The Argonauts of California: being the reminiscenses of scenes and incidents that occurred in California in the early mining days

by Charles Warren Haskins

“Well,” said I, “where did you go next?”

“Wall,” the old lady replied, “we thot we mought try it further north fur a spell, so we moseyed ’long up thru Oregin, an’ ’way off up inter Idyho; whar we foun’ a frontier at las’, fur sartin. An’ I reckon ’twill stay that fur a spell, too. We stayed on’t a hull year, but had to git off on’t agin on ’count of ther chickens.”

I asked her the reason.

“Oh, shucks,” she replied, “a sawmill was nothin’ t’ ther racket up thar, an’ I’ll tell ye how it wuz. Yer see, in ther winter ’tis tornal cold, an’ ther roosters couldn’t crow, fur yer see jest as they ’gun to crow it all fruz harder’n a icicle, so jest soon’s spring’s thaw cum on, why all their crowin’s thet wuz fruz in ther winter ’gun t’ chirp, and sich a crowin’ time ye never heerd in all yer born days. An’ fur mor’n two weeks me nur Hiram didn’t sleep blessed wink. Well, stranger, we jist packed up agin, and thot we’d try the southern kintry, ’mong th’ cactuses in th’ sandy desert down in Aryzony. Frum ther looks o’ things down thar we thot mebbe we’d be ’way frum ’em all and hev the frontier all to ourselves, but we wuz hasty, though. One mornin’ Hi run, and sez he, ‘Nancy, Nancy! ’taint no use.’ They wuz comin’ agin sure ’nuff; fur ’way up ’n ther valley we cud see th’ dus’ a-risin’, and we knowed what that meant; and now yer see we air jest a moseyin’ back to ole Missouri agin.”

“Yaas,” says Hiram, “the kintry’s gittin’ to be no ’count, an’ purty soon thar won’t be a mite o’ frontier lef’, fur they air just a-crowdin’ on’t way down inter Mex’co, an’ ’twon’t be long ’fore they’ll be a-tryin’ ter chuck it ’way up over inter Kanady. Yer can’t fin’ enny solertude now anywhar.”

“Nary a solertude,” says Nancy. “Fur ’tis jest fizz! buzz! buzz! geerat! whang! slang! kerbang! all over ther hull blessed kintry. Now we’ll go back to ole Missoury agin, whar we kin git suthin’ fit ter eat, anyhow, an’ we’ll try an’ stub thru ther rest o’ our days ’thout enny frontier in our’n.”

I asked the old lady if she could not find anything fit to eat in California.

“Oh, yaas, sich as ’tis; but nuthin’ ter wat we kin git in Missoury,” she replied.

When I inquired of her what it was that she could get to eat there that was so much better than anything to be found in California, she answered,

“Wall, stranger, yer never ett poke-greens’n bacon down in Missoury, fur if yer hed yer never wud a-ax’d sich a question.”