"Camp" [pp. 478-481]

" CACMMP."
the sound of saw grating through bone,
of cleaver upon the meat-block, falls
short and sharp upon the sleeper's ear.
The camp-watchman, like a bird of night,
disappears, and is seen no more until
late in the afternoon. Then comes the
dawn, and the front-doors of the "Mag nolia" open silently, and the half-dress ed, frouzy-haired, unwashed proprietor
is seen behind his bar, putting down his
dose of bitters, and stirring up the internal fires for another day. The campbutcher slips across the street for his
dram. The Justice of the Peace crawls
out, and stands in his accustomed place
before that bar-exactly where he has
stood of a summer's morning at the same
time for nineteen years past; and then
the hot sun wearily rises above the horizon; the cool of the dawn almost instantly gives place to a glow of heat, and
these town worthies say languidly to each
other, "Another scorcher to-day." The
mercury at nine o'clock stands at go9~.
At ten, it reaches 95~; at eleven, Io00o~;
at twelve, 105~; and until four or five
o'clock, anywhere from that point to I I 5
or 120~.
By nine or ten the "Boys" commence
working out. There are breakfasts cooked in tenantless stores and offices. The
"Camp" has passed its maximum of
greatness, and there are many empty
buildings. In these the "Boys" drift
as naturally as the burrowing owl finds
the ground-squirrel's hole on our arid
plains. Rents are very low, being little
or nothing —generally, nothing. The
stove has seen better days; so has the
crockery; one end of the house sometimes furnishes fuel, the other shelter.
The "Boys" number from two to four
in a mess; and all share in the labor of
preparing breakfast. Each one has some
favorite duty. Smith's knack is that of
slicing tomatoes; Sutton can fry potatoes better than any man in the Southern Mines; Brown prides himself on
Chile stews, learned in South America,
involving a strong application of red pep pers; Dan's forte is broiling steak. They
are long and sociable meals: there is no
business to hurry one off; nothing to do
save to wash up the dishes, light the
pipes, and then sit on the street in the
shade of the locust-trees, talk over last
night's game, and watch dusty horse men and jingling mule-teams plodding
through " Camp."
These are a keen set of men. Involuntarily their minds turn to the study of
human nature. When a stranger comes
in their midst, they set to work and analyze him and sift him down, until he is
thoroughly known. Has he any special
weakness, it is discovered. These little,
lazy "Camps" become select schools for
the study of character. New material
wanting, they study each other. They
know, and comment upon, and relish each
other's peculiarities. There is Green, a
tall, gaunt man from North Carolinaa man profoundly wise in ignorance.
Green can not read. But he watches
narrowly the newspaper as others read
it; he notes the location of stirring paragraphs which have been read aloud;
he fastens upon them with his thumb
and finger, and then, awaiting his opportunity until some unemployed bystander saunters into the "Magnolia,"
he knowingly and triumphantly hands
him the sheet, perhaps upside down,
and remarks, "Here, sir, read that!"
Green's ruse lasts for years, and is often
revived and acted over, ever retaining
all its original zest and freshness.
Idle men are more mischievous than
idle boys. The inside modern California camp-life proves that. The natural
inclination of its human nature seems to
be that of extracting all the amusement
and comfort from the surroundings. At
least, we live up to that rule in "Camp."
The simpleton, and the worthless loafer,
wandering reckless and aimless about
the country, are taken in, fed, clothed, and
entertained, so long as they afford amuse
187I.]
479