1895 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



479 



RAMBLE NO. 134. 



BLOCKSBUKGH. 



By Rambler. 



We divided our deer meat with our friend the 

 blacksmith who had so kindly allowed us the 

 use of his corral. He did not enthuse much, 

 however, over deer meat. He said his boy 

 could shoot one almost any day. Our black- 

 smith wielded his hammer, chewed plug tobac- 

 co, and discussed the tariff on wool, in his shop 

 in Harris. When we passed through Harris 

 we found the blacksmith's shop the only place 

 of business there, and. of course, our smith was 

 an important personage. We lifted our hats to 

 him as we passed, and he returned our saluta- 

 tion by coming to the door and expectorating a 

 quantity of tobacco-juice. He wiped his mus- 

 tache with the back of his hand, and returned 

 to the duty of pounding his anvil. 



We rushed down some long steep grades, and 

 made good time. Eel River, a fine mountain 

 stream, we crossed here. Bro. Pryal wanted 

 to stop and fish again. It was truly wonderful 

 how the sight of a stream of water would stir 

 up all of the piscatorial elements of his compo- 

 sition. We hastened across the long bridge; 

 and Susan B., losing sight of us, set the whole 

 valley vibrating with her neighing; and the 

 series of bites Bro. Pryal wished so fondly to 

 indulge in were lost. Our dog Jack was an 

 object of sympathy these days. The hot sands 

 of the road made him footsore; and on the long 

 stretches of mountain travel, where we could 

 find no water, he learned to look up to us for a 

 drink from our canteen, and he became quite 

 expert in the exercise of drinking from it. 



We made another forced drive after crossing 

 Eel River, and after dark entered the little 

 town of Blocksburgh. This time the shoe- 

 maker came to our rescue and provided a camp 

 in the suburbs of the town, near a pure, sweet, 

 cold-water spring, which fountain of water was 

 the making of the town. Blocksburgh is a 

 town of about 300 population. The residences 

 are somewhat scattering, and located upon the 

 spurs of several hills which converge here; and 

 to get a view of the whole town one must needs 

 get directly overhead. It was founded in this 

 unique place by Mr. Blocksburgher, and all on 

 account of being near that excellent spring. 

 Mr. Block, as they all called him, for short, was 

 a hale and hearty old man of about 7.5 summers, 

 and occupied one of the leading stores of the 

 place. For five years after the first establish- 

 ment of the settlement, the only communication 

 with the outside world was over a trail where 

 every thing was packed in on the backs of 

 mules. Another prime factor in the building 

 of Blocksburgh, besides the spring, was its 

 being the center of the wool industry. Over 

 these mountains, and in the valleys, thousands 



of sheep found succulent pasturage; and when 

 wool was 40 cts. per lb., dollars were brought 

 to the pockets of the sheep-herder; and the 

 owner of a few thousand sheep in a few years 

 realized a fortune. But of late, dull times had 

 invaded these wilds, and the price of wool bad 

 subsided to less than 10 cts. per lb., and the in- 

 dustry was rapidly waning. Our visit to this 

 wool country was just before the State election, 

 and the politicians were much heated over the 

 tariff problem; and tariff or no tariff on wool 

 was their song, and the question is not settled 

 even unto this day. 



" There was a time," said Mr. Block, " when 

 this store of mine was completely surrounded 

 and nearly hidden from view with piles of 

 sacked wool. It was brought in from the sur- 

 rounding mountains, on mules, and the annual 

 handling of wool amounted to the hundreds of 

 thousands of dollars; and even now, when the 

 price of wool is so depressed, the street presents 

 a lively scene when a cavalcade of mules ar- 

 rives with their immense burdens of wool," as 

 will be seen by the photo. A large number of 

 sheep-men came here in the earlier California 

 days, and isolated themselves from civilization 

 to a far greater extent than did ever a bee- 

 keeper. These sheep-ranchers had much trou- 

 ble with Indians, and Mr. B. said that, at one 

 time, he could count up a hundred men who 

 had been killed by the red man. Then there 

 were saloon-rows that killed off a few more; 

 " but," said he, "I believe there has not been a 

 man killed here in a year." 



The sheep-men finally sort o' compromised 

 matters with the Indians by marrying their 

 squaws, or, rather, taking them. Such were 

 called squaw-men. Not a few were called men 

 of the squaws, for they had taken a plurality; 

 and the worst feature of this amalgamation of 

 the races was that the squaw-men, many times 

 without the least appearance of a troubled con- 

 science, would leave their squaws and offspring 

 to shift for themselves. The dusky wife had 

 perhaps been a potent factor in making his 

 fortune; but in his bettered worldly possessions 

 he would move to town, build a new house, and 

 marry a white woman. 



We spent ten days in this town, and nearly 

 every day some quaint character from the 

 surrounding country would turn up. Here is 

 an old man in from some branch of the Eel 

 River, with a few boxes of fruit for sale. His 

 apparel was ragged blue jeans; his toes pro- 

 truded from an old pair of shoes; his hat was 

 minus one half of its brim; his gray unkempt 

 locks dangled over his shoulders; still this man 

 could quote you scripture, Shakespeare, and 

 Milton. He had been a man of books, and at 

 one time had thoughts of the ministry. Even 

 now it was said that he would make religious 

 harangues to a crowd when opportunity offer- 

 ed. His hair he allowed to grow long, because 

 in that he could imitate the lonely Nazarene; 



