The valley was long and narrow, with mountains on both sides so high that the day was materially shortened in the morning and at night. The tardy sun was ardent when he came, but disturbed us little. The nights were blissful—beds so soft and sweet and a canopy so beautiful! In the morning we awoke to the tender call of cooing doves, and very soon lined up for breakfast in the perfectly ventilated out-of-doors. Happy days they were! Wise and genial Captain Snyder, Sonnichsen, the patient cook, Jim Brock, happy tormentor—how clearly they revisit the glimpses of the moon!
Returning to Uniontown, I resumed my placid, busy life, helping in the garden, around the house, and in the post-office. My father was wise in his treatment. Boylike I would say, "Father, what shall I do?" He would answer, "Look around and find out. I'll not always be here to tell you." Thrown on my own resources, I had no trouble in finding enough to do, and I was sufficiently normal and indolent to be in no danger of finding too much.
The post-office is a harborer of secrets and romance. The postmaster and his assistants alone know "Who's Who." A character of a packer, tall, straight, and bearded, always called Joe the Marine, would steal in and call for comely letters addressed to James Ashhurst, Esq. Robert Desty was found to be Mons. Robert d'Esti Mauville. A blacksmith whose letters were commonly addressed to C.E. Bigelow was found entitled to one inscribed C.E.D.L.B. Bigelow. Asked what his full name was, he replied, "Charles Edward Decatur La Fitte Butterfield Bigelow." And, mind you, he was a blacksmith! His christening entitled him to it all, but he felt that all he could afford was what he commonly used.
Phonetics have a distinct value. Uncertain of spelling, one can fall back on remembered sound. I found a letter addressed to "Sanerzay." I had no difficulty in determining that San Jose was intended. Hard labor was suggested when someone wrote "Youchiyer." The letter found its resting-place in Ukiah.
Among my miscellaneous occupations was the pasturage of mules about to start on the return trip to the mines. We had a farm and logging-claim on the outskirts of town which afforded a good farewell bite of grass, and at night I would turn loose twenty to forty mules and their beloved bell-mare to feed and fight mosquitoes. Early the next morning I would saddle my charger and go and bring them to the packing corral. Never shall I forget a surprise given me one morning. I had a tall, awkward mare, and was loping over the field looking for my charges. An innocent little rabbit scuttled across Kate's path and she stopped in her tracks as her feet landed. I was gazing for the mule train and I did not stop. I sailed over her head, still grasping the bridle reins, which, attached to the bit, I also had to overleap, so that the next moment I found myself standing erect with the reins between my legs, holding on to a horse behind me still standing in her arrested tracks. Remounting, I soon found the frisky mules and started them toward misery. Driven into the corral where their freight had been divided into packs of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds, they were one by one saddled, cinched, and packed. A small mule would seem to be unequal to carrying two side-packs, each consisting of three fifty-pound sacks of flour, and perhaps a case of boots for a top-pack. But protests of groans and grunts would be unavailing. Two swarthy Mexicans, by dint of cleverly thrown ropes and the "diamond hitch," would soon have in place all that the traffic would bear, and the small Indian boy on the mother of the train, bearing a tinkling bell, would lead them on their way to Salmon River or to Orleans Bar.
Another frequent duty was the preparation of the hall for some public function. It might be a dance, a political meeting, or some theatrical performance. Different treatment would be required, but all would include cleaning and lighting. At a dance it was floor-scrubbing, filling the camphene lamps, and making up beds for the babies to be later deposited by their dancing mothers. Very likely I would tend door and later join in the dance, which commonly continued until morning.
Politics interested me. In the Frémont campaign of 1856 my father was one of four Republicans in the county, and was by no means popular. He lived to see Humboldt County record a six hundred majority for the Republican ticket. Some of our local legislative candidates surprised and inspired me by their eloquence and unexpected knowledge and ability. It was good to find that men read and thought, even when they lived in the woods and had little encouragement.
Occasionally we had quite good theatrical performances. Very early I recall a thespian named Thoman, who was supported by a Julia Pelby. They vastly pleased an uncritical audience. I was doorkeeper, notwithstanding that Thoman doubted if I was "hefty" enough. "Little Lotta" Crabtree was charming. Her mother traveled with her. Between performances she played with her dolls. She danced gracefully and sang fascinatingly such songs as "I'm the covey what sings." Another prime favorite was Joe Murphy, Irish comedian and violinist, pleasing in both roles. I remember a singing comedian who bewailed his sad estate:
"For now I have nothing but rags to my back,
My boots scarce cover my toes,
While my pants are patched with an old flour-sack,
To jibe with the rest of my clo'es."
The singing-school was pleasure-yielding, its greatest joy being incidental. When I could cut ahead of a chum taking a girl home and shamelessly trip him up with a stretched rope and get back to the drugstore and be curled up in the woodbox when he reached his final destination, I am afraid I took unholy joy.