goldfields

One last story from Amy Likins, the lady book agent—

One day in 1872 she was going about her rounds in Stockton, filling orders that she had taken on a previous trip. (Every sale required two trips for a book agent — one to take the order and one to deliver the book or engraving.) After filling all her orders she set out for the “Flouring Mill.”

On the way, I noticed a policeman following me, but did not care, as I knew I had not been guilty of any crime. At the Mill I offered the engraving for sale; when I came out the policeman stepped up to me, and said, “Madam, have you a license?” I told him no, that I did not require any. He replied, ” You will have to come along with me, and we will see about that. If you don’t come along peaceably, I will have to arrest you.”

I acknowledge I was angry, and somewhat frightened. I was then forty-three years old, and had never been in a lawsuit of any kind, and always had a great horror of them. I told him I would go with him to the City Attorney’s office, for I knew he would see justice done me.

She knew the City Attorney would treat her with justice, since she had met him earlier that morning, and had “learned that he was a Mason and an Odd Fellow, and had taken the Rebecca degree.” Nevertheless, it was an humiliating ordeal to go through the streets, looking like she had been arrested by a policeman.

As I walked up the street, with him close beside me, also the usual battalion of urchins that are always ready to gather around when there is a disturbance of the peace, I was so hurt and mortified, that, by the time I reached the Attorney’s Office, it was awhile before I could tell him of my situation, for weeping. He tried to cheer me with his kind words, saying he thought I did not require a license, but he would go and see the County Clerk. The policeman seemed bewildered, and could not understand why the attorney should take such an interest in me. This was the second time the Rebecca degree had been beneficial.

Bidding me remain in his office, he went out, but soon returned, saying it was all right, I did not require a license; also, said the policeman ought to be made to pay me for the time I had lost. I thanked him for his kindness, and went to the Hotel, for my mind was in no condition to battle with the rough trials of canvassing.

The next day she set out to visit the State Insane Asylum, not only to seek orders from the staff, but also to view the inmates and their accommodations. This was considered a perfectly acceptable thing to do at that time.

She met the doctor in charge who gave her “permission to go through the Ladies’ Department, and over the grounds” and sent her with an attendant to find the “Supervisoress.” On her tour she saw the rooms, “scrupulously clean,” and “many ladies sitting around ; some of them looking very melancholy, with downcast eyes, seeming to be unconscious of anything that was passing; others were laughing and chatting, and looked and acted rationally.” She was told that one woman she met, dressed in finery, thought she was a great queen, and another who filled her room with paintings, thought herself a great painter.

The attendant offered to take me to some of the rooms where the patients were violent. I thanked her, and said I did not wish to go. I have visited the Asylums in Lexington, Kentucky, and Columbus, Ohio. In each I saw many lady patients, and I must say of all the insane people I ever saw, there were not any of them had a good shaped head.

Amy was, no doubt, a believer in Phrenology.

 When we reached the hall below, I thanked the attendant and took my leave. As I passed out through the grounds, I could hear the screams of the raving maniacs, in both the ladies’ and gentlemen’s departments. I then took a solemn vow that I would never again visit an Insane Asylum, unless I should be so unfortunate as to have some friend or relative confined there.

A sad end to the lady book agent’s trip to Stockton.

There accounts have only taken us halfway through the Six Years Experience as a Book Agent. If you want to read more on your own, the book is available at the Internet Archive and the Library of Congress.

Amy Likins must have gotten used to dealing with drunks and mashers. In San Jose she had this encounter–

While working there, I met on the street one day a widower; he was a Missourian, a fair specimen of southern chivalry, with light hair and blue eyes, which spoke volumes of love as they looked into mine. Using all the persuasive powers he possessed, which were not many, for me to accompany him to his ranch, a few miles from San Jose, he told me he knew I would make a good stepmother, for I was the mildest and pleasantest old maid he had ever met, and would give me a good home, so I would not have to go around the streets, peddling books for a living. While he was making this long, heart-smashing speech, I stood all attention, now and then smiling, which seemed to give him courage, for he was awfully bashful; I could not tell whether he blushed or not, for when I first met him his face was so red from the effects of the tangle-log whisky he had drank.

I told him my husband might object to his proposition. At this he seemed very much surprised, and said, “Why, are you married?” I told him I had been for seventeen years, to which he replied, ” darn them fellows, they said you were an old maid, and on the marry.” I told him he had better return to his jolly friends, and acknowledge himself sold; probably they would treat him, for after such a long love-making harangue, he must certainly be dry; bidding him good day, I continued my work.

I must say, I admire Amy’s dexterity in dealing with these men. But she was equally cool when dealing with insults from women. Here she is in Gilroy, meeting two Southern women in the hotel parlor. The younger woman was hoping to get a position as a schoolteacher, and the elder woman was her mother.

She tried to find out my business in Gilroy, but I did not give her any satisfaction. She would look at me sharply when I avoided her questions, and finally turned to her daughter, saying, “Sal, that poor critter is to be pitied, for she is mighty deaf, and not got much larning no how.”

She then crossed the room to the table, where I had laid my engravings, picked up the sample copy, took it close to the window, and put it to her eyes, as though she thought it was an opera glass, unrolled it, saying, “Humph! picture, hey?” came to where I was
sitting, held it up before me, screamed in my ear, until it made me jump, ” Peddling, I reckon.” I looked at her in amazement, but made no reply.

She returned to the window, saying, ” That’s mighty queer how she peddles; Sal, what’s that thare reading ?” Sal took the engraving, looked at the name on the bottom, spelled it over two or three times, and finally drawled out, “Why, it’s old Grant and family, the
darned old thief.” I thought to myself, you would make a splendid school-marm.

The old lady stormed and capered around the room in such a manner, that 1 thought it time to interfere, for I was afraid she would tear the sample copy to pieces. She, at first, refused to give it to me, saying she ” would burn the darned thing up.” I told her it was not mine, that I was taking orders for Bancroft and Company; also, told her I, too, was a Southern woman [Amy had been born in Kentucky], in reduced circumstances, and had to work for, a living. She replied, “No, you ain’t, you’re a darned Yank, an impostor. There ware a heap on you going round in the Southern States, before the war, ‘tending to peddle, all the time stealing [slaves].” She came close to me again, shaking her head, ” I know you ain’t much, else you wouldn’t played deaf.”

Amy wanted to stay in the parlor, by the warm fire, but “I could not endure her abuse, so I gathered up my traps and started for my room, laughing at her as I went, which seemed to enrage her still more.” Her sense of humor served her well.

John Bidwell was not a Forty-Niner, because he was already on the ground in California when gold was discovered. How, when, and where did Bidwell discover gold?

Join me at the Chico History Museum at 10 a.m.on Saturday, March 29th and I will tell you all about John Bidwell in the Gold Rush. How he drew up the contract for the sawmill where gold was first discovered, how he found gold in the Feather River, his shopping trips to Sacramento and his store at Bidwell Bar, and what he did with his earnings.

With the able assistance of Nick Anderson, I will tell you all about John Bidwell in 1848 and 1849. I hope to see you there!

Amy Likins was in Sacramento (as related in part 5) when she was treated courteously by “the illustrious and distinguished Governor S.” at the railroad office, and given permission to canvass around the premises, where she encountered “a ruffian under the influence of liquor,” a not uncommon occurrence for the lady book agent.

It took a good deal of stamina and grit to deal with some of the men she meet. She visited the office of the Chief of Police where she “was treated somewhat abruptly by some loafers, who seemed to be just hanging around.” She called them as she saw them. But it took a toll on her spirits.

I then continued on my way to the boarding-house, tired in both body and mind. When once in my room, and reflecting over the occurrences of the day, I could not help weeping. I thought it was a great undertaking to be a book agent.

But she persisted, working in Sacramento for three weeks. She admired the wide, well-shaded streets, the stores full of merchandise, and the Capitol, then under construction. She returned to San Francisco by way of “Davisville,” which has since lost the “ville,” and found it to be “a very small village.”

I found Woodland a beautiful inland town, of, I should judge, about two or three thousand inhabitants, who seemed to be a well raised and intelligent class of people, full of life and energy; every branch of business was well represented. Here I remained two days, meeting with great success among the ladies, for a wonder.

I returned to Davisville, and finished my work; there I took the afternoon train for home. I passed through some fine looking country, also two small villages, which I was told were Fairfield and Suisun.

Don’t you wish you could see these “villages” as she saw them then?

Her next assignment was Santa Cruz. Riding in the stagecoach over the mountains, she admired “the deep forests, with their tall redwoods and many varieties of smaller trees; while beneath their
branches grew large quantities of ferns and flowers, with their many shades and tints.” Her landlady at the Santa Cruz House recommended she visit Mrs. J, “a strong woman’s rights advocator,” who “believed in helping her own sex.” Amy “had not much faith in members of that sect,” but she would give it a try.

The bell was answered by a more than middle aged lady, neatly dressed, and with a smiling countenance, until her eyes fell upon the books that I carried in my arms. Oh, horror! what a change came over her; her face was drawn into more than a thousand wrinkles, as she partially shut the door in my face, so that I could only see one eye, as she told me she supposed I was selling books, and that she had just bought one the day before from one of you agents, and could not afford to spend money every day for books, all the time closing the door a little, while she was speaking, until it was finally closed in my face. She acted very much as if she was afraid of me. I left with the opinion she was not a lady, or at least did not act like one; and my fullest anticipations were realized, as to my being received by the so called woman’s rights advocator.

On to Redwood City, where she sold a book to a gentleman at the lumber yard. Later that evening at the hotel:

When I entered the dining-room, I noticed he was seated at the table. After dinner the landlady told me he was an old bach., and boarded there. “You just wait,” she said, “I will have some fun with him. I will get some of the boys to help me in making him believe you are a widow lady, and try to get him to take you to the ball, which is to come off this evening.”

I told her I did not attend parties or balls while I was canvassing. She inquired my name, and introduced me to said old bach, when he came out from dinner, and someone went so far as to tell him I was a widow; still, we did not, for all that, get up much of a flirtation, nor fall desperately in love with each other, for I think he would not be so easily caught by a stranger, especially a hook agent. I know I did not wish to get rid of my husband; one man is trouble enough, without having two.

I must say I agree!

Only a few months after the Likins family arrived in San Francisco they experienced a violent earthquake. The earthquake had a magnitude between 6.3 and 6.7, and took place on the Hayward Fault on October 21, 1868. It was called the Great San Francisco Earthquake until the quake of 1906 came along.

Aftershocks continued for a few weeks. Amy Likins resumed her book-selling and was in Santa Clara when another strong shock hit.

I now concluded to go to Santa Clara and canvass that town, before delivering my pictures in San José. Eight o’clock in the evening found me seated in the ladies’ parlor at the hotel, conversing with the landlord concerning the severe shock of earthquake we had two weeks previous.

I thought, if the Lord spared me, I would not stay another night in a brick house. I had partially undressed when the house commenced shaking. Frightened all but to death, I scarcely knew what to do; but found myself in the door-way with the candle in my hand, thinking I must not go into the street in this condition. There came a second shock. I blew out the light, threw it on the floor, and rushed into the street, not caring how I appeared. It was full of people. Some of them looked at me curiously; but I drew my shawl close about me and stood my ground, nor could I be persuaded to return to my room. The clerk brought me my shoes and baggage, and took me where he knew I could obtain lodgings, to a lady’s, a few doors away. She gladly offered me shelter, as her husband was away from home, and she was very lonely. 

There were several light shocks after I had been there. Next morning, many joked me about my appearance the evening previous, especially Mr. W., who said he never would forget how comical and frightened I looked.

What a welcome to California!

And here she is! Or should I say, “Here I Come,” since that’s what Mrs. J. W. Likins says herself on the picture. Six years of selling books had given Amy Likins plenty of confidence.

This is the title page of her book, first published in 1874, and reprinted by the Book Club of California in 1992. The text can be accessed online at the Library of Congress (that’s what I have been using for my excerpts), but the online transcript does not include the illustrations.

To see the illustrations I had to go to the History Room of the California State Library, never a hardship for a history researcher. I had several other things to look for, but first I had to find this book.

In her memoir Mrs. Likins included the story of their trip to California by the Nicaragua route. This was an alternative to crossing the Isthmus of Panama, but actually a very similar experience. Their steamship landed at “Greytown” (San Juan de Nicaragua) and they transferred to a smaller steamer named the “Active.”

The steamer was a small coaster with no cabin or accommodations whatever. There was a heavy sea, and the little steamer seemed to have all she could carry, but still battled with the waves that seemed to threaten her destruction at any moment: at every surge she seemed to crack, and sound as though she would break to pieces.

She was named the ‘Active’, and I think it a very appropriate one too, for nearly all on board soon became very active, and seemed as though they would throw up even their boots; but I will not jest about it. All the benches were occupied by ladies, lying down, groaning and moaning. The strongest man reeled, while others weaker soon became so sick that they lay on the bare floor, in all the filth and dirt—among them my husband. I was seated on some baggage, watching and tending my little girl, who was so white and limp I was afraid she would die.

The illustrations are crude, but nevertheless a delightful addition to the narrative. More to come.

Mrs. Likins, the Bancroft book agent, took pride and comfort in her membership in the Rebekah order of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows and she mentions this several times in her memoir.

The Odd Fellows were founded in the United States of America in 1819 and quickly became one of the foremost fraternal orders. It became the first fraternity in the United States to include both men and women when it adopted the Rebekah degree in 1851, at the behest of Schuyler Colfax, later Vice-President of the United States under Abraham Lincoln. The Odd Fellows emphasized service and charity along with the usual benefits of fraternity, and by the second half of the 19th century they were the largest fraternal organization in the United States.

Amy Likins says that she became a Rebekah fifteen years before coming to California in 1868, which would have been only two years after the degree was created. She found her association quite useful as she went about her travels as a book agent. A man wearing the symbol of the Odd Fellows, the three link chain, was someone she could trust, someone she could call on to assist her if she were accosted by some “ruffian,” as she relates in the following story.

The next day I visited the R.R. offices, and on making my appearance before the illustrious and distinguished Govenor S.*, I was treated with a very great deal of respect, and received permission from him to visit all of the offices, after having himself patronized me, for which I tendered him my sincere thanks. I then called in every office, and among the numerous clerks; my order book will show evidence of their liberal patronage, for which I thanked them all very kindly. I here admit that Rail Road men are a class that have treated me very politely, and with but one exception .  . .

This fellow was in the employ of Mr. J., the superintendent of the road from Sacramento to Folsom. He was a baggage master, by the name of L. He came up to me, and offered to shake hands. Without being impolite, I could not very well refuse, at the same time telling him that I did not remember ever meeting him before. With a hateful grin, he said, “you cannot play that on me; didn’t I see you in San José, the week before last, working on this same book?” reaching his hand for the prospectus, which I refused to give him, saying, “you are very much mistaken, I was in that place, but had a different book.”

“I presume you take me for Mrs. B.,” who was working there on the same book. He answered, “you need not try to play such a game on me, as I know you are that Mrs. B.; probably if you don’t want to recognize me, you would recognize Mr. F., the engineer, if he would come around. Probably, you will also deny making a row between him and his wife, a few weeks ago.”

Finding it was impossible for me to convince him of his mistake, and seeing that he was a ruffian under the influence of liquor, and as I had tried hard to get away from him and his abuse, he persisted in following. At a little distance, I saw a Mr. J—, who wore an emblem of Odd Fellowship, and was pleased to find that he had taken the Rebekah degree; and immediately inquired of me what assistance I needed. I told him my name and situation as best I could, for weeping. I pointed out to him the ruffian, who stood at some little distance. Mr. J— called to him, and told him he must necessarily be mistaken, as Mrs. J. W. L. must be a lady, or otherwise she would not be in possession of certain signs and pass-words. He also told him that if he did not at once beg the lady’s pardon he would discharge him from his employ.

The ruffian did indeed beg her pardon, “with a half drunken idiotic grin on his countenance,” and Mrs. Likins went on her way, secure in the knowledge that her Rebekah affiliation had come to her aid.

*Presumably Governor Leland Stanford, who after serving a term as state governor (1862-63), went back to being a railroad baron.

Amy Likins (or as she preferred, Mrs. J. W. Likins) was soon selling books as well as engravings. She usually took two or three new titles in her basket. Mark Twain’s The Innocents Abroad came out in 1869 and was easy to sell. Everyone liked reading Mark Twain.

After having remained at home for a few days, I started once more to try amongst the shipping. Here I met with good success, selling many engravings and taking many orders for “Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad.” I had sufficient employment to keep me busy for several months amongst the shipping, wharfingers, and lumber-merchants.

Other titles she sold were Ladies of the White House, The Life of Sumner (biographies were popular), and The Sights and Sensations of the National Capitol.

She did not confine her efforts to San Francisco. She made sales trips to San Jose, Santa Clara, Santa Cruz, Stockton, Sacramento, and points between. If she saw them today, she would not recognize the cities and towns of the Bay Area that she visited.

The next morning found me seated in the Western Pacific R.R. cars bound for the so called city of Milpitas. When I arrived there, it reminded me of the old saying, that I could not see the town for the houses, which consisted of one hotel, two drinking saloons, one dry goods and grocery store, two blacksmith shops, one harness making shop, and a half a dozen dwellings; but the citizens were all very kind and polite. . . In this place I took some half a dozen orders, which I considered pretty well, for a small place.

Here she is in Mayfield, “a small village in Santa Clara county,” which must have been absorbed into some larger town. I can’t find it on a map.

Taking my bundle, I started out; called at the several places of business, and had tolerable good success. I called on one gentleman I pitied very much; he had to use crutches. He told me he was a cripple, from rheumatism. Still he seemed energetic, and full of business, carrying on a drug-store and keeping the Post-office, and was contented and happy. He said, when I came around again, he would take Mark Twain’s “Innocents Abroad,” if I would bring it to him, as he was a great reader.

I called at the blacksmith shop, above his place. There was a man working there, an apprentice, I think, who was so low as to be abusive and vulgar, forgetting he ever had a mother. He was a stout, raw-boned, thick-lipped, flat-nosed, tangle-haired, uncivilized creature, who depended mainly on his strength more than his brains to make his way through the world, and would just as lief strike a woman as a man. With the exception of this ruffian, I was treated with the greatest of respect by all of the citizens of Mayfield; and was more liberally patronized than I had expected from so small a place.

You never know what will fascinate people, especially 150 years later. I have read lots of accounts of women on the trail and in mining camps, and I enjoy those, but I especially liked this story of Six Years Experience as a Book Agent in California. It gives a different view of life and work in California, and I am grateful to Amy Likins for writing down her story in such a candid and colorful way.

Although most people treated her courteously, she met some opposition along the way from both men and women. But Amy Likins always gave as good as she got.

I met a gentleman from the country, who was trading at one of the wholesale houses; he seemed very angry to think a woman should be selling pictures among so many men. He said I looked old enough to be married and have a family, and ought to be at home taking care of them. I told him I knew I looked old, [she was 37] but he need not remind me of it; that I had a family and was trying to make an honest living for them, at the same time telling him I presumed he was a bachelor, who would not know how to appreciate a wife if he had one.

The proprietor laughed heartily, and said, “Madam, you guessed right.” As I was wasting time I left him.

A few days later she encountered another one of these misogynists.

An old man was standing in the door-way of his shop; I spoke to him, unrolled the picture and asked him to subscribe. He was a strong Democrat and was not long in letting me know it. “You d—women think you will rule the country. There is a clique of you who go prowling around, having secret meetings, lecturing all over the country on women’s rights; here you are roaming around with that d— picture of that loafer Grant. There was one of your clique in here the other day, lecturing on temperance. I told her in plain English to leave my shop; I would have no women’s rights around me.”

I replied, “Thank you for your hint; I am not in your shop, nor do not intend crossing your doorway, for fear I might become polluted, for you certainly are the most profane ruffian I ever met.”

How did a lady book agent go about her business? To start, Mrs. J. W. Likins (Amy) was given an engraving of “Grant and His Family” and told to go out and get subscriptions. If she could be successful with the one picture, she could work up to other engravings and books. Everything she sold was by subscription, taking orders first and delivering the goods later.

Pictures like “Grant and His Family” were very popular items. Later she would also sell “Lincoln and His Family” and “Washington and His Family”. Mrs. Likins started selling in August 1868, just before Grant was elected to his first term.

It was now just before Grant’s election, and great excitement concerning it prevailed. The Democrats arguing in favor of their candidate, and the Republicans in favor of theirs. In almost every room, in front of every store or business house, and on every street corner, I would find gentlemen in groups, whispering or conversing in low tones; I suppose plotting and planning for the coming campaign; while others were loud and boisterous in expressing their opinions.

It was a great trial for me to know just how to approach them . . . still I did not pass any of them; with a heavy heart I would step up, unroll the picture, saying, “Gentlemen, I have a fine engraving of General Grant and his family.” After they had looked at it, which they very seldom failed to do, I would present my order-book, take them in rotation, and insist upon one and all to subscribe, and was generally very successful.

It wasn’t easy at first, but she made herself approach strangers and ask for their business.

They would treat me kindly, and were very polite, with the exception of some few ruffians who seemed to have forgotten “their mother was a woman,” would hurt my feelings, in many ways, with regards to Grant’s life and character, on this coast, before the war; as though I was accountable for the way he had acted.

Claiming that Grant had acquired an Indian wife and children when in California (1852-53) was a common slur on Grant from Democrats. It was frequently used against opponents whether or not there was any evidence for the accusation. Approaching a man in an office, she says

I politely showed him the picture. He looked up, with his blinky eyes, and crooked mouth, in which there was an attempt to grin. “I would buy the engraving if it had his squaw wife and Indian babies on it; we cannot trade madam,” and he turned around to his desk.

When once alone in the hall, I sat down on the bottom stair that led to the third story of the building, and had a good cry. Many passed me, looking at me wonderingly, but none addressed me. I dried my tears away, drew down my vail, and passed into the street.

I had canvassed California street on both sides, from Front to Montgomery; on Montgomery, from California to Washington, and now made up my mind to try Front street, as Mr. S. had told me he thought I would be very successful there. I started in at California street, passed down the lower side to Washington. The gentlemen whom I met were all pleasant and jolly.  Democrats joking Republicans by saying,
“Don’t back out now; if the lady had a picture of Seymour we would buy it.”

Horatio Seymour, former governor of New York,  was Grant’s Democratic rival in the race for the presidency. He lost, 47% to Grant’s 53%.