Singer/Songwriter - Rachel Sedacca: Music Clips

Days of '49

(Promise of gold shines in the western horizon...)

I wrote Days of '49 after a clas in night school "History of California". We watched a video about the reality of the gold rush, brutal conditions and shattered dreams connected to it. This story flowed from pure inspiration.

This is a story of Patrick Swain, a farmer boy from the east.
He heard the word about a big golden pie and was looking for his piece.
Left his wife and his baby girl, he said, “I’ll come back someday,
I met a friend with a word to lend he said a wagon train’s going that way.

Well the wheels went around on the cold muddy ground; it was a long and rugged road.
There was a hopeful man from every place in the land, searching for that mother lode.
Many got sick with a shovel and pick, marking their final rest.
Fightin’ the cold, young men got old on the wagon trains out west.

In the Days of ’49, the Days of ’49, the Days of ‘49
Lookin’ for that gold to find. Workin’ in a dusty mine.

Patrick’s wagon pulled in they cracked a bottle of gin, the vision within their grasp.
Little did they know their little town would grow, big dreams of gold wouldn’t last.
Forty thousand men had arrived by then, crowded by the river at dawn.
With a flash in the pan of every man, some inspiration for keepin’ on.

As the summer set in, Patrick’s spirit grew thin, the river was cloudy and cold.
End of the pan, here came the businessman with machinery for minin’ gold.
Come work for me cause as you can see, you’ll never do it on your own.
Your pan and pick just don’t do the trick, I’m gonna blast right through that stone.

In the Days of ’49, the Days of ’49, the Days of ‘49
Lookin’ for that gold to find. Workin’ in a dusty mine.

Now Patrick and his company, gave in to the hunger and pain.
Workin’ like slaves many dug their own graves in the chilly, mountain rains.
In the dim saloon light, on a cold winter night he wrote a letter from his heart.
My darlin’ dear, I just can’t make it here, this illusion has fallen apart.

Finally spring blessed the mountain again, pointin’ wagons to the eastern shores.
Patrick Swain was on that train, with nothing that he came there for.
Now he’s found in a New England town turnin’ gray and growin’ old.
Tellin’ his stories of the big rock quarries and his days of minin’ for gold.

In the Days of ’49, the Days of ’49, the Days of ‘49
Lookin’ for that gold to find. Workin’ in a dusty mine. Lookin’ for that gold to find. Workin’ in a dusty mine.