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256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1879
I pass hastily over the early part of the journey, the crossing the bay in a fog as chill as November, the number of "lunch baskets," which gave the car the look of conveying a great picnic party, the last view of the Pacific, on which I had looked for nearly a year, the fierce sunshine and brilliant sky inland, the look of long rainlessness, which one may not call drought, the valleys with sides crimson with the poison oak, the dusty vineyards, with great purple clusters thick among the leaves, and between the vines great dusty melons lying on the dusty earth.It helps that she's a decent prose stylist, along with the fact that for a while at the beginning, she's traveling through the area I grew up in. California is not one that crops up often in the literature I read, and when it does it is most often Los Angeles that graces the pages, a city I have my share of memories in but in no way compares to remembrance of the Bay Area. Reveler in imagery that I am, it is different when another agrees with the oddities, annoyances, and beauty that I have encountered in my daily life in and around San Francisco, a concordance that only becomes more precious when separated by almost 150 years. In other words, it made me nostalgic, but that happens rarely enough that I can afford to indulge.
In traveling there is nothing like dissecting people's statements, which are usually colored by their estimate of the powers or likings of the person spoken to, making all reasonable inquiries, and then pertinaciously but quietly carrying out one's own plans.Judgmental she was, but not enough to forbear having a sense of humor. This and a firm (white) head on her shoulders helped her immensely through snow storms, bears, near starvation, a useless poet with a bottomless stomach, and a particularly infamous desperado called "Mountain Jim" who Bird had the most interesting time with because she thought he was really hot. She danced around the pronouncement like any white woman did at the time, but that's how it was.
I have seen a great deal of the roughest class of men both on sea and land during the last two years, and the more important I think the "mission" of every quiet, refined, self-respecting woman—the more mistaken I think those who would forfeit it by noisy self-assertion, masculinity, or fastness.This is her in her last letter following up on her viewing the wife doing all the work in various settlements she stayed at as completely normal. How she would describe her own commitment to travel that would in the future venture far beyond shores both European and United States, I cannot say. However, she did write it down for those of us who need a "Look! If she could do it almost 150 years ago, so can I," every so often, so that's of merit.
Birdie slipped so alarmingly that I got off and walked, but then neither of us could keep our feet, and in the darkness she seemed so likely to fall upon me, that I took out of my pack the man's socks which had been given me at Perry's Park, and drew them on over her fore-feet—an expedient which for a time succeeded admirably, and which I commend to all travelers similarly circumstanced.A bit of humor for the road.
The Americans will never solve the Indian problem till the Indian is extinct. They have treated them after a fashion which has intensified their treachery and "devilry" as enemies, and as friends reduces them to a degraded pauperism, devoid of the very first elements of civilization. The only difference between the savage and the civilized Indian is that the latter carries firearms and gets drunk on whisky. The Indian Agency has been a sink of fraud and corruption; it is said that barely thirty per cent of the allowance ever reaches those for whom it is voted; and the complaints of shoddy blankets, damaged flour, and worthless firearms are universal. "To get rid of the Injuns" is the phrase used everywhere. Even their "reservations" do not escape seizure practically; for if gold "breaks out" on them they are "rushed," and their possessors are either compelled to accept land farther west or are shot off and driven off. One of the surest agents in their destruction is vitriolized whisky. An attempt has recently been made to cleanse the Augean stable of the Indian Department, but it has met with signal failure, the usual result in America of every effort to purify the official atmosphere. Americans specially love superlatives. The phrases "biggest in the world," "finest in the world," are on all lips. Unless President Hayes is a strong man they will soon come to boast that their government is composed of the "biggest scoundrels" in the world.