I have stated that the majority of the residents of California, at least in the mining regions, had now become well satisfied with their adopted home, and intended to remain; but there were a few, nevertheless, who still pined for their Eastern home, for various reasons. For instance.
I chanced to meet a family one day upon the emigrant road, evidently upon their return journey. It was during the spring of ’57. The family was composed of an old man and his wife, the former driving a yoke of cattle hitched to a regular emigrant wagon covered, and with all the trimmings usually found in connection with an emigrant team. It was so unusual to see a team of this description headed for the East that, from curiosity, I inquired of them whither they were bound:
“Wall, stranger,” the old man replied, “me an’ the ole woman air a-gwine away from hyar. We air on the homestretch to ole Missouri agin, whar we cum frum nigh on ter ten years ago.”
He explained further, that many years before he and his wife had become imbued with a desire to retire to some secluded place, to live in solitude away from the noise and confusion of society, and where, as he said:
“We cud jest enj’y outsels, an’ raise lots o’ chickens without interferin’ with anybody.”
So they moved away out West, and made their home in solitude upon the frontier.
“Wall stranger that wus a rale quiet place out thar fur a spell; but jest as soon as they diskivered gold out’n California, the jig were up, fer all them chaps, who wus a-goin’ thar, come right along my way, and just shoved that air frontier of ourn right along ahead of ’em t’ards the West. So one mornin’ Nancy ses to me, ses she, ‘Hiram! Hiram! ef we air a-gwine to enj’y a solitude along with a frontier
we mus’ git away from hyer, t’ards the West, and git a leetle ahead of all them fellers.’ ‘Thet’s so Nancy,’ ses I, ‘an’ ef you back pu ther duds, I’ll call ther chickens, hitch up ther team an’ load ther wagin, and we’ll git ahead on ’em and diskiver another frontier somewhar.’ But durn my buttons, stranger, we’ve been tryin’ to git a leetle ahead on ’em ever sence. But ’taint no use. We thot we hed struck a frontier in Californy agin’ fur sartin, when we fust got thar; but one mornin’ arter we hed hed a long wet spell, the fust thing I seen when I got up wus a steamboat right in ther back-yard. So ses I, ‘Nancy, Nancy, hyer they air jest a comin’ agin’. So we loaded our traps in the wagin, and went over ther mountains whar the ocean is, an’ we jest thot that we hed got it now fur shure; fur hyer was a sort o’ a nat’ral frontier that wouldn’t stan’ any pushin’. So we ontied the chickens an’ got ready, kind o’ hum like, when one mornin’ we heerd the awflest n’ise, and wen we went out, durned if thar wern’t a saw-mill right back of our chicken house, an’ they were jest buildin’ ’nother one ’cross the creek, and some ships was a-sailin’ along in frum ther ocean to load up ther lumber. Now Nancy never did like saw-mills. Sed she’d rather hear it thunder enny day, ’cause the sawin’ n’ise sets her teeth on aidge so. On’y she haint got a nat’ral tooth in her hed annyhow.”