A Backward Glance at Eighty: Recollections & Comment

by Charles A. Murdock

At this time Harte lived a quiet domestic life. He wrote steadily. He loved to write, but he was also obliged to. Literature is not an overgenerous paymaster, and with a growing family expenses tend to increase in a larger ratio than income.

Harte's sketches based on early experiences are interesting and amusing. His life in Oakland was in many ways pleasant, but he evidently retained some memories that made him enjoy indulging in a sly dig many years after. He gives the pretended result of scientific investigation made in the far-off future as to the great earthquake that totally engulfed San Francisco. The escape of Oakland seemed inexplicable, but a celebrated German geologist ventured to explain the phenomenon by suggesting that "there are some things that the earth cannot swallow."

My last recollection of Harte, of a purely personal nature, was of an occurrence in 1866, when he was dramatic critic of the Morning Call at the time I was doing a little reporting on the same paper. It happened that a benefit was arranged for some charity. "Nan, the Good-for-Nothing," was to be given by a number of amateurs. The Nan asked me to play Tom, and I had insufficient firmness to decline. After the play, when my face was reasonably clean, I dropped into the Call office, yearning for a word of commendation from Harte. I thought he knew that I had taken the part, but he would not give me the satisfaction of referring to it. Finally I mentioned, casually like, that I was Tom, whereat he feigned surprise, and remarked in his pleasant voice, "Was that you? I thought they had sent to some theater and hired a supe."

In July, 1868, A. Roman & Co. launched the Overland Monthly, with Harte as editor. He took up the work with eager interest. He named the child, planned its every feature, and chose his contributors. It was a handsome publication, modeled, in a way, on the Atlantic Monthly, but with a flavor and a character all its own. The first number was attractive and readable, with articles of varied interest by Mark Twain, Noah Brooks, Charles Warren Stoddard, William C. Bartlett, T.H. Rearden, Ina Coolbrith, and others—a brilliant galaxy for any period. Harte contributed "San Francisco from the Sea."

Mark Twain, long after, alluding to this period in his life, pays this characteristic acknowledgment: "Bret Harte trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesqueness to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found favor in the eyes of even some of the decentest people in the land."

The first issue of the Overland was well received, but the second sounded a note heard round the world. The editor contributed a story—"The Luck of Roaring Camp"—that was hailed as a new venture in literature. It was so revolutionary that it shocked an estimable proofreader, and she sounded the alarm. The publishers were timid, but the gentle editor was firm. When it was found that it must go in or he would go out, it went—and he stayed. When the conservative and dignified Atlantic wrote to the author soliciting something like it, the publishers were reassured.

Harte had struck ore. Up to this time he had been prospecting. He had early found color and followed promising stringers. He had opened some fair pockets, but with the explosion of this blast he had laid bare the true vein, and the ore assayed well. It was high grade, and the fissure was broad.

"The Luck of Roaring Camp" was the first of a series of stories depicting the picturesque life of the early days which made California known the world over and gave it a romantic interest enjoyed by no other community. They were fresh and virile, original in treatment, with real men and women using a new vocabulary, with humor and pathos delightfully blended. They moved on a stage beautifully set, with a background of heroic grandeur. No wonder that California and Bret Harte became familiar household words. When one reflects on the fact that the exposure to the life depicted had occurred more than ten years before, from very brief experience, the wonder is incomprehensibly great. Nothing less than genius can account for such a result. "Tennessee's Partner," "M'liss," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat," and dozens more of these stories that became classics followed. The supply seemed exhaustless, and fresh welcome awaited every one.

It was in September, 1870, that Harte in the make-up of the Overland found an awkward space too much for an ordinary poem. An associate suggested that he write something to fit the gap; but Harte was not given to dashing off to order, nor to writing a given number of inches of poetry. He was not a literary mechanic, nor could he command his moods. However, he handed his friend a bundle of manuscript to see if there was anything that he thought would do, and very soon a neat draft was found bearing the title "On the Sinfulness of Ah Sin as Reported by Truthful James." It was read with avidity and pronounced "the very thing." Harte demurred. He didn't think very well of it. He was generally modest about his work and never quite satisfied. But he finally accepted the judgment of his friend and consented to run it. He changed the title to "Later Words from Truthful James," but when the proof came substituted "Plain Language from Truthful James."

He made a number of other changes, as was his wont, for he was always painstaking and given to critical polishing. In some instances he changed an entire line or a phrase of two lines. The copy read: