Crescent City, Jan. 1, 1860.

Addio.

   
Sunday, Jan. 8, 1860.
    The holy Sabbath! and yet, because it is the Sabbath I lay abed this morning till near noon. I do not go to church--these canting Methodists have no interest for me. I am conscious of a slow, gradual change in my character. I was once in my simple youth and ignorance religiously inclined, and many a prayer have I sent up to "the great God above." Can it be that the gentle, affectionate, confiding little boy of that period, and the sad skeptic of this, are identical?
   
"Eheu, fugaces, posthume, posthume, labuntur anni" ["Alas, Posthumus, the years glide swiftly away"], and so what are we hurrying [for]?
    The steamer is expected tonight, and I must send a letter to mi querida hermana [my dear sister], which
So here ends the record of this ill-spent day.
   
Jan. 9.
    'Rose late--read & wrote &c. Took violent exercise in the afternoon, almost to exhaustion. Tonight the steamer arrived with the eastern mail. No letters for me, and I'm as savage as a bear. However, I shall have no answers to write, but to be forgotten by one's friends is damnedly provoking anyway, especially when you have tried all you could to please them, but I am (or is) a pronoun that is not demonstrative, and I will let them know that I can be as indolent as the laziest of them.
    The Columbia brings me sad news of the loss of the Northerner on the 5th inst. off Cape Mendocino, and 35 lives. She has been running between San Francisco and Victoria, V.I. and was on her way to the latter place at the time of the accident. The conduct of the officers is highly spoken of, nevertheless I think they must have been culpable in hugging the shore so closely.
    What after all are my disappointments at not hearing from my friends to many who hear from theirs only to learn that they are forever lost by the wreck of the Northerner.
   
Jan. 10.
    Little done, and little to record. Breakfasted at 11½ o'clock. Weather fine.
    Have written a letter to my Uncle Joseph, San Francisco, and read the papers. Congress wrangling, as usual.
    I am inveterately given to sleep lately. But I believe my chief happiness consists in sleep; however, it is denounced by the philosophic, the metaphysic and the ethic, and so are most pleasures.
    The Crescent City Herald was an abortion today, about the size of your hand. Its "father" says it was all for the want of paper, which God grant he may not want in his future bringings forth.
   
Jan. 11.
    Have eaten, drunken, slept, and, and--I don't know what else.
    The most important news by the late arrival is that of a treaty between the U.S. and Mexico, by which the latter cedes to our government Lower Cal. and Sonora, together with a portion of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec for a "way" between the two oceans.
    Mexico presents at present a deplorable aspect. It is that of a nation divided against itself, and fast degenerating, by its intestine [sic] disorders, into hopeless anarchy. The Spanish character is totally incompatible with a republic, being essentially wanting in those attributes of republicanism, moral stamina, incorruptible patriotism, and a correct appreciation of liberty.
    It is now three hundred and forty years since Cortes and his followers entered the harbor of Vera Cruz, and saw towering afar off near the capital of the Montezumas the snowcapped peak of Orizaba, or "Snow Mountain." A hundred years later, our Anglo-Saxon fathers landed at Plymouth, and, I may say, laid the foundation of the future Republic. While we, through almost insuperable obstacles, from natural causes and the tyranny of those who should have been our friends and patrons, have overcome every hardship, and wrung a reluctant tribute even from oppression itself, and at last stand, in the pride of our strength and glory, among the first of nations, what is the condition of Mexico, a century our senior? "None are so poor to do her reverence." Since her independence, she has been relapsing from one degree of weakness to another, till her total imbecility is at hand. Her population is now less than was that of the ancient Aztecs, whom Cortes subdued.
    In this state of affairs, that the intervention of the United States is not only an act of expending for our own safety and interests, but one of justice to Mexico and to humanity, cannot by any man who loves liberty be controverted or denied.
    With our power, we may preserve her from that confusion and bloodshed to which she is tending, while, by giving her citizens the benefit of law and order, she may ultimately become what she is naturally adapted to be, a happy and prosperous country. (What a rigmarole.)
   
Jan. 12.
    Rose early, though reluctantly, and breakfasted at 5½ o'clock in the silvery moonlight. Afterward was interested in the beauty of the rosy morning twilight--the amber-colored clouds changing to gold--"from gold to crimson," and finally to pearl, and as the sun came up from behind the distant hills, and threw his gorgeous beams over the dewy earth, and danced in lambent rays upon the waters of our little bay, I thought I had never seen anything more beautiful.
    Quite poetical, truly, and this reminds me that I have written four stanzas of poetry today on friendship, which, as characteristic of my humor, are inveterately misanthropic, and worthy of the veriest cynic.
    I have also been reading Tom Paine, at which M------ expressed a holy horror. This amused me exceedingly. The spirit of intolerance manifested against Paine arises usually from ignorance and superstitious prejudice. What if his views were erroneous at times. A person in the years of puberty, if he be not a dunce, should be able to judge for himself, and should be no more afraid to read Tom Paine than the Bible, where he reads everything from David to the Devil.
    Company in this evening--conversation all fiddle-faddle, made a blunder, but did not care--ladies got me over it better than I desired.
   
Jan. 13.
    Read Vale's Life of Tom Paine, and Butler's Hudibras. This latter reminds me of a little forensic incident which pleased me the other day. The defendants were endeavoring to disqualify the evidence of a principal witness on account of his suspicious character (which was really bad, he having been a state prison convict), and among others called against him was my uncle. The Major, who goes upon the principle that "honest men are scarce," thought it not best to say too much, and accordingly so ambiguously worded his testimony that it could be construed for either side without much twisting. In his speech, the counsel for the defense alluded to this, and humorously compared the Maj. to Sir Hudibras with the lines
The quotation was so applicable that none who knew the Major's peculiarity could suppress a very broad grin, in which the judge himself joined.
    This day passed in idle thought, as useless to others as to me. "Sir, there's someone at the door must needs speak with you." (Exit.)
   
Jan. 14.
    The weather is still beautiful, as it has been for several days--warm and bright as a May Day in old Maine. I like the climate of California, but its scenery I do not admire: it is dull, dreary and monotonous. It is called by many grand, beautiful and imposing. It may be grand and imposing, but as for beauty, I have never been able to discover it in any remarkable degree. Everything is on an immense scale, but height, depth, length and breadth are far different things from beauty. The sight of a tree three or four hundred feet high may impress me with wonder, but not the pleasure which a rose affords. In short, California scenery is to that of the East what a plain 7-ft. virgin is to one of comely proportions.
    Nothing of new, as the French say. Several gentlemen called this evening, and one lady. Had considerable conversation and argument with her--discussed the merits of several of the poets--found her intelligent. I like to argue with a woman, but like also to be right, for they are remorseless, and if they get you "cornered," they push you like an irritable bull. If I had forty thousand dollars, I suppose I would marry one of these wretches.
    After all, if I had a wife, I'm afraid I should get sick of her in a couple of weeks, and want somebody's else, so the sisterhood will do without me. Cognovit.
    Have read Campbell's "British Poets," a very convenient work of reference, &c., &c., &c.
   
Sunday Jan. 15, 1860.
    Rose late: breakfasted at 11 o'clock, which, by the way, is not far from our usual breakfasting in winter.
    "When one," says Byron, "subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning--how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse."
    Steamer in today--have read the papers--Congress not organized, and maneuvering.
    Company fun this evening--hes and shes--married and unmarried--Miss A------ very good-looking and sprightly in conversation. Dr. S----- must be an ass to think of wooing her at his time of life, but if he has gold enough he will do, for
    Mem. Must write a letter to my sister Julia, whom, when I think of it, I have neglected for a long time. She will wonder at this, and possibly feel hurt, but--but--I don't know what--"Whatever is, is right," though many a poor devil may be sacrificed in evolving it. My life is monotonous and desultory. Shut up in this little cranny of the world, we have nothing to do but suck our paws like a bear and slap the time away. But "I'll have done with it" un de ces jours ["one of these days"].
    My friends, no doubt, are expecting great things of me. That I shall come home with a "golden fleece" and all that. No sooner does a Californian set foot in the eastern states than "How much has he got?" flies from mouth to mouth and is the stereotyped inquiry, which if he does not hear, he feels and sees in the countenance of every man, woman and child he meets. And if the gods have not favored him, why, be damned to him--every mother's son of them who has a copper and a nail to rattle will turn up his nose in sovereign contempt.
   
Jan. 16.
    The weather is glorious. While writing this, I am sitting in my room without a fire, and have thrown open the door, the air being oppressively warm.
    There is this difference between Cal. and New England, that in good weather there, some clouds are usually floating over the sky, while here they are not sun clouds in this climate and are almost sure precursors of rain.
    Took a trip in dream last night, 3000 miles over the continent. Called on no one, however, but F. G. Butler Esq., and was happy on awaking that I had been in so good company.
    Today have done nothing--nothing. This journal is something of a relief, but god knows who will want to read it. However it answers its purpose while I write by occupying my thoughts, and further I do not care.
    I wish there were more women here: as it is, they are only an aggravation. There are so few, there is no room for comparison or selection, and any two-legged she, be she as ugly as Otway's "wrinkled hag," can command the most gallant attention. I like the manners of our women. If a California lady has petticoats and legs, she is not afraid to own it (or show it, I might almost add) instead of simpering absurdly at their mention like some hypocritic prudes I have seen--but the subject breeds discontent, so "no more on't."
   
Jan. 17.
    Foggy, nasty, chilly day, and looks like rain. Eat, drink and sleep is the order of the day--and make merry if you can. Positively nothing to record. Damn the pen and damn this diary, and thus I euphoniously close, and go to bed.
   
Jan. 18.
    Rode--dined--read--Boswell's Life of Johnson, London News, the weeklies, &c. Wrote a letter to my sister for the overland mail. Have also been studying Spanish--I like the Spanish--it is so copious, sonorous and musical. I commenced to study it in Massachusetts in 1856, but soon dropped it, and have given it no attention since, until lately.
    The winter of '56 was the happiest period of my life, and yet I was glad to have done with it. The fact was, Andaba en dimes y diretes con M---y A----- [I was walking and gossiping with M---y A-----]. Such things, though they may amuse for a while, must be put an end to or they weary. Sino, se hace tarde. Bueno noche [sic]. [But it's getting late. Good night.]
   
Jan. 19.
    Got me up late. I am getting as indolent as an alderman but what boots it? Why should a man waste all his best days in laying up money to leave, mayhap to a fool. And yet, men are measured, not by their intellect and ability, but by the size of their purse, and the women are as much ahead of the men in this respect as Eve was of Adam in deviltry.
    Have been reading the papers. There are "mare's tails" in the political horizon, precursors of a struggle for 1860. Congress is in an imbroglio of bickerings. The Democrats are "proudly obstinate," and the Black Republicans in an agony of intrigue, haste and suspense. Buchanan seems destined to manufacture a little glory out of the Mexican question and certes the old gent's perseverance deserves some such reward.
    I'm as cold as an iceberg, and--bon soir.
   
Jan. 20.
    Ditto with yesterday, nothing to record worth the scratch of a pen. I have read a good deal of late, but desultorily--I never could confine myself to routine, and the keeping of this journal is a severe tax upon my longanimity.
    Was out this evening till 10 o'clock--afterward at home in conversazione, and am now in my dormitory with my household gods around me, which are--no matter what. Have been thinking, but my thoughts take a direction which my pen must not follow, and could not if it would. 12 o'clock midnight--Have conjugated 5 Spanish verbs, smoked 5 pipes of Spanish tobacco, and dilapidated a chair in trying to kill an infernal cat that was concatenating in my apartments. So ends my diatribe.
   
Jan. 21.
    It is twelve o'clock Saturday night, or rather the interregnum between the two days where Sunday from her primulat travil [Romanian for "first travel"] will soon assume her throne and Saturday retire into the dim obscurity of the past. Farther than this trite metaphor, what can be said of today? Nada sé, absolutamente. [I know nothing absolutely.] (The frequent recurrence of barbarism in my journal might seem to another pedantic, but as I do not write for others, the critique is all my own.) The day just past has had no interest for me further than that it connects the yesterday and tomorrow of my life, and thus preserved the thread of chronology, and my unprofitable existence.
    Shall I go to church tomorrow? Was today very politely invited to attend by the "dispenser of truth" (or with truth). Whether for my spiritual good, or his own pecuniary benefit, I am not at liberty to say, but when that redoubtable hat as large as a churn is passed 'round he always manifests a lively interest. "Man delighteth not me," and these hypocritic long-faced, stupid Methodist jackasses in particular. I have just parted company with one at a card table, who will doubtless tomorrow, with the effrontery of a wh--e, preach anathemas on such immoralities.
   
Jan. 22.
    Got me up at 9 o'clock and breakfasted at 11. We go to bed late, and rise late. Do not go to church today. I [would] rather smoke a cigar.
    I fear a few more years will make me a misanthrope, but I should hope not. The world is full of selfishness, and hypocrisy is the varnish that covers the defects--it extends everywhere. You meet it on the street, at your neighbor's, in the house of God--and in your own home. "Ay, there's the nut." You feel it then, and it strikes your heart.
    I have been thinking of my mother tonight. O! if she had lived--she was one of the noblest of women. I have often wished I had a portrait of her, but unfortunately there is none in existence. I think I could paint, were I acquainted with the art, a correct picture of her from recollection, though I was but nine years old when she died, but her countenance is still indelibly impressed upon my memory.
   
Jan. 23.
    The days are prepossessing and the nights fair and frosty; notwithstanding, I had a diabolical dream last night which might have furnished a new suggestion for Dante's Inferno. Just imagine a person confined upon his back, and scalding water dripping on his bowels from a hole in the ceiling. Nature smiles and man reviles. The "times" are duller than a country schoolroom. The most really exhilarating and invigorating thing of late was the appearance of a beautiful young lady on the street today--a stranger in town--with her convoy. Now it must be known that such visits, in our masculine dominion, are like those of angels in all respects.
    With eyes and mouths dilated, our fascinated young gents gazed upon the joyous spectacle--
    I pretermit and go to bed.
   
Jan. 24.
    The days are cold but silvery bright. We never have snow at this place, though there are vast quantities in sight from the Battery Point on the distant line of the Siskiyous. Those mountains, when viewed by moonlight, present a very romantic and mysterious appearance, stretching to the north and south in serried columns, all in white, like a cavalcade of Death's pale horsemen.
   
Jan. 25.
    Weather beautiful. Our winters are like the last part of Oct. in Maine.
    Went to a horse race this afternoon. Saw all the world there, and four whores on the way in a carriage stuck in the mud. They were in a fury, and I heard them call the driver in so many words--a God damned blockhead. We rode on and left them in their glory, or rather fury.
    Company called this evening--cards, conversation, scandal, &c., &c.
   
Jan. 26, 1860.
    Today is my birthday--I'm 26 years old. How long! a fading dream, I see them dimly--a little cot upon the hillside--Mother--father--sister--brothers--
youth--manhood--separation.
    I feel a silly weakness tonight and a sadness unusual even for me as I recall the past--the dear ones gone--my cheerless life--and emotions I cannot control crowd my bosom, and the tears fall thick upon the paper while I write.
   
Jan. 27.
    Steamers arrived with mail &c.
    Received a letter from my sister Rachel, which puts me in better humor than I supposed myself capable of.
    By the way, she writes a very pleasing letter, and shows more genius and facility than I expected, though I knew her to be a girl of much good sense. Strange there are traits in people's character that we never understand until we are separate from them. Her style and diction are good: if she would use a little more confidence, and not write as if she feared she should say too big a thing, it would be an improvement.
   
Jan. 28.
    Rose with the sun, agreeable to the habitude of my youth, but though bent to it when a twig, I have not inclined to it very regularly in my treeage.
    Have taken a long walk about the city, and feel tired tonight. Called on several friends, and had a long "talk" with a literary gentleman on "these degenerate days," and the perverted taste of society. "A lamentable decline of interest in literature," "aversion to clubs and associations for intellectual improvement," "a tendency to dissipation and pleasure," &c., &c. were some of the points of this learned discussion. Tonight cards and insipid conversation, which I escape, rather impolitely, at an early hour.
   
Jan. 29.
    Another Sabbath, and spent much like former ones in sluggishly lying in bed till too late for church, and eating and swilling the rest of the day, making myself an epicurian philosopher.
    Several persons called in the evening--a learned talk on crinoline and the gospel, and--I wait for another day.
   
Jan. 30.
    Heard the birds singing merrily in the trees this morning before I was up. I listened to them a long time in dreamy pleasure. It carried me back to my boyhood days, when I heard them in the groves on the old homestead, myself as happy as they, contented in the present--careless for the future. "All things have now become estranged," and, mingling in the world's great alembic, my own change is no less remarkable than that of my time.
    The day passed unimportantly, and--good night.
   
Jan. 31.
    Mail steamer departed this morning before I rose, consequently did not get a letter posted to my sister Rachel as I ought, for which neglect I do not deserve the least mercy at her hand. But I will write her a good long one next mail that will make her forgive me everything. By the way, she writes that they think of me often: is it possible that anybody ever remembers me with regard? me, 6000 miles away by ocean? perhaps--I can remember--and some things that I wish I might forget.
    I have been thinking today of Miss -------. She was beautiful, respectable and witty: what more could I ask? And yet I obstinately threw her away, or rather my fate would not allow me to be happy. It was a recent amour, and unlike some of my former ones, sincere and honorable. My friends never suspected it. But now, no more. And 'tis but a miserable consolation to remember that I might, perhaps, if she would, have been happy.
   
Wednesday, February 1, 1860.
    Came home tonight much fatigued in consequence of an absurd expedition I have been on this afternoon. I have not yet shaken off all my boyish nature and it is still frequently leading me into foolish adventures, which as soon as ended my manhood condemns.
    Saw something as I walked up street which warned me against matrimony. It was so true an illustration of waning connubial affection, and of the impatience of marital fidelity inherent in some natures, of which I fear mine is an example. It was a young acquaintance of mine, lately married, walking in "close order" with his wife's pretty niece, while the spouse was left to shift for herself. I have seen other indications which confirm my belief that he likes the girl best. She is the lovelier of the two, and the phiz is quite natural. I think I might court the young lady, and save them much trouble (the married folks), but then, the remedy would be as bad as the disease.
   
Feb. 2, 1860.
    Rose early this morning, and I felt myself very amiable, but all my sweetness of temper was dispelled by events of the day. Have been full of business, but the more I do the less have I to record. I do not like to write my actions--they are seldom interesting in the retrospect. Came near getting my leg broken this afternoon, through the carelessness of a damned sheephead of a fellow, whom I think I called by his proper name at the time. Tonight, cards, conversation and myself a few Spanish verbs.
   
Feb. 3, 1860.
    I have never known weather in any part of the world, at any time of the year, to compare with this. The bright blue sky, the temperate warmth of the sun, the gentle breezes from the mountains, the absence of any annoying features, all render it supremely beautiful. The moonlight nights are enchanting, and the young ladies are in an agony of romance. But I am sick of admiring the climate--it is all we have to say when we meet in this sluggard of a town.
    I am called away by a young lady--Addio.
   
Feb. 4.
    Have been unhappy all day, in direct opposition to my historical philosophy. Existence is made up of contradictions, and dissimulation is its philosophy, I believe. A man may say, "I will banish sorrow," but yet he is not happy. There may be an external semblance of gladness, and even gaiety, while the heart is sunk in the gloom of wretchedness, and the bosom is crowded with a volcano of emotions becoming but the more dangerous by their confinement. Yet he who knows the world will be prepared for its vicissitudes, for the past is the prophet of the future. But this knowledge is seldom acquired but by the destruction of the fondest hopes, and the immolation of the dearest qualities of the heart.
   
Sunday, Feb. 5, 1860.
    Got me up very late, with a cursed headache, but it passed off with coffee &c. Went to church--purchased three shillings' worth of religion, and came home with much self-complacency, spirits exuberant, and becoming somewhat loquacious I soon raised a tempest among some lady visitors, who evidently thought I was intruding upon their prerogative. Miss A------ was "highly indignant"; however, it "blew over," and I retired unharmed. By the way, H----- made a remark for the salvo pudore of which I would not have answered. But among us virtuous people, we do not fear a little latitude in conversation, knowing, like Donna Julia, that though we relax somewhat from prudery, our self-control will always prevent any improper consequence from being sure to follow.
    Steamer Columbia arrived last night with the mails. Have read the papers &c. Tonight was urged to go to church--wouldn't go. This evening is glorious. It reminds me of a similar moonlight night at the East, when I walked four miles with a young lady, and four miles back, without feeling tired. Also, drank so much old cider on the way, with some other young gents, that I lost my girl (that is, afterwards) and ran two miles going home, trying to outrun the moon.
    Will write a letter and go to bed.
   
Feb. 6.
    Rose at six.
    Rode--read--wrote &c. The weather has at length changed. The wind is shrieking wildly and mournfully tonight; the "whitecaps" are licking the surface of the bay. The moon is struggling through the dark masses of broken clouds, while a number of fires along the mountainous coast throw 'round all a lurid glare, like the livid coloring of hell.
    No visitors tonight and I retire early, for what with women and fleas and cards &c., I have failed to get much sleep of late.
   
Feb. 7.
    The weather, last night, portended a long storm, so common in this climate in the winter season, and it did rain through the night, but I was agreeably surprised on awaking this morning to see the sun struggling for admittance through my window curtains. The day has indeed been more lovely than usual, and this evening is enchanting.
    The silvery rays of the moon fall softly over the widespread landscape; the dewdrops are glittering in the mellow light on flower and leaf; softly and sweetly the nightingale is singing in the myrtle shrubbery, and over all the broad blue sky, with here and there a pearly cloud sailing over its expanse like some gentle fairy, and the stars twinkling modestly in the moonlight as though in gladness at the sight--all this justifies enthusiasm for the beauties of nature.
    But such sentimentality is not characteristic of me, and I only admit it because I can think of nothing else to write in these stupid times. Manly spirit and vigor are in danger of being extinguished by desuetude, and I really believe if such petrifying dullness were to continue any great length of time, we should all become old women, and cease to propagate. Nothing done to record.
   
Feb. 8.
    Rose early this morning--under protest--at the importunities of the ambitious women. Confoundedly dejected all day. An anomalous and indescribable sensation of wretchedness frequently comes over me, and a painful fear of I do not know what--and without any apparent cause. It is not well. I must guard against such hypochondria.
    Have been thinking today on the depravity of California society. It is the damnedest country I ever saw. Almost every man is a roué and drunkard, and the women are not a whit behind. Virtue and chastity sound here like terms of mythology. Evening passed as usual.
    Some consummate fools looking over my shoulder bring the day's scribbling to a close.
   
Feb. 9.
    Read and written a good deal today. Consequently have little for this receptacle of the fragments of my vagrant thoughts. Have looked over my old manuscripts, about half a bushel of which I committed to the flames. [Some survive among the miscellaneous Beekman papers at the Oregon Historical Society.] This will probably share the same fate not long hence.
    The frogs are in full chorus tonight. The more gloomy their surroundings, the happier do they seem. How different from man. And what makes the difference? Mind! And was mind created for misery? "That is the question."
   
Feb. 10, 1860.
    Today is but a counterpart of the preceding--rode in the morning--read--
wrote--&c., subsequently, and visitors and conversation this evening, completing the diurnal round of sluggish existence. Received a very curious letter today from a whilom inamorata, full of crimination and imprecation. She evidently thinks she has discovered a process for "blowing up" men--even three thousand miles away--which Shakespeare's shrew inquired for in vain, but I fear she will miscarry (I mean her plans). Only think what I might have done in my youthful inexperience.

New Vineyard, Franklin County, Maine;
Franklin L. Hackett, farmer, 49
Deborah Hackett, 25
Julia Hackett, 21
Abigail Hackett, 19
Hannibal Hackett, 16
Rachel Hackett, 14
Abraham Hackett, 9
Susan Hackett, 7
Emma Hackett, 2
Joseph Hackett, 4 months
All born in Maine.
U.S. Census, enumerated August 24, 1850


    WHARF AT CRESCENT CITY.--At Crescent City we were happy to see in progress, by Major J. Wendell, a wharf running from Battery Point to Flat Rock (so called). This is a distance of 1,225 feet, running out under cover of a reef of rocks that must well protect the work. The bottom is composed of a soft sandstone cement, very even, and gradual in its inclination to the terminus--the Flat Rock. This rock presents a solid body of 10,800 cubic yards, 125 feet square, with a depth of water of eighteen feet at its sides at extreme low tides; offering facilities for first-class steamers to discharge at any stage of water. It appears that the securing of this rock was the main object of the Major in getting his charter in 1853, inasmuch as an artificial filling must cost one dollar per yard, and be much less permanent. Seven hundred feet of the work is completed except planking.--Portland Oregonian.
Daily Alta California, San Francisco, October 15, 1859, page 1




My Dear Brother,
    Your letter of March 23rd came duly to hand; and I should have answered it before but was intending to visit our friends in Farmington and N.V., and thought I would defer writing till I returned.
    I came from Father's a week ago yesterday; found them all well. Rachel was up to Freeman, but Father posted Abe after her as soon as I got there, so all we lacked was your presence to have made the family circle complete; if you could have taken a peep in at the old house and seen Father with all of your letters before him, and the big tears running down his cheeks (not to say anything about the tears the rest shed) you never would suppose you were forgotten. You have a gift for writing that the rest of us have not; I thought after I read your very interesting letters that I should hardly dare to write again.
    We were all pained at the mournful intelligence of Uncle Joseph's death. I feel to sympathize with you and the family. I feel that it was providential your going there. What a comfort it must be to Aunt Lemira to have you there, and I do think, Hannibal, that if you prove yourself trustworthy in Uncle Abram's employ that you will never lose anything. I thought while I was in Farmington that I could discover a feeling of jealousy in some of our friends there for fear you might gain Uncle Abram's confidence and esteem. Although your life thus far has been fraught with disappointments, yet I do believe if you put your trust in God and the ability he has given you you will come out bright at last.
    Father's health is not very good, about the same as when you were here; the rest of the family are well. Rachel intends stopping to Uncle Ephraim's this summer. Emma is coming down and stay with us, if she is contented. We have quite a family. Eliah [Eliah L. Caton, Manchester, Maine] has taken three paupers. Amos Lyon is one of them and a Mr. Henry Morrell, aged 80, and a boy [Seth D. Gordon], 16. We have $200 for keeping them this year.
    I was at Uncle Thomas Wendell's and made them a short visit. Grand Sir was down to Uncle Butler's. I did not see him. The Old Lady too has died since I was there, so it did not seem like Grandfather's to me. Aunt Susan's health is poor. She had a hoarse cough when I was there and one very sore eye. I did not say anything about the Marston dowry to Uncle Thomas, but I did to Uncle John. Aunt B. says we shall have our due. I told her I hoped out of 3 or 4000 dollars my mother would have enough to get some gravestones to mark the spot where she lay. I found out that Uncle Butler has got $2700 in his possession. I don't know but what they will do right, but I don't expect we shall ever get a dollar.
    Here I am at the bottom of my sheet. Give my particular regards to Aunt Lemira and the children and accept much love to yourself.


Crescent City, Del Norte County, California:
Lemira Wendell, 40, born in Maine
Leonora J. Wendell, 17, born in Maine
Joseph F. Wendell, 15, born in Maine
Thomas Wendell, 12, born in Maine
Augusta E. Wendell, 10, born in Maine
Abram Wendell, 4, born in California
William Wendell, 3 months, born in California
Hannibal Hackett, 26, laborer, born in Maine
Emery Upham, 23, laborer, born in Maine
U.S. Census, enumerated June 4, 1860


    COPPER FEVER AT CRESCENT CITY.--The Crescent City Herald of May 30th says: Copper is all the rage and all the cry. Men eat copper, drink copper, sleep on copper and dream of copper. Approach two or more individuals who are talking in the street, and the first word you hear will be copper. Ask any individual you see on horseback where he is going, and be sure the answer will be to the copper mines. See anything in a man's hand and you may be certain it is a piece of copper ore, and if you search his pockets the probability is they are full of ore also. Oxides and sulphurets and casing and outcroppings are familiar words on the lips of men who two months ago would have been puzzled to define them. The fact is the whole country is full of copper, and in consequence all the inhabitants of this section thereof have got the copper fever badly and are much excited thereat.
Daily National Democrat, Marysville, California, June 13, 1860, page 3


Dear Hannibal
    I have recd. yours of the 6th May, and am happy to learn that you arrived back from San Francisco well and were about commencing getting out timber from the woods for the wharf; I hope that by this time you have recd. the money that I sent on the 27th April to Mr. Larco of San Francisco and are driving ahead like a true Yankee.
    You say that there is owing something on the wharf for stumpage, freight to steamers &c.; pay everything that is right and just. You also say that there is coming to you some three hundred dollars. I don't know what bargain your uncle made with you, but I suppose that your aunt Lemira does, and anything that she says is right and is due to you, shall be paid; besides this, I have confidence enough in your honesty to believe that you will not deceive me. If God spares my life until next spring, I shall try and make you a visit and will arrange every[thing] to your satisfaction, both respecting past accounts and those that may be due hereafter. I only want you to drive on and get the wharf through as soon as possible so that it may commence producing something. As it respect your aunt Lemira putting into the wharf some little money of her own, that you say she has, I will say that she may do it on interest at two percent per month, or as a stockholder, whichever she pleases; besides this, I intend one-half of the wharf for the family the same as if my dear brother had lived and under the same conditions as I celebrated my contract with him.
    I want you to tell me how much my brother was owing when he died, or rather what debts there are which cannot be paid, and what the nature of them is, and how you have regulated the testamentary.
    Write me every mail without fail, and give me a description of the progress of the work.
    Give my love to all the family and receive that of


    On Front Street, driftwood, most of which was hewn timber, supposed to have come from Humboldt and Trinidad, was piled up ten feet high; this, together with tapping the lagoon so that it could run into the ocean--which labor was performed by the Indians--[Crescent City] was saved, although the water is said to have been three feet deep in the buildings on that street. The wharf sustained considerable damage; one-third of it was carried away in the middle; a large stick of timber was thrown with great force by the waters over the wharf and entered the warehouse of Dugan & Wall.
"Del Norte County," Daily Alta California, San Francisco, December 27, 1861, page 1


Mr. Hackett
    Dear Sir
        Your favor of 22nd inst. was lying here in the P.O. when I arrived today, but before I had seen its contents the mail was gone. Sorry I was not able to write in reply by return mail but hope this may arrive in time to serve your wants in the Saville business.
    I have examined the authorities carefully this afternoon and am fully satisfied that you had no authority to purchase the lighters, execute the notes or make the mortgages in the name of Dr. Wendell and that those acts are void. I really never had any doubt on that question. I fully endorse the opinion of Mr. Haynes as stated in your letter and assure you that you may rest easy about the sale of the wharf to satisfy that mortgage. That the Dr. has not ratified your doings in the premises you may deem certain until he executes a deed under seal or by very possibility a written agreement, not under seal, by which to remain himself responsible. No less solemn ratification would avail those who claim under your contract.
    The whole matter is void. But you ask what is best to be done? You say that the lighters will not pay expense money this winter and I infer that you are not anxious to retain them on the old contract terms!
    If you are disposed to treat the old transactions as a nullity my advice to you is this: Inform Messrs. Saville & Co. that you have taken counsel, or rather that Dr. Wendell through you has taken counsel in the case, and that you are advised that so far at least as Dr. W. is concerned the notes & mortgages are void, and that they will be so treated by him. That if they with immediate peaceable possession of the lighters by arrangement with you they must accept them in full cancellation of debt & satisfaction of mortgages. That you will either abide the legal test of the matter as originally written down & leave them to their remedy or wipe out the slate as you now stand & let them keep the $400 for the use of their awkward-looking boats, & think themselves well off in getting them back so easily. For it is possible that by their own improvident neglect to look into the scope of your powers, they may have lost their equities with the possession of their junks. This last item you need not mention unless they grow insolent.
    If they accept such an offer you would surrender the lighters absolutely. Insist on having satisfaction of the wharf's mortgage entered upon the records, for though the deed is void yet while it stands it will be a cloud & scarecrow that should be extinguished.
    If they will not do this I would hold on to the lighters, and be sure and take good care of them. For unless you shall become negligent and leave them exposed to unnecessary damages you need feel no anxiety about their taking them from you before the whole controversy shall be decided on its merits. When they come to foreclose their mortgages next May, the Dr. by his counsel will deny your authority to bind him as well in the mortgages on the lighters as in that on the wharf; as well in the notes as by the mortgages, and should the court sustain that view, of which there can be no doubt! they must entirely fail in that suit & the little boats still out of their reach and no possibility of further proceedings against your uncle or of any costs against him.
    Suppose matters standing thus at the close of May term. You will not be in any bad position. You in possession somehow! occupying some relation to them to the crafts, but what relation I assure you it will not be a criminal one, or one in any sense dangerous to you or any of your friends in a legal sense. And if you retain Mr. Haynes I much doubt if they can find counsel thereabouts who can frame a cause that will reach you or the lighters for a year or so.
    Should they bring suit for the possession of the lighters on the idea of liability to damage you must consult your own judgment whether to suffer a default, but I incline to the opinion that if they will not consent to a full cancellation of everything I would fight them wherever they may show themselves at law. But if they are willing to come up to my first suggestion I would close the business then which I am the real equity of the case.
    I regret that I am not in a position to attend personally to you & their interests in this matter, but I trust you will at all times write to me with perfect freedom in reference to any point of business which may arise and rest assured that I shall regard it a pleasant duty to afford you all the intelligence in my power.
    Write on the issue of the business should you reach any result.
    I hope you may find this "opinion" intelligible but I am not quite certain as I have been riding in the storm & snow 3 or 4 days & am suffering from pretty severe irritation of the lungs & nervous headache &c. &c. &c., particularly the &c. Am afraid to read it over for fear I would have to rewrite it.


Benicia, Solano County, California:
H. E. Hackett, 30, U.S. soldier, born in Maine
U.S. Census, enumerated June 13, 1870


St. Augustine's College
Hannibal E. Hackett, Military Instructor
Major; attained rank February 5, 1874, commissioned February 9, 1874
"Roster of the National Guard of California," Report of the Adjutant General of the State of California for the Years 1873, 1874 and 1875, page 47


    MILITARY COMMISSIONS.--Commissions were issued from general headquarters yesterday as follows: To Hannibal E. Hackett, as Major of the National Guard of California and Military Instructor of St. Augustine College, Benicia, vice John H. Dickenson, resigned; also, to Mathias Dixheimer, as First Lieutenant of the Sherman Guard, Company H, Fourth Infantry Regiment, Fourth Brigade.
Sacramento Daily Union, February 11, 1874, page 3


    The faculty is comprised as follows: Rev. William P. Tucker, Rector, Teacher of Greek, Philosophy and Sacred Studies; Elijah Broadbent, Headmaster and Teacher of Higher Mathematics and Natural Sciences; Major H. E. Hackett, Military Commandant and Teacher of Mathematics and Geography; M. T. Sickal, Teacher of English Grammar and Elocution; F. W. Gabriel, Teacher of Vocal and Instrumental Music and Grammar; Mrs. C. E. Gabriel, Principal of Lower School and Teacher of Spanish; Mons. Henrie Mowron, Teacher of French.
"College of St. Augustine," Pacific Churchman, San Francisco, June 11, 1874, page 5


    College of St. Augustine, Benicia.--(Incor. 1868) Board of Trustees--Pres., the Bishop. Vice-Pres., Rev. J. Lloyd Breck, D.D. Sec., Rev. W. P. Tucker. Rector of College, Rev. W. P. Tucker, A.M. Headmaster, E. Broadbent. Commandant, Maj. H. E. Hackett.
William G. Farrington, ed., Church Almanac for the Year of Our Lord 1875, Protestant Episcopal Tract Society, page 26


    After a generous lunch, provided for all the guests. the entertainment was continued at the parade ground, where a competitive saber drill was held, under command of Major H. E. Hackett, who by the way is a most accomplished drill master and unmistakably true soldier. This is a new feature in the school, and was a very interesting one, though allowance had to be made for young wrists, swinging regulation cavalry sabers. The prize was awarded to W. S. Coleman for his soldierly bearing as well as skill with the saber.
    Then came the old-time and always interesting dress parade. Orders were made, cheers were given for Major Hackett, Mr. Brewer and others, and the duties were done. The muskets were hastily put away to rest for a month, and with old soldier instincts the stiffness of discipline disappeared with the accoutrements, and with loud shouts of freedom the happy, handsome crowd of young men dashed for the depot. We have witnessed many military charges, but none ever pleased us more than the sight of these ruddy, handsome fellows with the holiday shout upon their lips.
"St. Matthew's Hall: Closing Exercises of Trinity Term," Times and Gazette, Redwood City, California, December 13, 1879, page 3




H. E. Hackett to A. S. Hackett, lot on S.E. cor. of Sadowa and Capitol sts., E. 50x125 . . . Gift
"Real Estate Transactions," San Francisco Call, September 18, 1890, page 6


Belmont School, San Mateo County, California:
Hannibal E. Hackett, 66, teacher, born Jan. 1834 in Maine, married 25 years
Abby Hackett, 43, born Sept. 1856 in California, parents born in New Hampshire
U.S. Census, enumerated June 29-30, 1900


    These pensions were granted: California--Original--Hannibal E. Hackett, Belmont, $6. Increased--John A. Owen, Pasadena, $17.
"Of Interest to People of the Pacific Coast," San Francisco Call, January 1, 1902, page 9