Outposts of Civilization
Sketches of Early-day Camps, People and Happenings

Marietta, Another of the Camps of the wild and woolly sort

A camp that contributed considerably to the stir of western Nevada for a while was Marietta, a neighbor 
of Candelaria and Belleville, and near Teel's Marsh.  Its year of greatest energy was about 1880, when 
in the principal mine over 160 men were employed.  Thirteen saloons, institutions which rose and fell 
with mining camp fortunes so accurately as to be a dependable gauge of activity, where in its business 
field.  The six-horse stage which daily carried passengers in and out was robbed no less than thirty 
times in all; in one particularly brisk week of the road agents it was held up four times.

A visitor in 1892 wrote: "It is a ghostly experience to visit such a camp as Marietta.  The place is 
seen four miles away, from the road that winds down the canyon in the valley.  The old red quartz mill 
with its tall black smokestack, the rows of wooden and adobe houses, even the little rock huts which 
the miners built for bachelor halls, stand out in the pure air so clear cut and distinct that they seem 
but a step away.  The mountains with their copper stains of green rise in rugged beauty beyond.  
Everything seems so complete and is such order tht the mind cannot resist the impression that a 
thriving community lives here.  Scarce does this impression fade away on nearer approach, in spite of 
certain tumble-down adobe walls for numbers of the houses stand with doors closed and glazed windows 
intact; the handle of the town pump still projects invitingly, while the wooden walls of some of the 
houses show only trifling weather stains.  But once the traveler gets within the the limits of the 
settlement, the smokeless chimneys, the vacant houses, the empty shelves in the stores, and the utter 
silence - it is as though one had unexpectedly found himself in the midst of a collection of skeletons 
and graves.  There are indeed graves to be seen close at hand, while a closer inspection of the 
buildings shows traces of plenty of deeds of blood - an awning post pierced and splintered by a heavy 
bullet, a hole in an adobe wall where another bullet had entered, traces of a splash of lead on a stone 
wall where still another projectile had flattened.  Nor is the feeling that this is but a ghost of a 
town much dispelled by the coming of a white haired, white bearded old man, in faded attire, from one 
of the smaller wooden buildings, the sole inhabitant of the town, the man who is left as watchman over 
the mill and mining machinery.  But if ghostly now, there was a degree of life here in the year 1880 
that would have startled a peace-loving tourist as much as its weird aspects awe him...The town of 
Marietta was as full of mountain life as a Furnace creek den is of rattlesnakes, and no one can sketch 
the pictures of the scene there with more graphic pencil than the white-haired watchman."

The bullet marks, the old watchman told the correspondent, were made in a battle between McLaughlin 
and Brophy - 
"one of the greatest fights the camp ever saw, the men were good friends, too.  Mac was working twenty-
five men in a mine, and, running the saloon with two shifts of faro dealers over there, where the 
awning post is shot through, and he bought two head of beef from Brophy, who was a butcher, every week.  
But their women quarreled, and the men got mixed up in it and agreed to fight it out.  And each side 
knew the other was game, so they called on their friends to help them, and bet the call was answered.

"That night Brophy's party, four of them, slept here and McLaughlin and his three friends over there 
next to the saloon.  Everybody knew it was to come, and the women and children were hustled off there 
among the rocks, out of range, except John Brophy's.  He took his down to the slaughterhouse, and while 
he was there his friends, led by his brother Hank, opened the fight.  They'd got their breakfasts and 
were waiting - Hank Brophy, Dick Gillespie and Hank Hankins - for Tom McLaughlin to come out.

"They didn't have long to wait.  Tom only waited for a bit of smoke after breakfast, and then, after 
laying plans with Tom Taylor, George Martin and Fred Schoffeld, he walked out of the front door of the 
saloon, revolver in hand.  

"With that Hank Brophy opened fire and the rest joined in.  John Brophy went down; the first in the 
fire and the rest joined in.  John shot Hank Brophy in the shoulder and then fell dead himself - Dick 
Gillespie did it, I guess.  Then Schoffeld got dick, while it was Hankins, maybe, who dropped Taylor.  
They were all shooting so fast that no one knew, exactly how it was, but four of them were killed.  

"What became of Hank Brophy's wound?  He got well fast enough, and went to Arizona.  There he got into 
trouble about some cattle, and when McLaughlin's friends here heard he was in custody they went over 
there and hanged him."

The aged watchman had many other reminiscences of the days of bullets and bullion.  One was "the case 
of Corbett and Rogers."  Those enterprising individuals went broke in Columbus, and asked a man going 
to Candelaria for a ride, and got it.  In the hills they murdered and robbed him, and eventually 
reached Murietta on foot, with the Sheriff a few miles behind in a carriage.  The fugitives went on 
toward Carson, and on hearing the Sheriff driving up the canyon behind them they hid in the rocks and 
let him pass.  They followed along until the officer stopped at a stage station, leaving a man with his 
team.  They slipped up, held up the guard, got into the buggy and drove off.  The Sheriff had to walk 
to Marietta and borrow money to get to Candelaria.  "They joshed him terribly about it."  Said the old 
man.

Corbett and Rogers got to Eureka, after robbing a freighter met on the way.  There their luck deserted 
them for the Sheriff of Eureka too the trail prepared for war, killed Corbett and wounded Rogers.  
"Rogers got well and was sent to the pen for ten years," said the narrator.  "What, ten years for 
murdering a man for money?"  he was asked; and replied, "That's all."

It sounds like a page or two out of a penny shocker.  We have no reason to dispute the sober printed 
record from which these cold-blooded tales are taken.

	(To be continued.)

The Inyo Register, Bishop, Inyo County, California
Thursday, September 2, 1915 - Front Page
Transcribed by Pat Houser for Inyo County GenWeb, February 26, 2005