Romance of California Life / Illustrated by Pacific Slope Stories, Thrilling, Pathetic and Humorous

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Romance of California Life, by John Habberton


Many of the sketches contained in Some Folks were written by me during the past five years, and some of them published by Mr. Leslie in his Illustrated Newspaper and his Chimney Corner , from which journals they have been collected by friends who believe that in these stories is displayed better workmanship than I have since done. For myself, I can claim for them only an unusual degree of that unliterary and unpopular quality called truthfulness. Although at present mildly tolerated in the East, I was brought up in the West, and have written largely from recollection of some folks I have known, veritable men and women, scenes and incidents, and otherwise through the memories of Western friends of good eyesight and hearing powers.
Should any one accuse me of having imitated Bret Harte's style, I shall accept the accusation as a compliment, for I know of no other American story writer so worthy to be taken as a teacher by men who acceptably tell the stories of new countries. For occasionally introducing characters and motives that would not be considered disgraceful in virtuous communities, I can only plead in excuse the fact that, even in the New West, some folks will occasionally be uniformly thoughtful, respectable and honest, just as individuals sometimes are in the East.
JOHN HABBERTON.
NEW YORK, July 1st, 1877.
To FRANK LESLIE,
Who, while other publishers were advising the writer of these sketches to write, supplied the author with encouragement in the shape of a publishing medium and the lucre which all literary men despise but long for, this volume is respectfully dedicated by
THE AUTHOR.

It certainly was hard. What was the freedom of a country in which the voice of the original founders was spent in vain? Had not they, the Forty miners of Bottle Flat, really started the place? Hadn't they located claims there? Hadn't they contributed three ounces each, ostensibly to set up in business a brother miner who unfortunately lost an arm, but really that a saloon might be opened, and the genuineness and stability of the camp be assured? Hadn't they promptly killed or scared away every Chinaman who had ever trailed his celestial pig-tail into the Flat? Hadn't they cut and beaten a trail to Placerville, so that miners could take a run to that city when the Flat became too quiet? Hadn't they framed the squarest betting code in the whole diggings? And when a 'Frisco man basely attempted to break up the camp by starting a gorgeous saloon a few miles up the creek, hadn't they gone up in a body and cleared him out, giving him only ten minutes in which to leave the creek for ever? All this they had done, actuated only by a stern sense of duty, and in the patient anticipation of the reward which traditionally crowns virtuous action. But now—oh, ingratitude of republics!—a schoolteacher was to be forced upon Bottle Flat in spite of all the protest which they, the oldest inhabitants, had made!