Roaring Camp is a small gold-mining settlement in the American West—Northern California specifically, given the story’s reference to the Sierra Nevada mountain range and redwood trees. The settlement is incredibly insular: it’s tucked away in the wildness, far away from other towns, and is populated by 100 gruff men who are suspicious of outsiders. But rather than focusing on the negative effects of isolation—of which there certainly are many—the story focuses on how insular communities like Roaring Camp are often made stronger in being so set apart from the outside world. This dynamic is especially true in trying times, like when the men of Roaring Camp are suddenly faced with how to raise a baby without his mother—or any female presence at the camp, save for the mule. Overall, Roaring Camp’s isolation isn’t a cause for loneliness or despair in the midst of these circumstances—instead, it leads the men to band together in a powerful way and makes the community more tightly knit than before.
Roaring Camp is physically and socially isolated from the outside world. The next town over, Red Dog, is 40 miles away, which is roughly one or two full days of travel on horseback. Roaring Camp’s “only connecting link with the surrounding world” is the expressman, a kind of mailman on horseback. But the men of Roaring Camp seem to prefer being set apart like this, as they often “looked suspiciously on strangers. No encouragement was given to immigration […] This, and a reputation for singular proficiency with the revolver, kept the reserve of Roaring Camp inviolate.” It’s implied that this skepticism toward outsiders is integral to the Gold-Rush era West, noting that “A disbelief in the honesty of other camps prevailed at Roaring Camp as in other places.” Roaring Camp is also isolated from the outside world because it’s so deep in the wilderness: the camp is in a valley surrounded on all sides by either hills or a river. The only way in and out of the valley is a steep path that winds up the highest part of one of the hills.
In addition, the men in the camp are emotionally and socially separated from outsiders, which only intensifies after they become responsible for baby Luck. Roaring Camp is referred to as a “city of refuge,” which is an allusion to settlements for outcasts in biblical times. With this in mind, the story implies that the men have been kicked out of other communities and even cast out from their families—Stumpy, for instance, “had been the putative head of two families.” The phrase “had been,” in the past tense, emphasizes that Stumpy’s connection to those families has since been severed. When baby Luck is born and his mother, Cherokee Sal, dies in labor, the men in Roaring Camp are left to raise him. From this point on, the men’s suspicion toward outsiders deepens, a reaction that seems to be a combination of believing that the Luck is their personal good luck charm and also just wanting to keep him safe. The men thus decide to isolate themselves even further: “to make their seclusion more perfect, the land on either side of the mountain wall that surrounded the camp they duly preempted.”
And although it initially seems that Luck’s birth might put too much strain on such an isolated community—possibly even making it collapse—it actually makes the men band together even more than before. When a baby’s cry suddenly rings out while Sal is in labor, nature itself goes completely silent: “The pines stopped moaning, the river ceased to rush, and the fire to crackle.” This dead silence reinforces that the men are isolated from other people and towns—there’s no doctor here to help facilitate the birth, nor are there other women in the camp to nurse the Luck when Sal dies in childbirth. But instead of crumbling under this pressure and isolation, “The camp rose to its feet as one man!” From the Luck’s very first cry, it’s clear that the men of Roaring Camp intend to stick together and deal with what comes as a unit. The next day, the men hold a meeting to figure out what to do with the baby, and “A resolution to adopt it was unanimous and enthusiastic.” But when one man, Tipton, suggests they send Luck to the next town over because the women there could raise him, “the unlucky suggestion [was] met with fierce and unanimous opposition.” Here, Tipton is portrayed as the exception rather than the rule; besides him, all of the other men are on the same page about raising the Luck themselves. Of course, this again underscores Roaring Camp’s insularity, as the men are wholly unwilling to bring in an outsider or to cast out one of their own. But their “unanimous and enthusiastic” decision to raise the Luck shows that their isolation and insularity is continuing to bring them closer and encouraging them to act as a strong, cohesive unit.
When Cherokee Sal goes into labor and her health quickly fades, her isolation is a deep and painful burden. She’s the only woman in the camp, and she’s further set apart from the other Roaring Camp residents because of her status as a prostitute, which is implied to make her more of a commodity than a valued member of the community. She’s incredibly lonely, and the pain of childbirth is made so much worse without other women around her. What’s different about the men of Roaring Camp, though, is that they have one another. So, while isolation isn’t always a positive force—it’s certainly painful for Sal—the story does emphasize how it can bring tight-knit communities even closer together.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Isolation, Community, and Hardship ThemeTracker
Isolation, Community, and Hardship Quotes in The Luck of Roaring Camp
Within an hour she had climbed, as it were, that rugged road that led to the stars, and so passed out of Roaring Camp, its sin and shame forever. I do not think that the announcement disturbed them much, except in speculation as to the fate of the child. “Can he live now?” was asked of Stumpy. The answer was doubtful. The only other being of Cherokee Sal’s sex and maternal condition in the settlement was an ass. There was some conjecture as to fitness, but the experiment was tried. It was less problematical than the ancient treatment of Romulus and Remus, and apparently as successful.
The introduction of a female nurse in the camp also met with objection. It was argued that no decent woman could be prevailed to accept Roaring Camp as her home, and the speaker urged that “they didn’t want any more of the other kind.” This unkind allusion to the defunct mother, harsh as it may seem, was the first spasm of propriety,—the first symptom of the camp’s regeneration. […] But when questioned, [Stumpy] averred stoutly that he and “Jinny”—the mammal before alluded to—could manage to rear the child. There was something original, independent, and heroic about the plan that pleased the camp.
They were “flush times,”—and the Luck was with them. The claims had yielded enormously. The camp was jealous of its privileges and looked suspiciously on strangers. No encouragement was given to immigration, and, to make their seclusion more perfect, the land on either side of the mountain wall that surrounded the camp they duly preempted. This, and a reputation for singular proficiency with the revolver, kept the reserve of Roaring Camp inviolate. The expressman—their only connecting link with the surrounding world—sometimes told wonderful stories of the camp. He would say, “They’ve a street up there in ‘Roaring,’ that would lay over any street in Red Dog. They’ve got vines and flowers round their houses, and they wash themselves twice a day. But they’re mighty rough on strangers, and they worship an Ingin baby.”
