Setting: These are the words to a skit/play. The year is 1885. A miner looking for gold in 1849 ended up getting lost on his way to California. He finally makes it to California in 1885 and the landscape is different than he expected it. Through his encounter first with a fellow miner and then an Indian he learns about what has happened from the years 1849- 1885. He learns about both the true history and environmental history of the Gold Rush.
Clementine
Andrew: In a cavern, in a canyon,
Excavating for a mine,
Lived a miner forty-niner,
And his daughter Clementine.
(Chorus) Oh my darlin, oh my darlin,
Oh my darlin Clementine;
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry Clementine.
Light she was and like a fairy,
And her shoes were number nine,
Herring boxes without topses,
Sandals were for Clementine.
(Repeat Chorus)
(A): Hey partner, looks like a beautiful day to go up and dig up some gold. I can't wait to strike it rich. Point me to where the nearest vein is.
Dean: Mister, I think you're a little late. In fact, you are about 30 years late from the start of the main gold rush.
(A): Yeah, I know I am a little slow. I got lost on my way over. I did not go on the boat ride like many of my friends. I decided to trek across the land. I wanted to be a real man.
(D): Most of us fellow miners arrived here a year after gold was discovered by James Marshall in 1848 along Sutter's Mill along the American River 45 miles northeast of Sacramento. I heard the gold was shining among the sand at the bottom of the mill's tail race.
(A): Well, that still should not be a problem, should it? There is still gold up in the hills. I heard the land is full of it. I have all the basic essentials for digging gold like my pick, pan, shovel, and mercury to help me collect my gold. I deserve this gold because I worked hard to get here. The land owes me something. Just point me in the right direction.
(D): Picken' and panning? We really don't do that kind of mining around here anymore. That was finished a long time ago. Gold's a lot harder to get at now. What we are doing now is hydraulic mining. There is about an 8,000 mile long network of wooden flumes, aqueducts, and ditches carrying water from the reservoirs to these cast-iron nozzles. We use the pressure from the water nozzle to slam against mountains and foothills, melting them into gravel, mud, and sand that washes through sluice boxes, where the mercury catches the granules and specks of gold. It works pretty good.
(A): Really. Well I do have quite a bit of money. Do you think I could get some people to work for me? I would like to work with whites, but I could settle for Indians, Blacks, Chinese, or Mexicans. Aren't there any people I could work with?
(D): No, not anymore, but you could have bought Black or Indian slaves in the 1850's. Captured slaves would cost you $50 to $200 a piece. As for workers, it's pretty hard to find and hire laborers now. Almost all the Chinese, Mexicans, and Blacks are working for themselves. They are all trying to get rich too you know. As for Indians, there aren't many of them around who would want to work in the mines anyway.
(A): Well, I don't really like hanging out with any coloreds. This is my land and my gold. I have worked hard to get to this land and I deserve some of its riches. This is a free for all, isn't it? This is the American male heaven. By the way, are there any women for me to get down with? It has been a long time.
(D): It's been a long time for me too. I wish there were more women around here, but the truth is that there have never really been many women around here. It's just us men who have come here in search of gold.
(A): Darn. Well even though I am not supposed to mine, I have no respect for the land. I can do with it what I want. I am more important than the natural world. I am going to make myself filthy rich. See ya!
The miner(Andrew) now makes his way into the Sierra foothills.
(A): Drove she duckling to the water,
Every morning just at nine,
Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine.
(Chorus)
Ruby lips above the water,
Blowing bubbles soft and fine,
Alas for me I was no swimmer,
So I lost my Clementine.
(Chorus)
In a churchyard, near the canyon,
Where the myrtle doth entwine,
There grew roses and other posies,
Fertilized by Clementine.
(Chorus)
(A): Hey, Injun Joe. I need you to help me.
(D): My name's not Injun Joe. It's Black Crow.
(A): So Black Crow, is there still any gold up here? Can I make a profit from this natural world?
(D): There really isn't very much gold around here. In fact, there isn't much of anything left. My people have been destroyed and forcibly moved off the land. There used to be a lot of us around here, but you have given us diseases, murdered us, and destroyed our food and resources. We cannot survive.
(A): If you could not subsist, then how come you did not join the gold rush? You could have become incredibly rich.
(D): No, your gold is stained with our red blood. Look at the barren hills and landscape and you can just see the damage. Gold is worthless to us. Land, animals, and nature are our gold. You fellow miners left debris causing the rivers to rise, fish to disappear, and our farmlands to be flooded and destroyed. The gold you are looking for is all gone, just like us Indians. It's all your fault.
(A): (personal reflection) This isn't the way it was supposed to be. I thought this land was going to be like a princess: beautiful, healthy, and pleasurable. But now looking at the environmental damage and the Indian decline, it is more like a princess who had her fingers cut off so us miners could enjoy her jewels. It is all me and my fellow miners' fault.
(A): In my dreams she oft doth haunt me,
With her garments soaked in brine,
Though in life I used to hug her,
Now she's dead I draw the line.
(Chorus)
Then the miner, forty-niner,
Soon began to peak and pine;
Thought he oughter join his daughter,
Now he's with his Clementine.
(Chorus) Oh my darlin, Oh my darlin,
Oh my darlin Clementine;
You are lost and gone forever,
Dreadful sorry Clementine.