Blessing Gold

"In the days del’49" was a popular song that toured the gold fields of California after the first rush and successes of mining 1849-1850. He is the author is unknown, and very probably was one of the tens of thousands of young men who survived disease, injury and even murder in nature and mostly outlawed gold camps of the first Gold Rush. It provides a unique and slightly sardonic insight into the fates of many who pursue the "golden dream" at that time.

Enjoy this little mining history….

“In the Days of ‘49″

I’m old Tom Moore from the eastern shore
In the good old golden days
They called me a bummer and a gin soak, too
But what care I for praise?
I wander around from claim-to-claim
Just like a roving sign,
And the people all say “there goes poor Tom Moore”
Of the days of ‘49.

In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often I repine
For the days of old when we dug up the gold
In the days of ‘49.

There was Nantuck Bill, I knew him well,
A joker that was fond of tricks.
At a poker game he was always there
And heavy with his bricks.
He would ante up and draw his cards
And go in a hatfull blind
But in a game of bluff, Bill lost his breath
In the days of ‘49.

In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often I repine
For the days of old when we dug up the gold
In the days of ‘49.

There was New York Jake, a butcher’s boy
He was always getting tight.
And every time that he got full
He was always hunting a fight.
One night he ran up against a knife
In the hands of old Bob Kline
And over Jake they held a wake
In the days of ‘49.

In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often I repine
For the days of old when we dug up the gold
In the days of ‘49.

There was poor Old Jess, that old lame cuss
He never would relent.
Was never known to miss a drink
Or ever spend a cent.
At length Old Jess like all the rest
Who never would decline,
In all his bloom went up the flume
In the days of ‘49.

In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often I repine
For the days of old when we dug up the gold
In the days of ‘49.

There was Roaring Bill from Buffalo
I never will forget.
He would roar all day and roar all night
And I guess he’s roaring yet.
One night he fell in a prospect hole
Of a roaring bad design,
And in that hole roared out his soul
In the days of ‘49.

In the days of old, in the days of gold
How often I repine
For the days of old when we dug up the gold
In the days of ‘49.