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Author: Bret Harte Publisher: Kessinger Publishing ISBN: 9781436640121 Category : Fiction Languages : en Pages : 272
Book Description
CONTENTS. IBARKERS LTICK . 1 YELLOW DOG . . . . . . . 44 JA A MOTHER OF FIVE 63 IBULGERS REPUTATION 80 IX THE TULES 104 IA CONVERT OF THE MISSION .... 141 Tgg INDISCIIETIO ov ELSBKTH . . . . 182 . THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ .... 216 BARKERS LUCK. to A BIRD twittered The morning sun shining through the open window was ap parently more potent than the cool moun tain air, which had only caused the sleeper to curl a little more tightly in his blankets. Barkers eyes opened instantly upon the light and the bird on the window ledge. Like all healthy young animals he would have tried to sleep again, but with his mo- mentary consciousness came the recollection that it was his turn to cook the breakfast that morning, and he regretfully rolled out 1 of his bunk to the floor. Without stopping to dress he opened the door and stepped outside, secure in the knowledge that he was overlooked only by the Sierras, and plunged his head and shoulders in the bucket of cold water that stood by the door. Then he be gan to clothe himself, partly in the cabin and . partly in the open air, with a lapse between the putting on of his trousers and coat which he employed in bringing in wood. Raking together the few embers on the adobe hearth, not without a prudent regard to the rattle snake which had once been detected in haunting the warm ashes, he began to pre pare breakfast. By this time the other sleepers, his partners Stacy and Demorest, young men of about his own age, were awake, alert, and lazily critical of his pro gress. I dont care about my quail on toast being underdone for breakfast, said Stacy, with a yawn and you need nt serve with red wine. I m not feeling very peckish this morning. And I reckon you canknock off the fried oysters after the Spanish mackerel for me said Demorest gravely. The fact is, that last bottle of Veuve Clicquot we had for supper was nt as dry as I am this morn- ing. Accustomed to these regular Barmecide suggestions, Barker made no direct reply. Presently, looking up from the fire, he said, There s no more saleratus, so you must nt blame me if the biscuit is extra heavy. told you we had none when you went to the grocery yesterday. And I told you we had nt a red cent to buy any with, said Stacy, who was also treasurer. Put these two negatives to gether and you make the affirmative saleratus. Mix freely and bake in a hot oven. Nevertheless, after a toilette as primitive as Barkers they sat down to what he had prepared, with the keen appetite begotten of the mountain air and the regretful fasti diousness born of the recollection of better things. Jerked beef, frizzled with salt pork in a frying-pan, boiled potatoes, biscuit, and coffee composed the repast. The bis cuits, however, proving remarkably heavy after the first mouthful, were used as mis siles, thrown through the open door at an empty bottle, which had previously served as a mark for revolver practice, and a few moments later pipes were lit to counteract the effects of the meal and take the taste out of their mouths. Suddenly they heard the sound of horses hoos, saw the quick passage of a rider in the open space before the cabin, and felt the smart impact upon the table of some small object thrown by . him...
Author: Bret Harte Publisher: Kessinger Publishing ISBN: 9781436640121 Category : Fiction Languages : en Pages : 272
Book Description
CONTENTS. IBARKERS LTICK . 1 YELLOW DOG . . . . . . . 44 JA A MOTHER OF FIVE 63 IBULGERS REPUTATION 80 IX THE TULES 104 IA CONVERT OF THE MISSION .... 141 Tgg INDISCIIETIO ov ELSBKTH . . . . 182 . THE DEVOTION OF ENRIQUEZ .... 216 BARKERS LUCK. to A BIRD twittered The morning sun shining through the open window was ap parently more potent than the cool moun tain air, which had only caused the sleeper to curl a little more tightly in his blankets. Barkers eyes opened instantly upon the light and the bird on the window ledge. Like all healthy young animals he would have tried to sleep again, but with his mo- mentary consciousness came the recollection that it was his turn to cook the breakfast that morning, and he regretfully rolled out 1 of his bunk to the floor. Without stopping to dress he opened the door and stepped outside, secure in the knowledge that he was overlooked only by the Sierras, and plunged his head and shoulders in the bucket of cold water that stood by the door. Then he be gan to clothe himself, partly in the cabin and . partly in the open air, with a lapse between the putting on of his trousers and coat which he employed in bringing in wood. Raking together the few embers on the adobe hearth, not without a prudent regard to the rattle snake which had once been detected in haunting the warm ashes, he began to pre pare breakfast. By this time the other sleepers, his partners Stacy and Demorest, young men of about his own age, were awake, alert, and lazily critical of his pro gress. I dont care about my quail on toast being underdone for breakfast, said Stacy, with a yawn and you need nt serve with red wine. I m not feeling very peckish this morning. And I reckon you canknock off the fried oysters after the Spanish mackerel for me said Demorest gravely. The fact is, that last bottle of Veuve Clicquot we had for supper was nt as dry as I am this morn- ing. Accustomed to these regular Barmecide suggestions, Barker made no direct reply. Presently, looking up from the fire, he said, There s no more saleratus, so you must nt blame me if the biscuit is extra heavy. told you we had none when you went to the grocery yesterday. And I told you we had nt a red cent to buy any with, said Stacy, who was also treasurer. Put these two negatives to gether and you make the affirmative saleratus. Mix freely and bake in a hot oven. Nevertheless, after a toilette as primitive as Barkers they sat down to what he had prepared, with the keen appetite begotten of the mountain air and the regretful fasti diousness born of the recollection of better things. Jerked beef, frizzled with salt pork in a frying-pan, boiled potatoes, biscuit, and coffee composed the repast. The bis cuits, however, proving remarkably heavy after the first mouthful, were used as mis siles, thrown through the open door at an empty bottle, which had previously served as a mark for revolver practice, and a few moments later pipes were lit to counteract the effects of the meal and take the taste out of their mouths. Suddenly they heard the sound of horses hoos, saw the quick passage of a rider in the open space before the cabin, and felt the smart impact upon the table of some small object thrown by . him...
Author: Bret Harte Publisher: Wentworth Press ISBN: 9780530417233 Category : History Languages : en Pages : 270
Book Description
This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.
Author: Bret Harte Publisher: Createspace Independent Publishing Platform ISBN: 9781722441883 Category : Languages : en Pages : 86
Book Description
Francis Bret Harte (August 25, 1836 - May 5, 1902) was an American short story writer and poet, best remembered for his short fiction featuring miners, gamblers, and other romantic figures of the California Gold Rush. In a career spanning more than four decades, he wrote poetry, plays, lectures, book reviews, editorials, and magazine sketches in addition to fiction. As he moved from California to the eastern U.S. to Europe, he incorporated new subjects and characters into his stories, but his Gold Rush tales have been most often reprinted, adapted, and admired. Early life: Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York. He was named Francis Brett Hart after his great-grandfather, Francis Brett. When he was young, his father, Henry, changed the spelling of the family name from Hart to Harte. Henry's father was Bernard Hart, an Orthodox Jewish immigrant who flourished as a merchant, becoming one of the founders of the New York Stock Exchange. Later, Francis preferred to be known by his middle name, but he spelled it with only one "t," becoming Bret Harte. An avid reader as a boy, Harte published his first work at age 11, a satirical poem titled "Autumn Musings," now lost. Rather than attracting praise, the poem garnered ridicule from his family. As an adult, he recalled to a friend, "Such a shock was their ridicule to me that I wonder that I ever wrote another line of verse." His formal schooling ended when he was 13, in 1849.Career in California Harte moved to California in 1853, later working there in a number of capacities, including miner, teacher, messenger, and journalist. He spent part of his life in the northern California coastal town of Union (now Arcata), a settlement on Humboldt Bay that was established as a provisioning center for mining camps in the interior.[citation needed] The Wells Fargo Messenger, July 1916, relates that, after an unsuccessful attempt to make a living in the gold camps, he signed on as a messenger with Wells Fargo & Co. Express. He guarded treasure boxes on stagecoaches for a few months, then gave it up to become the schoolmaster at a school near Sonora. He created his character Yuba Bill from his memory of an old stagecoach driver. The 1860 massacre of between 80 and 200 Wiyots at the village of Tuluwat was well documented historically and was reported in San Francisco and New York by Harte. When serving as assistant editor for the Northern Californian, Harte editorialized about the slayings while his boss Stephen G. Whipple was temporarily absent, leaving Harte in charge of the paper. Harte published a detailed account condemning the event, writing: "a more shocking and revolting spectacle never was exhibited to the eyes of a Christian and civilized people. Old women wrinkled and decrepit lay weltering in blood, their brains dashed out and dabbled with their long grey hair. Infants scarcely a span long, with their faces cloven with hatchets and their bodies ghastly with wounds." After he published the editorial, his life was threatened, and he was forced to flee one month later. Harte quit his job and moved to San Francisco, where an anonymous letter published in a city paper is attributed to him, describing widespread community approval of the massacre. In addition, no one was ever brought to trial, despite the evidence of a planned attack and references to specific individuals, including a rancher named Larabee and other members of the unofficial militia called the Humboldt Volunteers.
Author: Bret Harte
Author: Bret Harte
Author: Bret Harte
Author: Bret Harte
Author: Robert William Chambers
Author: Bret Harte
Author: Bret Harte
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Author: Providence Public Library (R.I.)
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