A history of the pioneer days of Lassen county would not be complete
without some reference to the diversions of those times. Of course
Indian fighting and Indian scares, drinking, gambling, dancing,
fighting, and an occasional "shooting scrape" furnished the more
strenuous joys, so to speak; but along with these were diversions of
a more quiet nature.
Newspapers and books were very scarce, and instead of finding humor
in them the settlers had to look for it among themselves. Like all
frontier countries, life was rude in many ways and very frequently
their fun was rude, too. Practical joking was common and often
caused trouble. Some queer characters, both wise and otherwise,
drifted to the frontier, and among so few people their talk and
actions were noticed more than they would have been in a more
thickly settled locality. The yarns told by good story-tellers,
sometimes manufactured for the occasion, the sayings of witty
persons and also those of queer ones, what certain men said or did
when drunk, the tricks played by the practical jokers, especially if
at the expense of some unpopular man, were passed from one to
another all over the country and greatly enjoyed.
Orlando Streshly, some of whose yarns have already been given, told
a good many witty stories of all kinds, and he generally had one to
fit the occasion. If he had none in stock, he was able to "make up"
one, and many of the stories he told to illustrate some condition of
the times, or the peculiarity of some person's character or
condition, were long remembered by the pioneers.
Dr. Robert P. Moody was another man whose stories amused and amazed
the country. He came into the valley in 1861 and went into
partnership with Dr. Z. J. Brown (Dr. Eight-square) in the selling
of patent medicines. He afterwards bought out his partner and
established a drug store which he owned until 1904. His daughter,
Miss Opal Moody, says "Dr. Moody was a Massachusetts Yankee and not
only followed his profession of druggist (he was a registered
druggist), hut also followed the watch-maker's trade which he had
learned in Boston. Instead of being a 'Jack of all trades and good
at none,' he was a sort of genius who could do anything he undertook
and do it well. He was also the inventor of half a dozen patent
medicines." Besides this, in his spare time he repaired guns and
pistols and tinkered up whatever was brought to him, stuffed birds
and beasts and pulled teeth. His best known patent medicine he
called "Moody's Sage Brush Liniment," and if it had been as
thoroughly advertised as some other patent medicines, would have
gained a national reputation.
The doctor was a "right smart" talker and told many stories that
were astonishing for size. One of them was something to this effect:
While in Rhode Island he was one day soling shoes on a wager. When
trimming the sole of the last shoe his knife slipped and cut off the
forefinger of his left hand as clean as a whistle. Being in too big
a hurry to pay much attention to any little thing like that, he
picked up the finger and laid it on a shelf close at hand. When he
had finished his work he stack the finger back on his hand with some
shoemaker's wax. In conclusion the doctor would tell that it grew
right on again and was as good as ever, and, holding out his finger
to prove it, would say "and you can't even see the scar"—and you
couldn't. Dr. Moody's stories were about himself and injured nobody,
and certainly were not told with the intention of deceiving any one.
The writer was always of the opinion that the doctor got as much fun
out of it as the listener did, and that it was a source of much
amusement to him to watch the face of the person to whom he was
telling the story and see what effect it had on him.
Davie Lowrie was a Scotchman who came to California in the early
50's, and after working up the Feather river, drifted into Honey
Lake valley in 1857, or about that time. He was a large, strong man
with a constitution like iron and an unlimited capacity for whiskey.
His eyes were cold and dull, and hia smooth-shaven face was as
expressionless as a wooden mask. He talked a good deal, but his
tongue wasn't very nimble, and between that and his Scotch brogue,
it was hard work to understand him. When he was drinking his tongue
was thicker than usual and he patched out his efforts to talk with
'' Luk, see, mon. You know what I mean,'' accompanied by a number of
vigorous pokes in the ribs of his listener that made him wish that
he was only within yelling distance. It was told that he had been
educated for a minister; but if so, he must have been a "stickit
minister." Davie, whether drunk or sober, very often said or did
something that provoked the mirth of those around him. When in the
former condition, he was at one time very abusive; but once while in
Janesville he called Alec. McKissick a vile name and the latter, not
knowing his age, knocked him down with a rock and kicked him in the
ribs. After that Davie was more discreet in his language, especially
to strangers. For several years he was very pious whenever he got
drunk and attended church without fail if there was a chance to do
so. His conduct while there generally delighted the worldly part of
the congregation and greatly annoyed the preacher. In 1868 there was
a camp meeting held for several days near Fort Janesville. There was
a large attendance from all parts of the valley, and among the rest
was Davie, who was generally "three sheets in the wind." When
present he often knelt before the "mourner's bench" and mumbled to
himself. One night a preacher who was a stranger in the valley,
thinking that Davie was a pious, simple-minded fellow, asked him if
he would not like to go to a better land. Lowrie said "Yes, I would
like to go to Scotland." The preacher tried it again and said "But,
Mr. Lowrie, wouldn't you like to go to Heaven t" The reply was,
"Yes, if I could go by the way of Glasgow."
In spite of hard fare, hard work, and poor whiskey, and a slash the
whole length of his jaw, made by a knife in the hands of "Uncle Tim"
Darcey, Davie lived to a good old age. After he was eighty years old
he did a man's work in the hay field. At last he wandered away into
one of the adjoining counties and died in the county hospital of
either Plumas or Sierra county.
"Uncle Tim" Darcey was another character. He, too, came to
California in the early 50's, and after mining up the north fork of
Feather river came to Honey Lake. Here he followed the blacksmith
trade for twenty years, the rest of his life. He was born in St.
Louis, Missouri, in the early part of the last century and was of
Irish parentage. He was raised on the waterfront when St. Louis was
a frontier town, and grew up to be a hard man, always ready to fight
or to get drunk. He learned to be an engineer and ran on the
Mississippi for a number of years during the palmy days of
steamboating on that river, and it took a man to hold his own in the
crowd that followed the river in those days. When in his prime he
was a bad man to fool with, for he was big and strong and had a
temper that flashed up like gunpowder. He would get angry in an
instant, his eyes would turn green and his teeth come together like
a steel trap, and he would strike a man with anything he happened to
have in his hand at the time. He was vicious, too. Once when he and
Sam. Trotter, another blacksmith, were in Janesville drunk, they got
into a fight. When they came together both of them fell down, and
Trotter was so drunk that he could not get up or move. Tim could
move his arms, so he picked up a rock, and being just able to reach
one of Sam 'a ankles, he lay there and pounded it with the rock
until some one took him by the leg and pulled him a couple of feet
away. He could not crawl back and that ended the fight.
But he was naturally a man of considerable ability and force of
character and had a fund of humor; and being a blacksmith, was a
sort of public man in those days and very often said or did
something for people to talk about. When blacksmithing at Richmond
he had a little trouble with L. P. Whiting. The next time he saw
Whiting coming into the place he got behind a pile of logs and
pointed an old shovel handle over them. When Whiting, who was on
foot, got pretty close some one yelled to him to look out. He looked
and saw Darcey's head sticking up above the logs and the shovel
handle pointing toward him, and then he broke and ran back "rail
fence" fashion, much to the enjoyment of Tim and the crowd of
loafers that usually infested the little village. Tim used to tell
that while he was working at Richmond Streshly was going to have a
roasted goose for his Thanksgiving dinner. The goose was cooked the
day before, and he and "Old Zack" Taylor made it up that they would
steal it out of the milk house where it was put for the night. A
little snow fell that evening, and after the Streshly family had
gone to bed Tim walked boldly to the milk house and got the goose.
He then took off his shoes, put them on backwards, and carefully
stepping in his own tracks, went back to the road.
Streshly said that this was the first time he ever knew a man to go
both ways and make only one set of tracks.
Old age and whiskey finally did their work and "Uncle Tim" died at
Janesville in 1877.
Dr. J. W. M. (Old Doc.) Howe, who was the first man appointed to the
office of County Physician in this county, was the cause of
considerable talk for several years. He was a good
doctor—considering the time and place—and some of his prescriptions
were used in the valley for thirty years. He was a hard drinker, and
when under the influence of liquor, was very reckless in his talk
and actions. He was an ardent secessionist, and he and "Old Charley"
Bader were several times put into jail for hurrahing for Jeff.
Davis, or something of the kind. They didn't keep them there very
long, probably only until they became sober, for they didn't want to
hurt the old fellows. Once when Bader was in jail Howe wanted his
company, so he broke the lock of the jail and set his crony free.
This was looked upon as a good joke and the county authorities paid
no attention to it.
The following is one of the many stories told of the doctor's queer
sayings. One day when the camp meeting held near Janesville in 1868
was in session, the doctor went down there with a crowd from
Susanville. He rode a very fine saddle horse which he valued highly,
and when they reached the camp ground he tied his horse to one side
and joined the congregation. After a while some of the men moved the
animal and told him that Captain Wells had taken him away. Wells was
the officer in command at Smoke Creek and he and the doctor
occasionally had a spat over politics. The doctor had been drinking
ever since he left town and he went to sleep during the sermon.
Shortly afterwards the preacher said in a loud voice, "The Captain
of Salvation is now in your midst." This awakened the doctor, who
thought he said Captain Wells, and he shouted, '' Show him to me.
Show him to me. The son of a , he stole my horse!"
Among the various organizations in Susanville was a secret society
that came into existence during the winter of 1863-64. It was called
"Eclamps Avitas," or words to that effect, whatever they may mean.
It was created by a lot of "locoed" fellows for the purpose of
getting what fun they could out of it. Their high jinks were held in
the barn that the Plumas county posse had used as a fort in 1863,
and it is to be presumed that everything went well with them in
their efforts to get some enjoyment out of life until the women
interfered. Probably they thought it was not right or proper for the
men to have too much fun. Anyway, Mrs. Dake, Mrs. Rundel, and
several other women, organized a committee of investigation which
sneaked up to the barn while the lodge was in session and "peeked"
through the cracks in its sides. Just at that time they were
initiating a new member, and the committee heard blood-curdling
roars and various other noises of a terrifying nature mingled with
the clanking of chains. Perhaps the aforesaid roars, etc. were
augmented by the cries of the suffering candidate, for it was
afterwards learned that he was scared half to death while the
initiation was going on. Of course the women lost no time in
spreading abroad what they had heard, and as a consequence no more
men would join the lodge and it came to an untimely end.
Last, but not the least, of the old crowd of fun-makers was Paschal
Taylor, familiarly known as "Old Zack" Taylor, who probably came
over the hill with Darcey. He was a nice old fellow of considerable
education, but for an honest man he was the worst thief that ever
drew the breath of life. Although he stole continually, he was not
looked upon as a dishonest man. In fact, one of his thefts was
usually thought to be a good joke. He stole to carry out a practical
joke, to show his skill, just out of curiosity to see if he could do
it, and sometimes for the sake of charity. He was harmless, was very
old, and was a Mason, and was regarded as a privileged character. He
would steal from one man to make a present to another, and if
detected, would steal from some one else to pay the debt. T. N. Long
says that Zack once made him a present of a very fine duster. After
he had worn it for some time A. T. Bruce noticed it and asked him
where he got it. Long told him and then Bruce wanted to look at the
garment. After examining it he said that it belonged to him and that
Zack must have stolen it in order to make Long a present. A great
many stories used to be told about his stealing and the tricks he
played, and a few will be given to show the various kinds of work he
did.
When he was at Richmond some one living there bought & turkey for a
Christmas dinner and invited his neighbors to the feast. Just before
the turkey was to be cooked Zack stole it and threw it upon the roof
of a house near by, and it sunk into the deep snow out of sight.
There was no time to get another one and the curses of the owner
were both loud and deep. Before New Year Zack managed to get another
turkey, and he invited his friends to dine with him on that day, the
man from whom the turkey was stolen being among them. Both fowls
were cooked and brought onto the table and then the host told how he
got one of them. The writer never heard what was said immediately
after this.
Source: "HISTORY of LASSEN
COUNTY CALIFORNIA..." By ASA MERRILL FAIRFIELD, 1916
Submitted by K. Torp
BACK
