goldfields

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.

Sacramento Daily Union,  26 March 1870

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.

Another engraving of “Grant and His Family”

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%.

If you were a respectable married woman in 1868 in San Francisco, and you needed to find work, what could you do?

Most women who had to work ran boardinghouses and cooked and cleaned for a living. Many women worked as seamstresses, dressmakers and milliners. Teaching school was another possibility, but unmarried women were preferred for that job.

Mrs. J. W. Likins found herself in just this quandary in the summer of 1868. She and her husband and daughter had come to California that spring, and soon Mr. Likins found work with the railroad as a baggage handler. Disaster struck when their hotel caught on fire (a common occurrence in young San Francisco) and they lost everything but their lives and Polly the parrot. Then Mr. Likins became ill, and soon they were in dire want.

AUGUST 11th, 1868.
Now begins the one great struggle of my life. I scarcely know where to turn or what to do. As I look around the room, I see nothing but want and poverty on every hand. Something must be done to get out of this place. Bidding my dear ones keep up courage, I start out. Never before did I know the meaning of the word poverty. Now I felt it in all its keenest pangs—everything looked dark and cloudy. I started for the Post-office. Not being able to pay car hire, I went on foot.

On my way I passed the book-store of H. H. Bancroft, then on the corner of Montgomery and Merchant streets. In the window I noticed a card, with the words “Agents Wanted” on it. Stepping into the store a gentlemen advanced to meet me. I asked him “Do you employ ladies agents?” “Yes”, he replied, “allow me to take you to the Subscription Department.”

And so began Mrs. Likins employment as a lady book agent. She was given an engraving of “Grant and His Family” and an order book, and told to go out and get orders for the print. Although she says that “It was a great trial for me to know just how to approach them,” she pressed on, talking to men on the street and in offices, and ladies in their homes.

This is probably the print that Mrs. Likins was selling

Taking them on my arm, order-book in my hand, I started up Montgomery street, calling on one and all, up stairs and down, in every room. Some looked at me curiously, others with pity, and some few with contempt, while I endeavored, in my embarrassment, and in an awkward way, to show the picture.

I admire the courage of Mrs. Likins. Selling anything is hard work, and she had never sold anything before in her life. But she pressed on, in spite of her fears and embarrassment, and became quite good at her job. And she was able to support her family.

I came across her account in a book called So Much to Be Done: Women Settlers on the Mining and Ranching Frontier (University of Nebraska Press, 1990). The excerpt in this book is taken from Six years experience as a book agent in California, including my trip from New York to San Francisco via Nicaragua, by Mrs. J.W. Likins, published in San Francisco in 1874. If you would like to read the complete book, you can download from the Library of Congress.

She never mentions her first name, but if the 1870 census is to be trusted, she was Amy Likins, married to James, with a daughter Lucy, and in 1868, when she began her book-selling career, she was 37 years old.

Chico Record, Tuesday Morning, December 24, 1907

A couple of years ago I wrote about So-Wil-Len-No Avenue in Chico, which was named by Annie Bidwell in honor of her friend, Maggie LaFonso, whose Mechoopda name was So-Wil-Len-No.

Rian Farley sent me this clipping from the Chico Record, announcing Maggie’s marriage to Joseph Mitchell. This article tells the reader how well regarded Maggie was as “a leader in the social and religious life of the village.”

Maggie wanted Annie to marry them, but Annie told her she was not authorized to do that, and so they were married by the Presbyterian minister, the Rev. Willis G. White.

Sadly, two years after her marriage, Maggie Lafonso Mitchell died from complications resulting after childbirth. A son had been born on July 25, 1909, but the infant did not survive.

Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Mitchell

Maggie’s obituary appeared in the Chico Record on November 9, 1909.

On to Greenville!

After leaving Susanville on Hwy. 36, we turned south on Hwy. 147 and drove along the east shore of Lake Almanor, then east on 89 to Greenville. In Greenville a left turn on Main St. (there’s a sign pointing the way) took us to North Valley Road, which circles the Indian Valley.

It’s a lovely place, as you can see.

About 5 miles out of town we came to a marker beside the road. This was the location of Peter Lassen’s trading post in the Indian Valley. He grew vegetables with his partner Isadore Meyerowitz in this valley to sell to hungry miners. Everything they grew sold for 15 cents a pound. His trading post was on the ridge behind, sheltered by trees.

We were a little surprised to find some other people at this lonely monument. They had metal detectors and were climbing over the fence that was posted No Trespassing. Hmm, I wondered, who are these people?

They turned out to be entirely legit. One was the land owner, a rancher named (I think) Harry Rogers. He had invited a crew of archeologists to examine the spot and see what they could find.  And who should come walking up the road but Ken Johnston, the author of Legendary Truths: Peter Lassen & His Gold Rush Trail in Fact & Fable. What better person to meet when on the trail of Peter Lassen? And while we were standing there on the roadside gravel, he spotted a square nail on the ground. I picked it up and set it on top of the monument, along with a couple other nails he had spied.

Talking to the rancher and Ken Johnston.

The perfect meeting on a perfect day for following the trail of Peter Lassen.

No visit to Susanville on the trail of Peter Lassen is complete without a visit to Lassen’s grave. He is buried in a small Masonic cemetery about 5 miles south of Susanville. The cemetery has a charming little turnstile gate next to a stone marking the site.  It’s a beautiful setting for a resting place, on the edge of the valley where sheep graze and the graves are shaded by tall Ponderosa pines.

When Lassen was murdered on April 26, 1859 in the Black Rock Desert, his friends went to investigate. They buried the bodies of Lassen and his partner Ed Clapper at the murder site. But this was deemed unbefitting so notable a pioneer, and in November 1859 his remains were brought back to the Honey Lake Valley.

Lassen was buried next to the mammoth Ponderosa pine that had been his shelter when he first came to the Honey Lake Valley. Over the years the tree died and was removed in 1961. Scientists studying the tree declared it to be some 600 years old, and probably the oldest and largest tree of its species in North America. The stump, nine feet in diameter, still sits next to the grave.

The grave marker is a handsome example of 19th century mortuary art, carved with Masonic symbols, such as an all-seeing eye and clasped hands, as well as crossed gun and arrow. The monument is fenced in and roofed to preserve it from weather and the the kind of vandals who like to carve their initials on anything handy.

The soft rock of the grave marker has weathered over the years, and a granite monument was erected in 1917. The inscription reads: In memory of PETER LASSEN the pioneer who was killed by Indians April 26, 1859 / Aged 66 years. The age is wrong — he was 58 when he was killed, and the attribution of his death to Indians is most likely incorrect as well.

I am working on a picture book biography of Peter Lassen, the old Danish pioneer whose name is all over Northern California. I have written about his mysterious death previously on this blog.

Today I went to Susanville to find out more about Lassen. It was a beautiful day for a drive up into the mountains, where it was nice and cool compared to the Sacramento Valley.

Susanville has a fine historical museum, where all the artifacts are neatly arranged and well labeled. It is open Tuesdays through Friday 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., and Saturday 10-1.

There is a nice section on Peter Lassen and Isaac Roop, the founder of Susanville. The lovely young lady next to handsome Mr. Roop in the painting is his daughter Susan, for whom the town and the Susan River are named.

The display includes Lassen’s Danish Meerschaum pipe. It was fun to see that, a genuine item linked to Lassen. The docent at the museum was also kind enough to let me look through their files on Peter Lassen.

Behind the museum is Roop’s Fort, a log building that was once Isaac Roop’s trading post, but during the Sagebrush War of 1863 it became a stockade with the rather grandiose name of Fort Defiance. One of these days I will tell you more about the Sagebrush War.

After a visit to Lassen’s grave (more about that next time) we had lunch at the Pioneer Cafe and visited Margie’s Book Nook next door. I never could resist a bookstore, especially one with piles of used books.

File this under “You learn something new everyday.”

Whenever I am looking for an article in an old newspaper (in the California Digital Newspaper Collection — a wonderful resource), my eye always strays to the advertisements. They are frequently entertaining and sometimes baffling.

This ad announcing PULU! PULU! PULU! caught my eye because I had no idea what pulu is. Clearly from the rest of the ad — which gives you a good idea what people stuffed their mattresses with — it had something to do with bedding.

Wikipedia came to my aid.

Pulu is a silky material obtained from the fibers of the hapu’u pulu (Cibotium glaucum), a tree fern which grows in Hawaii. The Hawaiians used it for padding, dressing wounds, and wrapping the dead.

The ad appeared in the Sacramento Daily Union on 21 May 1863.

Wikipedia states:

For a period in the 19th century, pulu was collected, dried, and exported to California commercially as pillow and mattress stuffing.  A stone structure in Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park known as the Old Pulu Factory was a site for drying and packing pulu. However, the discovery that pulu breaks down and crumbles into dust after only a few years led to the demise of the industry. Pulu was collected by cutting down the slow-growing ferns, an extremely unsustainable method. The industry shut down by the 1880s.

And now you know about PULU!

It was a full day of celebration in Chico on July 4, 1888. As reported in the Chico Enterprise, Independence Day was packed with patriotic activities.

Yesterday morning Chico, the “City of Roses.” looked gay, and her citizens smiled in the most satisfactory manner as they gazed upon the beautiful, loyal, and patriotic decorations which were displayed in the most artistic manner from nearly every store and dwelling in the city.

The day began with a parade, featuring dignitaries, the Colusa and Chico Guards, the Native Sons of the Golden West, cars and floats “beautifully trimmed” featuring young ladies representing the different states of the Union, and much more.

The firemen and exempts with their gaily decorated engines and hose carriages were quite a feature in the procession, while the old veterans of Halleck Post G.A.R. [Grand Army of the Republic], were the admired of all admirers.

The parade was followed by a patriotic program of orations and music, and then a review of the troops.  A highlight of the afternoon was the “hose races” between the five fire engine companies, to see who could be the swiftest in unrolling their hoses and making their attachments on Broadway. Engine Co. No. 1 set a record time of 36 seconds and won a prize of $60.

The Barber Hose Team, winning team July 4, 1905

Next on the day’s agenda was the laying of the cornerstone at the Normal School building, presided over by Grand Master Hiram N. Rucker of the Grand Lodge of Free and Accepted Masons of California. The newspaper report gave a full and lengthy list of the contents of the copper casket which was deposited in the cornerstone. I wonder what happened to the casket when the first Normal School building burned down?

This grand event was followed by the parade and performance of “horribles,” a “motley crowd of clowns, stump speakers, and brass band,” much to the amusement of all. The evening finished up with a ball, a “beautiful panorama of youth and beauty” in the Pavilion.