting in all to about $1500. But that there is more of it somewhere is proved by the fact that he was in the act of telling her where to find it when death overtook him.
It is a curious fact that the Indians describe Just such a mine, with a tunnel and shaft, in that same vicinity, with Sombrero
Butte as a landmark; and they also Say that the tunnel has been walled up and covered over. This is also the description of it
given by the Mexicans who have come in search of it at different times. The great clew for which all the search is now being made is a rock cabin in a cave, which, according to “old Yoccup’s” story, is directly across the canyon from the mine, and not more than 200 feet from it. It was here that the two Germans lived while they worked the mine. .
It a coincidence that the writer succeeded in Finding a rock cabin in a cave, very near the region referred to; but it was
the work of cliff dwellers, and, besides, there was no mine on the opposite side of the canyon.
P.C. Bicknell
