Payne Mountain: The Original Strike - the Story of Eli Carpenter and Jack Seaton
J.M. Cockle and The Big Boulder, 1892 - the photograph that started a stampede
Men of iron, drills of steel - driving a tunnel through a mountain of granite rock
Slocan Treasure Vaults - the Mines of Sandon and Area
Getting the Ore Down - Sandon's Aerial and Surface Tramways
The Processing Process - the Concentrator Mills of Sandon & Area
"Solidarity Forever" - The Western Federation of Miners and the One Big Union

Like so many aspects of Sandon's history, conflicting tales and mysteries have grown up around the first discovery of the vast wealth hidden high in the Slocan Mountains. Stories have been told of double-crossing and deceit, but as with most legends, it has a simple beginning, and certain facts are a matter of record.

In the summer of 1891 two prospectors, a French-Canadian former tightrope-walker named Eli Carpenter and an Irishman form Tennessee named J.L. "Jack" Seaton, arrived on foot in the remote wilderness of the Slocan. They were pursuing tales of rich deposits of galena (silver-lead) ore, which Carpenter had heard was used by native guides and hunters.

After months of unsuccessful searching, the two men struggled to the top of Payne Mountain, to the north of present-day Sandon. It was there, on September 9, 1891, that Carpenter and Seaton finally discovered what they had sought all summer: the unmistakable sparkle of galena ore. Taking a sample to be tested at the assay office, the two men staked their claim, 1500 by 600 feet, and head back to Hot Springs Camp (present-day Ainsworth).

At this point legend begins to overshadow known fact. The story is often told that Carpenter, in an attempt to double-cross his partner, had two samples tested: one from the Payne claim, which assayed 170 ounces of silver per ton, and another from a lower-grade claim which assayed at only 20 ounces. When Carpenter told him that their Payne claim had assayed at only 20 ounces of silver, Seaton lost interest in the claim. Carpenter then entered into a secret agreement with a new partner, E.A. Bielenberg of Nelson, to return to Payne Mountain and stake additional claims. However, in discussing these plans, the two were overheard by innkeeper Charles Olson, who promply informed Seaton of Carpenter's deceit. At this point, Seaton entered into a new partnership with four friends, who became known collectively as the Noble Five. Then, in an effort to escape detection, Carpenter and and his new partner stole back to Payne Mountain by the more indirect southern route of Nelson and Slocan Lake, while an indignant Seaton and his four new partners took the more direct western route via the Kaslo River. Arriving first, Seaton's group staked the Noble Five group of 21 claims on Payne and Reco Mountains, effectively outflanking the treacherous Carpenter, or so the legend is told.

However, it is known that shortly after Carpenter and Seaton arrived in Ainsworth, they had the sample assayed. It was a number of days later, on September 22, 1891, that they jointly recorded their Payne Claim near the headwaters of Slocan Creek, about 25 miles west of Kootenay Lake. If Carpenter had truly deceived his partner, why would Seaton co-register a claim that he believed to be relatively worthless? It is also hard to believe that such incredible assay results would remain secret, particularly in a small mining camp such as Ainsworth. Indeed, there is evidence they did not. It is a fact that Carpenter and Seaton returned to Payne Mountain by different routes, and that their departures from town caused such a rush of prospectors into the remote wilderness that Ainsworth Camp was left virtually deserted for days.

There is also other documented evidence that calls the legend into question, but we will likely never know the whole truth behind the story. However, the impact of Carpenter and Seaton's discovery is well-known. Hundreds of prospectors flooded into the district, and before year's end over 191 claims had been staked. One of these was the famous Slocan Star (later Silversmith) mine, discovered by Bruce White, Charles Chambers and John Sandon, the man after whom the city itself was later named. Over the next century, more than $30 billion dollars worth of silver, lead and zinc were removed from the mountains around Sandon, including over a million ounces a year of silver-lead from the Payne Mine alone.

Ironically, however, none of the original prospectors were greatly enriched by their fantastic discoveries, having sold their shares to mining companies from Spokane for a fraction of their real worth. In later years, Eli Carpenter ran a pack train between the mines and area towns, and also built a hotel in the neighbouring community of Three Forks. On May 24, 1897, he astonished the entire Slocan district when, in order to win a bar bet, he walked blindfolded across a tightrope strung across Slocan City's main street- then doubled his winnings by stopping to cook bacon and eggs on a stove halfway across! By September of that year, Carpenter had departed for the goldfields of the Klondike, where he reportedly died a year later.

Like Carpenter and the others, easy money proved too tempting for Jack Seaton, who also sold his share in the Payne and Reco Mountain properties for a pittance. In 1893, Seaton returned to Tennessee with the body of his younger brother, who had died within two months of reaching BC. A sick man himself by then, Seaton remained in the United States, where he became bedridden and died within the year.

Today, the only remaining traces of the two men are the fast-running mountain streams named for them; Carpenter Creek, which runs through Sandon, and Seaton Creek, which joins it five kilometres downstream from the old city's location.

Within weeks of Carpenter and Seaton's initial discovery, several hundred prospectors from the region had rushed into the Sandon area to stake as many claims as possible. The onset of winter soon forced the men back to the established communities of Ainsworth Camp and Nelson, but with the approach of spring the men returned, including a novice prospector from Ainsworth named J.W. Cockle.

Early that summer, Cockle was cutting a pole while standing atop a large rock in the creekbed of Sandon Creek. In the process, his axe slipped, and he sheared off a chunk of the rock he was standing on. To his shock, Cockle saw the unmistakable sparkle of galena ore, and realized he was standing on top of an enormous nugget, also called a piece of float. Clearing the mud and rocks away from around the rock, Cockle and his partner were astonished to find that the piece of float was actually a gigantic boulder, which later turned out to weigh 125 tons.

Cockle and his partner were elated, and immediately staked a claim on the site where they had discovered the boulder. The two men, flush with success and with visions of future riches in their heads, sold the boulder for only $2,000. After smelting, its value was later determined to be in excess of $20,000. As it turned out, however, there was no more ore on the site Cockle and his partner had staked. More experienced prospectors quickly realized that the boulder had actually rolled downhill many years before. Looking for its original location, these men found and staked the Slocan Star mine, one of the richest in the entire region. All Cockle and his partner ever received, however, was the original $2,000 for their boulder. Disheartened, Cockle eventually gave up prospecting and ended up running a profitable ferry service on Kootenay Lake.

However, this picture of the Big Boulder and the two men was soon in print in papers all around North America, and tales of gigantic boulders of solid silver in the fabulous Slocan district began to spread like wildfire. At the same time, the California gold rush was beginning to peter out, and soon a tidal wave of men, including thousands of Americans, began to flood into the Slocan district. Before the summer was out, a townsite was staked, businesses were springing up like wildflowers, and life in the remote Slocan would never be the same again.

One of the most crucial jobs in the Slocan mines was also one of the most difficult, unhealthy and dangerous: hand-drilling holes in solid rock with a length of steel and a hammer. These holes would then be filled with explosive charges which would be detonated, blasting out chunks of rock and pushing the tunnel a few feet ahead. Once the smoke and dust settled, "muckers" would come in behind the drillers to haul out all the chunks of loose rock; the valuable ore would be separated and sacked, and waste rock would be discarded onto the tailings dump. Meanwhile, the drillers would be back at work, hammering more holes in the rock to accept the next round of charges, in a never-ending cycle. In smaller mines, of course, the driller, mucker and sorter were one and the same person, but many of the larger mines had crews of dozens of men, which allowed for specialization.

In drilling a hole for the charge, the miner would start with a one-foot piece of sharpened drill steel, striking it with a hammer, then giving it a slight turn to loosen the rock chips and keep the steel from binding in the hole. As the hole deepened, a longer drill steel would be substituted, until the final drill, which was usually between four and five feet long. Working by flickering candle-light in the early years, and later by carbide lamps, the drillers often worked above their heads for 10 hours a day, with rock fragments cascading over them. Frequently, the dust particles they inhaled would lead to silicosis in their lungs, which meant a slow, agonizing death by drowning years later, as the aging miner struggled to breathe through the fluid that filled his inflamed chest.

If the tunnel was being driven through harder rock, the driller often worked with a partner- one man would hold the drill steel in place while the second man would swing the hammer. After a set length of time, the two men would switch, with the holder becoming the striker, and vice-versa. If the miner was working alone, he used a four-pound (1.81 kg.) hammer; a two-man team called four an eight-pound (3.63 kg.) hammer.

Traditionally, many of the early miners were Welsh or Cornish in origin, and gained the nickname "Jack", or "Cousin Jack". Because of this, if the miner was working alone it was called "single-jacking" while a two-man team was said to be "double-jacking". Needless to say, the man holding the steel had to trust the hammer-man implicitly, for one slip-up could mean being maimed for life. Many of these miners became extremely adept at working as a team, drilling holes several feet long in a matter of minutes.

This drilling prowess soon became a matter of pride, wagers and tournaments. In the late 19th and early 20th century, large rock-drilling competitions were held in mining camps all over North America, often with purses in the thousands of dollars, and even greater amounts hanging in the balance on side-bets. Often these competitions could bring far more money than weeks or even months of work underground, and miners trained for them with all the seriousness and dedication of an Olympic athlete. Top-level single-jackers and double-jackers would frequently travel half-way across the continent to attend an important tournament, and winners would return to their home towns as conquering heroes, often thousands of dollars richer.

Two men from Sandon- a Swede named Algot ("Erik") Erickson and a Scot named Angus McGillivray- won the international championships more than once, causing much chest-puffing pride among their comrades in the valley. Erickson, a gentle man whose strength in later years was to earn him the affectionate nickname "Iron Man", would later repeat this feat in partnership with another Swede, Joe Johnson of Silverton.

In order to train without distraction, Johnson and Erickson moved in together in an abandoned log cabin on the Bosun Ranch, north of Silverton. The owner's young son became their "official" time-keeper, and Johnson and Erickson were reported to be so proficient with the hammer and drill steel that they could average better than a blow a second, with hardly a break in the pace when they switched positions to take each other's place. The training paid off for the two, as they were able to support themselves for a considerable time with their winnings before they finally returned to working in the mines.

Pneumatic drills have long since replaced hand-drilling in the mines, but to this day there is a large granite boulder on Bosun Ranch, full of holes drilled into it almost a century ago by these two Swedish steel-drivers. A similar boulder currently sits outside the Sandon Historical Society Museum, a silent witness to the days when hardened muscles, lightning-swift reflexes, a hammer and a length of drill steel could bring fame, wealth and relative leisure into the life of a hard-rock miner.

During Sandon's heyday over 300 mines were in operation within Sandon's vicinity. It took both rail lines to handle the shipments of ore going out and supplies for the mines coming in. Entire forests were consumed in order to supply the timber necessary for the operation of the mines. Many of the miners lived in Sandon, but an additional 2,300 were residents of the camps at the mine sites. Some of the camps accommodated as many as 100 people.

The majority of the mines and camps were located above the 5,000 foot elevation. Since 1892, over 35 billion dollars (in today's value) of silver, lead and zinc have been produced from the Sandon area mines. This exceeds the value of the 3 major gold rushes- California, the Cariboo and the Klondike- combined!

All but one of the mines were underground workings. Generally a vein was followed from the surface in the hope that it would widen into a major body of ore. In the case of the Slocan Star mine, the vein widened to an amazing 70 feet of clean galena. Most tunnels were driven below the ore bodies in order that gravity could be used to the fullest advantage. When the ore extended below the lowest tunnels, a shaft would need to be sunk and the water would need to be pumped out. Almost all mines used underground railways to move the ore and waste rock to the surface. In the early days, most mining was done by hand drilling. By 1900, compressed air drills were quickly replacing the old-fashioned methods. The work was dirty, dangerous, and unhealthy. Many miners died in accidents and many died later from respiratory diseases.

As the mines became more mechanized, the needs for energy became greater and greater. Steam engines and water turbines became part of every major operation. Several elaborate power systems were built to harness the creeks. The best surviving example is the Silversmith Powerhouse located right in Sandon.

Mining at Sandon has had its ups and downs over the years. Most of the major discoveries were made during the first three decades. During periods of wartime, metal prices have typically risen as demands have increased. During these times, mining production at Sandon has also increased. The reduced activity in recent years is a reflection of poor metal prices and the fact that the most accessible ore bodies have been mined out. If prices rise substantially in the future, chances are that exploration will uncover new ore bodies at even greater depths.

Sandon will go down in history as the capital of one of the world's greatest silver mining districts. The Payne mine was BC's highest dividend payer for many years. It and dozens of other multi-million dollar mines near Sandon made a substantial contribution to the early development of Canada and the North-Western United States.

A very important component of the larger mining operations was the tramway. Generally, the mines were located high on the mountainsides, sometimes thousands of feet higher than the valley bottom. The concentrator mills were usually located in the valleys where an adequate water supply was available and where access to one of the railways was convenient.

As a result, the ores had to be transported lengthy distances between the mines and the mills. The mountainous terrain was ideally suited to tramways. The aerial tramway was very popular and closely resembled the modern chair-lift. Buckets carrying the ore were strung on cables, which in turn were supported by large wooden towers.

Another type of tramway was called a surface tram. It consisted of a long wooden platform with rails fastened to it. Two large cars connected by cable operated on the rails in such a way that when one car was going down, the other was on its way up. Both types of tramways relied on gravity to operate. The loaded buckets or cars traveling downhill pulled the empties back up. Only a brake was needed to control the speed of descent. Most tramways were self-loading and unloading.

After decades of economical operation, all tramways have ceased to operate. The modern ore truck has replaced them. Fading remains of these once great systems can still be seen in the Sandon area.

Before the arrival of the railways, transportation costs of getting the ores to the smelters was astronomical. The smelters were all located south of the border, so only the richest ores were worth shipping. The ore had to be hand-sorted before being put into sacks in order to avoid shipping and waste. When the railroads were completed in 1895, transportation of the ores became convenient and affordable. Many mines which had previously been uneconomical to operate became viable producers. Lower grade ores also became commercially viable.

Many of the larger mines opted to build concentrator mills in order to process huge tonnages of their lower grade ores. By mechanically removing the majority of waste rock from the ore, it avoided needless freight and handling cost. The concentrate produced by the mills was able to match the quality of the hand-picked high-grade ores which had been shipped in the earlier years.

Dozens of concentrator mills were built in the Silvery Slocan. The first mill was operational by 1896. The majority of the mills were in the Sandon area, and some were even built within the city limits. T.L. Mitchell, an extremely talented engineer, mill builder, and tramway designer had his office in Sandon. During his incredible career, he designed and built the majority of the Slocan mills, all of which had enviable production records. Some of his works, including the Silversmith Power-House, still exist today.

Although the earliest concentrators were jig mills, much of the modern flotation technology was pioneered here in the Slocan. The Treminco concentrator at Sandon is one such example and is still operational today.

The miner's life in the 1890's was a hard one. Most travelled from job to job, carrying their bedding and few personal belongings, working wherever they could for as much as they were able to get. Many were illiterate, or foreign-born, with little or no skills in English. Working in cold, damp tunnels hundreds of feet underground, many were killed in the mines, or in avalanches travelling to or from work, or died lingering deaths from respiratory disease brought on by work in the mines. Even if they escaped death, many were crippled for life by accidents or severe ailments.

Some miners married and had settled lives in town, but most remained single and lived either in one of the many hotels or in lonely little mining camps high on the mountainsides. Those who lived in town had some form of social life, but the men who lived in the camps often came into town only infrequently for one of the fours days off yearly- May 24th, July 1st, Labour Day and December 25th. A skilled miner earning top-level wages was making in the vicinity of $3.50 for a 10-hour day, but there was no guarantee that they would be paid even that much.

As miners flooded into the Slocan following the fantastic "Payne" discovery, many crossed the border from the United States, particularly from Washington state, Idaho and Colorado. A large number of these men were veterans of the bitter and violent labour battles in the Coueur d'Alene area of Idaho, and had learned from past experience that mine owners were more likely to be interested in profits than issues such as the miners' safety or wages. They had good reason for concern, too, as many of the Slocan mines were beint purchased by large mining companies based in the United States.

Along with the men and the companies, the "Payne" strike brought something else to the Slocan- trade unionism. Formed on December 5, 1898, by 110 miners, the Sandon Miners Union was affiliated with the Western Federation of Miners (WFM), a loose but democratic labour organization based in Boulder, Colorado. The WFM was one of the most militant unions in the United States, and its president was a socialist. Campaigning for safer conditions in the mine as well as better living conditions in the company-owned mining camps, the WFM was concerned with more than just increased wages for its members.

The WFM was supported in its struggle by sympathetic newspapers and editors, such as The Paystreak in Sandon, under "Colonel" Robert Lowery, who argued with wit and skill on behalf of the miners. Some mine owners were receptive to a union, but many fought bitterly against it, and formed the Silver-Lead Mine Owner's Association (SLMOA). These owners and their sympathizers, such as Charles Cliffe of Sandon's Mining Review, characterized the union as the "Western Federation of Dynamiters and Murderers", but despite their accusations there were never any violence in the Slocan camps to match the Coeur d'Alene battles.

Indeed, the Local 81 of the WFM- the Sandon Miners Union- accomplished a great deal, benefitting not only their membership, but the general public as well. Responding to the critical need for local medical care, on March 1, 1899 the WFM opened the doors to the Sandon Hospital. Located on Reco Avenue in the downtown core, it had room for six patients and was open to all, regardless of financial standing. Some of the building costs had come from local merchants, but the bulk of the money had come from the pockets of the miners themselves.

Meanwhile, the situation with the SLMOA was about to boil over. The provincial government in Victoria was proposing changes to the Mines Act that would regulate an eight-hour work day in the mines. Furious over what it saw as government "meddling", the SLMOA vowed that if the work day was cut by two hours, they would cut the miner's wages too- from $3.50 to $3.00 per day. Bitter at what it saw as exploitation by millionaire mine owners, the WFM swore to pull its men from the mines if wages were reduced.

Negotiations went nowhere, and on June 21, 1899 the SLMOA pre-empted a perceived strike threat by locking out the miners. As summer and then winter dragged on with no settlement, many miners were reduced to destitution, relying on their union brothers, wives of fellow miners and sympathetic members of the public to help them out. In desperation, many drifted away, looking for work wherever they could find it. In the hospital, the matron, Miss Chisholm, and Doctor Gomm not only agreed to work for free, but placed their own meagre savings at the disposal of the hospital's board.

Finally, in February of 1900, a compromise settlement was announced: the SLMOA would accept the eight-hour day, but top miner's wages would be reduced to $3.25. As desperate as the situation was for the miners, it was a hard concession for many to make, and the labour troubles were not solved, but only delayed.

Then, barely three months later, disaster struck- on May 3, 1900 the entire downtown core, including the WFM hospital, was consumed by flames. All that was saved was a chair, some bedclothes and the patients. Ever resourceful, the faithful Dr. Gomm soon located a building in the upper gulch which had survived, and on May 9 the hospital re-opened. The new building was located in "unhealthy" territory, however; it was cold and damp, lacked sunlight for three months of the year, and sat dangerously close to a frequent snowslide area.

At the same time, however, the union was busy back in the downtown core, erecting a beautiful two-storey building that housed a spacious gymnasium, union offices, a library and a large auditorium on the main floor. Featuring a stage complete with drop curtains painted to represent local mountain scenery, a suspended dance floor and an upright grand piano, it served as a dance and performance hall for Sandon residents for many years until it was demolished for its lumber in 1952.

By 1904, a snowslide that came within feet of the hospital's front door had forced the hand of the union. With $2,500 and promissory notes for more in hand, the union began to plan a new hospital. Built on land donated by J.M. Harris and Malcolm Sproat of Victoria, the new hospital was located high up on Sunnyside Hill in a bright, airy location considered much healthier for the patients. Two storeys tall, with a large basement, it had a modern sewage system, electric light and furnace heat. Featuring a convalescent ward, private rooms for patients of both sexes, staff rooms and running water, it cost almost $7,000 and was considered the best and most modern hospital in the entire region.

The full picture was far from rosy, however. Falling metal prices were having severe consequences for the union as men drifted away and membership rates fell. By 1906 the situation was so bad that the Sandon Local was forced to turn to WFM headquarters in Colorado for help. A $2,000 bail-out was arranged in 1907, with the WFM taking a mortgage on the hospital as security.

By 1919, with news of the Winnipeg General Strike filtering in from the "outside world", the Sandon and Silverton Locals joined the One Big Union (OBU), a militant umbrella group formed in Calgary that year that sought to unite Canadian workers unions and promoted a split with the American Federation of Labour. Lead by Welshman T.B. "Tommy" Roberts, the OBU struck in Trail against Consolidated Mining and Smelting and its union-busting general manager Selwyn Blaylock, but after a winter of bitter struggle, it admitted defeat. Roberts determined to try again in the Slocan, and in order to direct operations Roberts moved out to Sandon.

Among the demands were a dollar a day increase in wages, a closed union shop, and blankets for the men in the camps. Again, the mine owners were not unanimous in their reaction, and some made private agreements with the OBU. In general, however, the demands were refused, and on May 1, 1920 the Sandon and Silverton OBU miners walked out on strike. It was to prove to be the last hurrah for the WFM and the OBU, however.

The Union of Mine, Mill and Smelter Workers (UMMSW), made up of men who had helped Blaylock break the Cominco strike in Trail, sent a representative to New Denver to watch the proceedings. Soon this representative was negotiating with mine owners to supply workers and circumvent the OBU. On May 18, the UMMSW declared the strike over. Roberts angrily denounced them, and declared the OBU would fight on. Pickets went up around the Silverton and Sandon mines as owners made every effort to import strike breakers. OBU organizers responded by meeting all incoming boats and trains and persuading prospective workers to turn back. As the strike dragged on, into July, the mine owners condemned the OBU as a fomenter of social unrest, labour troubles, defiance of government and anarchy.

By August many OBU men, faced with starvation, had begun to trickle back to the mines. Things didn't recover, however, and the mines operated a sluggish pace. Jubilant, Roberts was convinced the strike was working; what he didn't realize was that it was slumping metal prices that had caused the slowdown far more than the OBU strike. As the situation became more desperate, those who could found other work, and many were forced to turn to hunting and berry-picking in order to survive. Churches organized basket socials, and citizens in both communities helped when they could, donating food and money. And still the strike went on, throughout the winter. By spring it was obvious the entire industry was in a slump, regardless of the OBU strike. By May of 1921 when the owners persuaded workers to accept a wage reduction, Roberts could do no more than write indignant letters of outrage. It was the end of the road for the WFM and the OBU in Sandon.

The Sandon hospital, meanwhile, continued to operate until the 1930s, when the Great Depression closed it for good. During the Second World War it was used for a brief time as an apartment building for Japanese-Canadian internees before it was abandoned for the last time. The roof was removed by salvagers in the 1950s, and the rest of it gradually crumbled to the ground. Today, a gigantic ruin on Sunnyside Hill is the only visible remains in Sandon of the Western Federation of Miners.