Union and American. [volume] (Greeneville, Tenn.) 1875-1877, 1875-12-23
AFTER BRET HARTE.
And Not So Very Far AFTER Hin

anu Not 80 soIy Far <AIter k1IIn
From the Sonora Democrat, Dec. 2. =
We are about to relate an incl
dent which would in our opinion
form a first-class basis for "a story
Of California life" as portrayed by
the thousand and one amateur imi
tators of Francis Bret Harte.-
First describe the surroundings.
An alkali village in the heart OF
the Mono country, where the "first
low wash of civilization" is indiea-
ted by battered oyster cans and
empty Bourbon bottles. The vii
lage itself eonglomeration of
adobe and canvas, saloons and
cabins, vice and virtue, reckless
independence and supernatural
idiocy. The occupation of the in
habitants anything appropriate to
that section of the country-at
present we are at loss to suprest
any occupation suitable to the sur.
roundings bntt nave no doubt that
the tcftIIe brain of the amateur
will readily find something for his
heroes TO earn their diurnaI sus-
tenance by. AS for a name for
this dilapidated, out of-the-way
place, Satan's Roost will perhaps
do as well as any other. 1t is not
at all necessary that all should be
prominent, but their remarks I'm
dialect of course must be judi
ciously y selected and crammed in
whenever the writer is at a loss
for n paragraph. Let the broken
down hummer play the male hero.
1t may be as well to call him a man
of superb education ard classical
parts, formerly placer miner in
the southern mines. The woman
who is to lend grace to the story,
must be the only female in the
camp" Don't picture her as
| pretty or over virtuous, for that
would be entirely uaorthodox and
not all after the style of the master
Bohemian. Around these two the
incidents of the story must cluster.
The man drinks like fish and the
woman is "unconyentional,' =
takes in washing for a living and.
is idolized by the community in
which she lives, all of which NAV
be entirely inconsistent with the
truth, but no matter, you are
writing a California romance and
inconsistency must be your ground
plan. The mans S name is SANDY
or "Scotty'' or "Pete" or "Jim" or
any suggestive title. The woman
may be ''The Pride of Mono" or
Cherokee SAL or "Chiquita," it
matters not which. And now for
the incident. SANDY" or what
ever his name is falls in love with
the "Pride of Mono" His passion
is reciprocated. A gambler called
''Short-card Bill" (classical cog
nomen) is also in love with tue
heroine. Deadly animosity exists
between the hummer and the gam
bier in consequence, and they plot
each others ruin. Finally the
woman tells the gambler that she
can not love him. He RACES
around for a while and at last
comes to the conclusion that he
viii decide the whole matter by an
appeal to chance. He throws dice
to see whether he shall kill the
hummer SANDY" and marry Cher
okee Sar' or whether he shall
mount his splendid thoroughbred
and depart III the early dawn Just
as few drowsy Cinnamon are
vending their way down the rocky
ravine to their daily labor. The
dice decide that Sandy" must die.
The scene changes to the Howl
ing Wilderness saloon. At this
point, the amateur may display his
powers of description and his
knowledge Of perverted dialect.
Enter SANDY" Enter "Short-card
BILL Enter other cadaverous
m9nstrosities designated citize rs
of "Satan's roost." The gambler
provokes a quarrel with the meek
eyed hummer. A pistol fight en-
sues. Here the amateur can liter
ally "throw himself" He can get
up a scene of confusion and car
mage that might rival the famous
fight at Gilgal, "where they piled
the dead outside the door by cords"
and in which the "short, sharp
bark of the derringer" was heard
sounding the knell of departing
souls" The gambler is victorious
and SANDY" stretches himself out
on the floor preparatory to dying
in orthodox California romantic
fashion. ''Short card Bill" mounts
his horse, and in company with
Cherokee SAL" who has relented,
departs from that vicinity forever.
In the meantime the life blood
slowly oozes from the let side of
SANDY" Apparently the bum
mer's minutes are numbered. The
only physician in the place is
called, and the following realistic
conversation ensues.
Doc, old pard, what's the
chancesr
"Slim Sandy, Id SLIM"
HAS she gone, Doc?
n nOl4u VI E'aVhOS OuAdGl lHSSS
words of the dying man.
Yes, Sandy, she's gone"
Tears well up in the eyes Of the
bystanders, eyes that had not
known tears since they last gazed
upon the well worn strap that
hung beside the paternal fireplace.
"Gone and left me; gone, gone,
gone" A pause and a silence In
tue "Howling Wilderness" that
was tomb-like in it's selemuity.
How much longer, Doc, ken /
hang on?''
''Just two minutes and three
quarters" said the doctor, grasping
the hand of the dying man. A
convulsive shudder passes through
the frame of the almost defunct
hummer. Then raising himself on
his elbow with mighty effort he
throws one arm around the neck
of the doctor and in pathetic tones
exclaims:
kiss me Doc, kiss, me, I've
nothing more to live for now that