[Illustration: Burt, sc.]




                           THE LAND OF GOLD;
                                  OR,
                      =Three Years in California.=


                                   BY

                     REV. WALTER COLTON, U. S. N.,

                    AUTHOR OF “SHIP AND SHORE,” &c.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                              =New York:=

                    D. W. EVANS & CO., 677 BROADWAY.

                                 1860.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year Eighteen Hundred and
                                  fifty,
                        BY S. A. ROLLO & COMPANY,
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
                      Southern District of New York.




                                   TO

                    GEN. MARIANO GUADALUPE VALLEJO,

                ONE OF CALIFORNIA’S DISTINGUISHED SONS,

                                IN WHOM

           THE INTERESTS OF FREEDOM, HUMANITY, AND EDUCATION

         HAVE FOUND AN ABLE ADVOCATE AND MUNIFICENT BENEFACTOR

                             =This Volume=

                     IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED

                             BY HIS FRIEND

                                                             THE AUTHOR.




                                PREFACE.


Many events of moment occurred in California during my residence of
three years in that country, and which were sketched in a journal kept
by me at the time. They are interspersed with anecdotes and incidents of
a less general concern, but which may not be without some interest with
the reader, as affording a clue to the leading features of society, and
traits of individual character. The circle of engaging objects in a
community, just emerging into the refinements of civilization, is never
broad; but every phase in the great change going on possesses an intense
individuality, and leaves its ineffaceable impression, like a ship
sweeping a solitary sea, or a bird scaling a sunset cloud. California
will be no more what she has been: the events of a few years have
carried her through the progressive changes of a century. She has sprung
at once from the shackles of colonial servitude to all the advantages
and dignities of a sovereign state.

Her emigrants are rushing from every continent and isle; they crest
every mountain, they cover every sea; they sweep in like a cloud from
the Pacific, they roll down like a torrent from the slopes of the Sierra
Nevada. They crowd to her bosom to gather gold; their hammers and
drills, their mattocks and spades divert the deep stream, and are echoed
from a thousand caverned hills; the level plain, the soaring cliff and
wombed mountain, give up their glowing treasures. But the gifts of
nature here are not confined to her sparkling sands and veined rocks,
they extend to the productive forces of her soil; they lie along her
water-courses, through her verdant valleys, and wave in her golden
grain; they reel in her vintage, they blush in her fruits, while her
soft zephyrs, as they float the landscape, scatter perfume from their
odorous wings.

But with all these gifts disease is here with its pale victims, and
sorrow with its willow-wove shrine. There is no land less relieved by
the smiles and soothing cares of woman. If Eden with its ambrosial
fruits and guiltless joys was still sad till the voice of woman mingled
with its melodies, California, with all her treasured hills and streams,
must be cheerless till she feels the presence of the same enchantress.
It is woman alone that can make a home for the human heart, and evoke
from the recesses of nature the bright and beautiful: where her
footsteps light, the freshest flowers spring; where her voice swells,
the softest echoes wake: her smiles garland the domestic hearth; her
sympathy melts through the deepest folds of grief; her love clothes the
earth with light. When night invests the heaven, when the soft pleiads
in their storm-rocked cradle sleep, and the sentinel stars on their
watch-towers wane dim, her vigil flame still pours its faithful beam,
still struggles with the encroaching darkness till the day-spring and
the shadows flee away. Of all these sources of solace and hope
multitudes in California are now bereft; but the ties of kindred, the
quick-winged ship, and the steed of flame, on his iron-paved track, will
soon secure them these priceless gifts. The miner, returning from his
toil, will yet half forget the labors of the day in the greetings of his
home:

        “At length his lonely cot appears in view,
          Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
        Th’ expectant _wee things_, toddlin’, stacher thro’
          To meet their dad, wi’ flichterin noise an’ glee.
        His wee bit ingle, blinkin’ bonnily,
          His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie _wifie’s_ smile,
        The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
          Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile,
        An’ makes him quite forget his labor an’ his toil.”

 PHILADELPHIA, July, 1850.

                                                                   W. C.




                               CONTENTS.


                                                                    Page

 CHAPTER I.—The flag.—Meeting of citizens.—Disposition of
   forces.—Col. Fremont’s band.—Alcalde of Monterey.—Indian
   mother.—Military leaders.—A California farm                        13

 CHAPTER II.—Fecundity of the Californians.—First intelligence of
   the war.—Wild Indians on board ship.—The chief.—First newspaper
   published in California.—Raising the materials.—The rival
   suitors.—Flight of Gen. Castro.—A Californian on horseback         27

 CHAPTER III.—A thief obeying orders.—Game.—No penitentiary
   system.—The California cart on a gala day.—The runaway
   daughter.—Faith of the Indians.—Return from the war.—First trial
   by jury.—Indian and his squaw on the hunt.—Whales in the
   bay.—The two gamblers.—Ladies on horseback.—Merriment in
   death.—The Englishman and his mistress                             39

 CHAPTER IV.—Funeral ceremonies.—Elected alcalde.—Flight of Gen.
   Castro.—Los Angeles taken.—Oven-bath.—Grog in a chimney.—The
   flea.—First rain.—Rising of the Californians.—Measures of Com.
   Stockton.—Mormons                                                  54

 CHAPTER V.—Fire on the mountains.—Emigrants.—Pistols and
   pillows.—Leaders of the insurrection.—California plough.—Defeat
   at San Pedro.—Col. Fremont’s band.—The Malek Adhel.—Monterey
   threatened.—Soldier outwitted.—Raising men.—Bridegroom.—Culprits   72

 CHAPTER VI.—Santa Barbara taken.—Lieut. Talbot and his
   ten.—Gambling in prison.—Recruits.—A funny culprit.—Movements of
   Com. Stockton.—Beauty and the grave.—Battle on the Salinas.—The
   captain’s daughter.—Stolen pistols.—Indian behind a
   tree.—Nuptials in California                                       89

 CHAPTER VII.—San José garrisoned—A California rain.—Escape of
   convicts.—Shooting Edwards.—Two washerwomen.—Death of Mr.
   Sargent.—Indian hens.—Hunting curlew.—The California horse.—An
   old emigrant.—The grizzly bear                                    106

 CHAPTER VIII.—Little Adelaida.—Col. Fremont’s battalion.—Santiago
   In love.—Sentiments of an old Californian.—The prize
   Julia.—Fandango.—Winter climate.—Patron Saint of
   California.—Habits of the natives.—Insurrection in the
   north.—Drama in a church.—Position of Com. Stockton               121

 CHAPTER IX.—Day of the Santos Innocentes.—Letting off a
   lake.—Arrival of the Dale with home letters.—The dead
   year.—Newly-arrived emigrants.—Egg-breaking
   festivities.—Concealment of Chaves.—Plot to capture the alcalde   134

 CHAPTER X.—Destruction of dogs.—The wash-tub mail.—The surrender
   in the north.—Robbing the Californians.—Death-scene in a
   shanty.—The men who took up arms.—Arrival of the
   Independence.—Destitution of our troops.—Capture of los Angeles   149

 CHAPTER XI.—Arrival of the Lexington.—The march to los Angeles,
   and battle of San Gabriel.—The capitulation.—Military
   characteristics of the Californians.—Barricades down              163

 CHAPTER XII.—Return of T. O. Larkin.—The tall partner in the
   Californian.—Mexican officers.—The Cyane.—War mementoes.—Drama
   of Adam and Eve.—Carnival.—Birth-day of Washington.—A California
   captain.—Application for a divorce.—Arrival of the Columbus       173

 CHAPTER XIII.—The people of Monterey.—The guitar and runaway
   wife.—Mother ordered to flog her son.—Work of the
   prisoners.—Catching sailors.—Court of Admiralty.—Gamblers caught
   and fined.—Lifting land boundaries                                189

 CHAPTER XIV.—A convict who would not work.—Lawyers at
   Monterey.—Who conquered California.—Ride to a
   rancho.—Leopaldo.—Party of Californians.—A dash into the
   forests.—Chasing a deer.—Killing a bear.—Ladies with
   fire-arms.—A mother and volunteer                                 199

 CHAPTER XV.—A California pic-nic.—Seventy and seventeen in the
   dance.—Children in the grove.—A California bear-hunt.—The bear
   and bull bated.—The Russian’s cabbage head                        210

 CHAPTER XVI.—A Californian jealous of his wife.—Hospitality of the
   natives.—Honors to Guadalupe.—Application from a Lothario for a
   divorce.—Capture of Mazatlan.—Larceny of Canton shawls.—An
   emigrant’s wife claiming to have taken the country.—A wild
   bullock in Main-street                                            220

 CHAPTER XVII.—Rains in California.—Functions of the alcalde of
   Monterey.—Orphans in California.—Slip of the gallows
   rope.—Making a father whip his boy.—A convict as prison
   cook.—The Kanacka.—Thom. Cole.—A man robbing himself.—A
   blacksmith outwitted                                              230

 CHAPTER XVIII.—First discovery of gold.—Prison guard.—Incredulity
   about the gold.—Santiago getting married.—Another lump of
   gold.—Effects of the gold fever.—The court of an
   alcalde.—Mosquitoes as constables.—Bob and his bag of
   gold.—Return of citizens from the mines.—A man with the gold
   cholic.—The mines on individual credit                            242

 CHAPTER XIX.—Tour to the gold mines.—Loss of horses.—First night
   in the woods.—Arrival at San Juan.—Under way.—Camping out.—Bark
   of the wolves.—Watch-fires.—San José.—A fresh start.—Camping on
   the slope of a hill.—Wild features of the country.—Valley of the
   San Joaquin.—Band of wild horses                                  257

 CHAPTER XX.—The grave of a gold-hunter.—Mountain spurs.—A company
   of Sonoranians.—A night alarm.—First view of the
   mines.—Character of the deposits.—A woman and her pan.—Removal
   to other mines.—Wild Indians and their weapons.—Cost of
   provisions.—A plunge into a gold river.—Machines used by the
   gold-diggers                                                      269

 CHAPTER XXI.—Lump of gold lost.—Indians at their game of
   arrows.—Camp of the gold-hunters.—A Sonoranian
   gold-digger.—Sabbath in the mines.—The giant Welchman.—Nature of
   gold deposits.—Average per man.—New discoveries                   282

 CHAPTER XXII.—Visit to the Sonoranian camp.—Festivities and
   gambling.—The doctor and teamster.—An alcalde turned cook.—The
   miner’s tattoo.—The little Dutchman.—New deposits discovered.—A
   woman keeping a monté table.—Up to the knee and nine-pence.—The
   volcanoes and gold.—Arrival of a barrel of rum                    295

 CHAPTER XXIII.—Natural amphitheatre.—No scientific clue to the
   deposits of gold.—Soil of the mines.—Life among the
   gold-diggers.—Loss of our caballada.—The old man and
   rock.—Departure from the mines.—Travelling among gorges and
   pinnacles.—Instincts of the mule.—A mountain cabin                309

 CHAPTER XXIV.—A lady in the mountains.—Town of Stockton.—Crossing
   the valley of the San Joaquin.—The robbed father and boy.—Ride
   to San José.—Rum in California.—Highwayman.—Woodland
   life.—Rachel at the well.—Farewell to my camping-tree             324

 CHAPTER XXV.—Cause of sickness in the mines.—The quicksilver
   mines.—Heat and cold in the mines.—Traits in the Spanish
   character.—Health of California ladies.—A word to mothers.—The
   pingrass and blackbird.—The Redwood-tree.—Battle of the eggs      339

 CHAPTER XXVI.—The public domain.—Scenery around
   Monterey.—Vineyards of los Angeles.—Beauty of San Diego.—The
   culprit hall.—The rush for gold.—Land titles.—The Indian
   doctress.—Tufted partridge.—Death of Com. Biddle                  351

 CHAPTER XXVII.—The gold region.—Its locality, nature, and
   extent.—Foreigners in the mines.—The Indians’ discovery of
   gold.—Agricultural capabilities of California.—Services of
   United States officers.—First decisive movement for the
   organization of a civil government.—Intelligence of the death of
   Gen. Kearny                                                       365

 CHAPTER XXVIII.—Ride of Col. Fremont from los Angeles to Monterey
   and back.—Character of the country.—The rincon.—Skeletons of
   dead horses.—A stampede.—Gray bears.—The return.—The two horses
   rode by Col. Fremont.—An experiment.—The result.—Characteristics
   of the California horse.—Fossil remains.—The two classes of
   emigrants.—Life in California.—Heads against tails                377

 CHAPTER XXIX.—The tragedy at San Miguel.—Court and culprits.—Age
   and circumstances of those who should come to
   California.—Condition of the professions.—The wrongs of
   California.—Claims on the Christian community.—Journalists        391

 CHAPTER XXX.—The gold-bearing quartz.—Their locality.—Richness and
   extent.—The suitable machinery to be used in the mountains.—The
   court of admiralty at Monterey.—Its organization and
   jurisdiction.—The cases determined.—Sale of the
   prizes.—Convention and Constitution of California.—Difficulties
   and compromises.—Spirit of the instrument                         403

 CHAPTER XXXI.—Glances at towns sprung and springing.—San
   Francisco.—Benicia.—Sacramento
   City.—Sutter.—Vernon.—Boston.—Stockton.—New
   York.—Alvezo.—Stanislaus.—Sonora.—Crescent City.—Trinidad         414

 CHAPTER XXXII.—Brief notices of persons, whose portraits embellish
   this volume, and who are prominently connected with California
   affairs                                                           425

 CHAPTER XXXIII.—The mission establishments in California.—Their
   origin, objects, localities, lands, revenues,
   overthrow.—California Railroad                                    439




                           LIST OF PORTRAITS.


                        CAPTAIN JOHN A. SUTTER.
                        THOMAS O. LARKIN, ESQ.
                        HON. J. C. FREMONT.
                        HON. WM. M. GWIN.
                        HON. G. W. WRIGHT.
                        JACOB R. SNYDER.




                                 A LIST
                     OF THE DELEGATES IN CONVENTION
 ASSEMBLED AT MONTEREY, UPPER CALIFORNIA, SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER, A. D.
                                 1849.


 ───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
        NAMES.            WHERE BORN.        RESIDENCE.        AGE.
 ───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
 Robert Semple.       Kentucky.           Benicia.         Forty-two.
 John A. Sutter.      Switzerland.        New Helvetia.    Forty-seven.
 Thomas O. Larkin.    Massachusetts.      Monterey.        Forty-seven.
 M. G. Vallejo.       California.         Sonoma.          Forty-two.
 Wm. M. Gwin.         Tennessee.          San Francisco.   Forty-four.
 H. W. Halleck.       New York.           Monterey.        Thirty-two.
 Wm. M. Steuart.      Maryland.           San Francisco.   Forty-nine.
 Joseph Hobson.               Do.               Do.        Thirty-nine.
 Thos. L. Vermeule.   New Jersey.         Loetown.         Thirty-five.
 O. M. Wozencraft.    Ohio.               San Joaquin.     Thirty-four.
 B. F. Moore.         Florida.                  Do.        Twenty-nine.
 Wm. E. Shannon.      New York.           Sacramento.      Twenty-seven.
 Winfield S.                  Do.               Do.        Thirty-two.
   Sherwood.
 Elam Brown.                  Do.         San José.        Fifty-two.
 Joseph Aram.                 Do.               Do.        Thirty-nine.
 J. D. Hoppe.         Maryland.                 Do.        Thirty-five.
 Jno. McDougal.       Ohio.               Sutter.          Thirty-two.
 Elisha O. Crosby.    Tompkins Co., N. Y. Vernon.          Thirty-four.
 K. H. Dimmick.       New York.           Pueblo San José. Thirty-four.
 Julian Hanks.        Connecticut.              Do.        Thirty-seven.
 M. M. McCarver.      Kentucky.           Sacramento City. Forty-two.
 Francis J. Lippitt.  Rhode Island.       San Francisco.   Thirty-seven.
 Rodman M. Price.     New York.                 Do.        Thirty.
 Lewis Dent.          Missouri.           Monterey.        Twenty-six.
 Henry Hill.          Virginia.                 Do.        Thirty-three.
 Ch. T. Botts.                Do.               Do.        Forty.
 Myron Norton.        Vermont.            San Francisco.   Twenty-seven.
 J. M. Jones.         Kentucky.           San Joaquin.     Twenty-five.
 P. Sainsevain.       Bordeaux.           San José.        Trente ans.
 José M. Covarrubias. France.             Santa Barbara.   Forty-one.
 Antonio M^a. Pico.   California.         San José.        Forty.
 Jacinto Rodriguez.           Do.         Monterey.        Thirty-six.
 Stephen C. Foster.   Maine.              Los Angeles.     Twenty-eight.
 Henry A. Tefft.      New York.           San Luis Obispo. Twenty-six.
 J. M. H.             Maryland.           San Joaquin.     Twenty-five.
   Hollingsworth.
 Abel Stearns.        Massachusetts.      Los Angeles.     Fifty-one.
 Hugh Reid.           Scotland.           San Gabriel.     Thirty-eight.
 Benj. S. Lippincott. New York.           San Joaquin.     Thirty-four.
 Joel P. Walker.      Virginia.           Sonoma.          Fifty-two.
 Jacob R. Snyder.     Pennsylvania.       Sacramento City. Thirty-four.
 L. W. Hastings.      Mt. Vernon, Ohio.   Sacramento.      Thirty.
 Pablo de la Guerra.  California.         Santa Barbara.   Thirty.
 José Ant^o.                  Do.         Angeles.         Fifty-three.
   Carrillo.
 Man^l. Dominguez.            Do.               Do.        Forty-six.
 P. Ord.              Maryland.           Monterey.        Thirty-three.
 Edw. Gilbert.        New York.           San Francisco.   Twenty-seven.
 Miguel de Pedrorena. Spain.              San Diego.       Forty-one.
 A. J. Ellis.         New York.           San Francisco.   Thirty-three.

[Illustration: VALLEY OF THE SACRAMENTO AND SAN JOAQUIN. _J. W. ORR.
N.Y._]




                       THREE YEARS IN CALIFORNIA.




                               CHAPTER I.

  THE FLAG.—MEETING OF CITIZENS.—DISPOSITION OF FORCES.—COL. FREMONT’S
    BAND.—ALCALDE OF MONTEREY.—INDIAN MOTHER.—MILITARY LEADERS.—A
    CALIFORNIA FARM.

A few words will place within the clear comprehension of the reader, the
posture of public affairs in California at the time my journal opens.
The U. S. flag was raised at Monterey and San Francisco on the 10th of
July, 1846. This event was wholly unexpected by the Californians, and
struck the public heart with the deepest surprise; other causes of alarm
and apprehension faded into shadow in the presence of this decisive
measure; they were the admonitory vibrations, but here was the
earthquake itself. The people were more astounded than indignant, and
quite as intent over problems of preservation as measures of resistance.

At a public meeting held at Monterey, in which the patriotism, talents,
and sagacity of the country were largely represented, the question of
throwing the territory under the protection of England, through the
naval forces commanded by Admiral Seymour, who was on the coast at the
time, was excitingly discussed. But this proposition received its
quietus under the successful railery of Don Raphael, of Monterey. “Our
object,” said this witty counsellor, “is to preserve our country; but
she is gone,—California is lost to us: and this proposal to invoke the
protection of England, is only to seek another _owner_. The redress is
worthy of the market-woman: a dog had robbed her hamper of a leg of
mutton, and she sent another dog more powerful after him to get it away;
when asked what good that would do her, she replied, it would be some
satisfaction to see the _first_ dog deprived of the stolen leg. And so
it is with us; the mutton is gone, and a choice of the dog only remains:
others may prefer the bull-dog, but I prefer the regular hound; he has
outstripped the other in the chase, and so let him have the game.” The
convention broke up without adopting any decisive measures; leaving each
one to act as his impulses or convictions of duty suggested.

The military forces of the country were at this time under the command
of Gen. José Castro, an officer of high pretensions, but utterly
deficient in strength and steadiness of purpose, and that capacity which
can work out important results with slender and inapposite means. His
followers had gathered to him with as little discipline, sobriety, and
order, as would characterize a bear-hunt. Their prime impulse lay in the
excitement which the camp presented. It was the same thing to them
whether their weapon was a rifle or a guitar,—whether they were going to
a skirmish or a fandango. With six or eight hundred of these waltzing
warriors Gen. Castro was now on his march into the southern department,
with the evident purpose of taking up his position near the Pueblo de
los Angeles.

Such was the posture of affairs when Com. Stockton resolved to rest in
no half-way measures. The wave had been set in motion and must roll on,
or its returning force might sweep him and his temporary garrisons into
the Pacific. And yet aggressive measures in the present condition of the
squadron seemed to border on rashness. The Portsmouth, under Commander
Montgomery, must be left at San Francisco to garrison the posts occupied
by the flag; the Savannah, commanded by Capt. Mervin, must remain here
to hold Monterey; the Warren, under Commander Hull, was at Mazatlan;
only the Congress, Lieut. Livingston commanding, and the Cyane, under
Commander Du Pont, remained. With the crews of these, and a hundred and
sixty men under Col. Fremont, California was to be conquered and held,
and this too in the presence or defeat of a military force that had the
entire resources of the country at their command. But a gallant purpose
will often achieve what a questioning prudence would relinquish. The
mountain torrent, with its impetuosity, sweeps away the barrier which
effectually obstructs the level stream.


MONDAY, JULY 27. The bustle of preparation is active in the squadron.
Commander Du Pont received orders last evening to have the Cyane ready
for sea in twenty-four hours. She has tripped this afternoon, and is off
for San Diego, though it has been given out on shore that she is bound
elsewhere, but this is a war-stratagem. She has on board Col. Fremont
and a hundred and fifty of his riflemen. The wind is fresh, and they are
by this time cleverly sea-sick, and lying about the deck in a spirit of
resignation that would satisfy the non-resistant principles of a Quaker.
Two or three resolute old women might tumble the whole of them into the
sea. But they will rally before they reach their port, and see that
their rifles spring true to their trust.

The colonel is a man of small stature, of slender but wiry formation,
and with a countenance indicative of decision and firmness. This is the
fifth time he has crossed the continent in connection with his
scientific purposes. His enterprises are full of hardship, peril, and
the wildest romance. To sleep under the open heaven, and depend on one’s
rifle for food, is coming about as near the primitive state of the
hunter as a civilized man can well get; and yet this life, in his case,
is adorned with the triumphs of science. The colonel and his band are to
land at San Diego, secure horses, and advance upon the position of Gen.
Castro, at los Angeles.

            “War’s great events lie so in Fortune’s scale,
            That oft a feather’s weight may kick the beam.”


TUESDAY, JULY 28. Com. Stockton informed me to-day that I had been
appointed Alcalde of Monterey and its jurisdiction. I had dreamed in the
course of my life, as most people have, of the thousand things I might
become, but it never entered my visions that I should succeed to the
dignity of a Spanish alcalde. I much preferred my berth on board the
Congress, and that the judicial functions in question should continue to
be discharged by the two intelligent gentlemen, Purser R. M. Price and
Dr. Edward Gilchrist, upon whom they had been devolved. But the services
of these officers were deemed indispensable to the efficiency of the
ships to which they were attached. This left me no alternative; my
trunks were packed, my books boxed, and in an hour I was on shore, a
guest in the house of our consul, T. O. Larkin, Esq., whose munificent
hospitalities reach every officer of the squadron, and every functionary
in the interest of the flag. This is the more appreciated from the fact
that there is not a public table or hotel in all California. High and
low, rich and poor, are thrown together on the private liberality of the
citizens. Though a quasi war exists, all the amenities and courtesies of
life are preserved; your person, life, and liberty, are as sacred at the
hearth of the Californian as they would be at your own fireside. He will
never betray you; the rights of hospitality, in his generous judgment,
require him to peril his own life in defence of yours. He may fight you
on the field, but in his family, you may dance with his daughters, and
he will himself wake the waltzing string.


WEDNESDAY, JULY 29. The sloop-of-war Levant, under Commander Page,
sailed to-day, with Com. Sloat on board, for the United States. We gave
the commodore a parting salute. He has rendered the squadron under his
command efficient, and preserved harmony among the officers. The
expediency of his measures in California will be canvassed elsewhere. He
acted on the light and intelligence within his reach. If war has been
declared, the laurel awaits him.

The Levant takes home in her my friend, Lieut. T——: he has resigned his
commission in the navy, and takes orders in the church. He is a pretty
good classical scholar, and has made himself familiar with the
principles of biblical exegesis. All this has been accomplished during
those few leisure hours which the duties of a watch-officer leave one at
sea. It is seemingly reversing the order of things for the navy to
supply the church with spiritual teachers. But few, however, have left
the deck for the pulpit; a much larger number have reached it from the
diagrams and drills of West Point. Among them are some of our most
eloquent and impressive preachers. Of this class is the present Bishop
of Ohio.

We have all been busy in writing letters home, and shall make up a
pretty large mail, filled with tender recollections, and overflowing
with the California news. How the intelligence of our proceedings here
will strike our friends and the country at large, is mere matter of
conjecture. We are acting, however, not only in view of the alleged
collision between the American and Mexican forces on the Rio Grande, but
in reference to the anarchy and confusion into which this country has
been thrown by a revolution which did not originate with us.


THURSDAY, JULY 30. To-day I entered on the duties of my office as
alcalde of Monterey: my jurisdiction extends over an immense extent of
territory, and over a most heterogeneous population. Almost every nation
has, in some emigrant, a representative here—a representative of its
peculiar habits, virtues, and vices. Here is the reckless Californian,
the half-wild Indian, the roving trapper of the West, the lawless
Mexican, the licentious Spaniard, the scolding Englishman, the
absconding Frenchman, the luckless Irishman, the plodding German, the
adventurous Russian, and the discontented Mormon. All have come here
with the expectation of finding but little work and less law. Through
this discordant mass I am to maintain order, punish crime, and redress
injuries.


FRIDAY, JULY 31. Nearly all the houses in Monterey are of one story,
with a corridor. The walls are built of adobes, or sun-baked brick, with
tiled roofs. The centre is occupied by a large hall, to which the
dining-room and sleeping apartments seem mere appurtenances. Every thing
is in subordination to the hall, and this is designed and used for
dancing. It has a wood floor, and springs nightly to the step of those
who are often greeted in the whirl of their amusements, by the risen
sun. The dance and a dashing horse are the two objects which overpower
all others in interest with the Californians. The fiddle has been silent
since our flag went up, from the fact that many of the gentlemen have
left to join Gen. Castro. But if they return, though covered with
disaster, the fiddle will be called upon to resume its fantastic
functions. You might as well attempt to extinguish a love of air in a
life-preserver as the dancing propensity in this people.


SATURDAY, AUG. 1. The Congress has sailed to-day, with all her marines
and full complement of men, for San Pedro. Com. Stockton intends to land
there with a force of some three hundred, march to the Pueblo de los
Angeles, capture that important place, and fall upon Gen. Castro, who,
it is now understood, has posted himself, with some eight hundred
soldiers, in a pass a few miles below. The general will find his
southern retreat cut off by Col. Fremont’s riflemen and the sailors of
the Cyane, his western route obstructed by the Colorado, while the
forces of the Congress will bear down upon him from the north. He has
seemingly no escape, and must fight or capitulate. But his sagacity, his
thorough knowledge of the country, and his fleet horses, may extricate
him. We shall know in a few days; the interest felt here in the result
is most intense. Many mothers have sons and many wives husbands involved
in the issue.


SUNDAY, AUG. 2. I officiated to-day on board the Savannah. It is much to
the credit of the officers of this ship that though without a chaplain,
they have had, during a three years’ cruise, their religious services
regularly on the Sabbath. Four of their number, two lieutenants, the
surgeon, and master, are professors of religion, and exert a deep
influence through their consistent piety. Their Sabbath exercise has
consisted in reading prayers, selections from the Scriptures, and a
brief, pertinent sermon. They have had, also, their Sabbath-school. Such
facts as these will win for the navy a larger share of public confidence
than the capture of forty barbaric fortresses. The American people love
valor, but they love religion also. They will confer their highest
honors only on him who combines them both.


MONDAY, AUG. 3. An Indian woman of good appearance came to our office
to-day, stating that she had been for two years past a domestic in a
Mexican family near Monterey; that she had, during this time, lost her
husband, and now wished to marry again; but wished, before she did this,
to recover her child, which was forcibly detained in the family in which
she had served. It appeared that the father of this family had baptized
her child, and claimed, according to custom here, a sort of guardianship
over it, as well as a right to a portion of its services.

I asked her if her child would be kindly treated where it now was: she
said she thought so; but added, she was a mother, and wanted it with
her. We told her as she was going to marry again, she had better perhaps
leave the child for the present; and if she found her husband to be a
good, industrious man, and disposed to furnish her with a comfortable
home, she might call again at our office, and we would get her child.
She went away with that mild look of contentment which is as near a
smile as any expression which lights an Indian’s face.


TUESDAY, AUG. 4. The military chieftains, who have successively usurped
the government of California, have arbitrarily imposed such duties on
foreign imports as their avarice or exigency suggested. A few examples
will be sufficient to show the spirit and character of these imposts.
Unbleached cottons, which cost in the United States six cents the yard,
cost here fifty, and shirtings cost seventy-five. Plain knives and forks
cost ten dollars the dozen; coarse cowhide shoes three dollars the pair;
the cheapest tea three dollars the pound; and a pair of common
truck-wheels seventy-five dollars. The duty alone on the coarsest hat,
even if made of straw, is three dollars.

The revenues derived from these enormous imposts have passed into the
pockets of a few individuals, who have placed themselves, by violence or
fraud, at the head of the government, and have never reached the public
in any beneficial form. These exactions, enforced by an irresponsible
tyranny, have kept California poor, have crushed all enterprise, and
have rolled back the tide of emigration from her soil as the resisting
rock the rushing stream. But the barriers are now broken, and broken
forever. California is free,—free of Mexican rule and all domestic
usurpers.


WEDNESDAY, AUG. 5. We have in one apartment of our prison two
Californians, confined for having robbed a United States courier, on his
way from Monterey to San Francisco, with public dispatches. They have
not yet been tried. Yesterday they applied to me for permission to have
their guitars. They stated that their situation was very lonely, and
they wanted something to cheer it. Their request was complied with; and
last evening, when the streets were still, and the soft moonlight melted
through the grates of their prison, their music streamed out upon the
quiet air with wonderful sweetness and power. Their voices were in rich
harmony with their instruments, and their melodies had a wild and
melancholy tone. They were singing, for aught they knew, their own
requiem.


THURSDAY, AUG. 6. It sounds strange to an American, and much more so to
an Englishman, to hear Californians talk of farms. They never speak of
acres, or even miles; they deal only in leagues. A farm of four or five
leagues is considered quite small. It is not so large, in the conception
of this people, as was the one-acre farm of Horace in the estimation of
the Romans. Capt. Sutter’s farm, in the valley of the Sacramento, is
sixty miles long. The Californians speak in the same way of the stock on
their farms. Two thousand horses, fifteen thousand head of cattle, and
twenty thousand sheep, are only what a thrifty farmer should have before
he thinks of killing or selling. They are to be his productive stock, on
which he should not encroach, except in an emergency. Only fancy a farm
covering sixty miles in length! Why, a man would want a railroad through
it for his own private use. Get out of the way, ye landlords of England
and patroons of Amsterdam, with your boroughs and dykes, and give place
to the Californian with his sixty mile sweep!


FRIDAY, AUG. 7. The Mormon ship Brooklyn, which we left at Honolulu, has
arrived at San Francisco, and her passengers have debarked on the shores
of that magnificent bay. They have not yet selected their lands. The
natives hold them in great horror. They seem to think cannibalism among
the least of their enormities. They consider the term Mormon the most
branding epithet that can be applied to a man. A mother complained to
me, a few days since, that a gentleman in Monterey had struck her son
and called him a Mormon. She dwelt with great earnestness on the
opprobrious character of the epithet, and appeared to consider its
application to her son a higher crime than that of his fist. I told her
what sort of people these Mormons were; but it was to her as if I had
represented Satan as an angel of light. I lectured the wrong-doer.


SATURDAY, AUG. 8. Capt. Fauntleroy, of the Savannah, and Maj. Snyder,
with fifty mounted men under their command, occupy San Juan, which lies
inland about thirty miles from Monterey. A report reached them a few
days since, that a hundred wild Indians had descended upon the town of
San José and driven off over two hundred horses. They started
immediately with twenty men, well mounted, got upon their trail, and
came up with them at a distance of sixty miles. The Indians finding
themselves hotly pressed, left their horses and took to the bush,
throwing back upon their pursuers the most wild and frantic
imprecations. Three or four of their number only were killed. The
denseness of the forest and the approach of night rendered further
pursuit impracticable.

The horses were all recaptured and brought back to their owners, who
received them with acclamations of surprise and gratitude. This was the
first time, they said, that their property had been rescued from savages
by the government, and they run up the American flag. This prompt
interference of Capt. Fauntleroy and Maj. Snyder will do more to win the
confidence of the Californians than forty orations delivered in the most
liquid Spanish that ever rolled from a Castilian tongue. There is
something in action which the most simple can appreciate, and which the
most crafty cannot gainsay.

[Illustration]


SUNDAY, AUG. 9. I officiated to-day on board the Savannah. The weather
was pleasant, and several gentlemen from the shore attended. There was
no service in the Roman Catholic Church, owing to the absence of one of
the priests and the infirmities of the other. But when there is service,
only a few of the people attend. It is sometimes, however, forced upon
them in the shape of penance. When a friend of mine here was married, it
was necessary that he should confess. The penance imposed on him for his
previous negligences and transgressions was, that he should attend
church seven Sabbaths.




                              CHAPTER II.

  FECUNDITY OF THE CALIFORNIANS.—FIRST INTELLIGENCE OF THE WAR.—WILD
    INDIANS ON BOARD SHIP.—THE CHIEF.—FIRST NEWSPAPER PUBLISHED IN
    CALIFORNIA.—RAISING THE MATERIALS.—THE RIVAL SUITORS.—FLIGHT OF GEN.
    CASTRO.—A CALIFORNIAN ON HORSEBACK.

MONDAY, AUG. 10. The fecundity of the Californians is remarkable, and
must be attributed in no small degree to the effects of the climate. It
is no uncommon sight to find from fourteen to eighteen children at the
same table, with their mother at their head. There is a lady of some
note in Monterey, who is the mother of twenty-two living children. The
youngest is at the breast, and must soon, it is said, relinquish his
place to a new-comer, who will, in all probability, be allowed only the
same brevity of bliss.

There is a lady in the department below who has twenty-eight children,
all living, in fine health, and who may share the “envied kiss” with
others yet to come. What a family—what a wife—what a mother! I have more
respect for the shadow of that woman than for the living presence of the
mincing being who raises a whole village if she has one child, and then
puts it to death with sugar-plums. A woman with one child is like a hen
with one chicken; there is an eternal scratch about nothing.


TUESDAY, AUG. 11. A deserter from Gen. Castro’s camp presented himself
at my office to-day and gave himself up to the American authorities. He
represents the general as in rather a forlorn condition. His troops, it
appears, are daily deserting him. His present force is estimated at less
than six hundred. He is anxious to fly into Mexico, but is unable to
raise a sufficient number of volunteers. The expectation here is, that
he will surrender to Com. Stockton.

The British brig-of-war Spy anchored in the harbor of Monterey this
evening. She is from San Blas, with dispatches for Admiral Seymour. Her
officers are perfectly silent as to news from the United States and
Mexico. She leaves in a few hours for the Collingwood at the Sandwich
Islands. She has, undoubtedly, news of moment, but will not reveal it.


WEDNESDAY, AUG. 12. The U. S. ship Warren, under Commander Hull, arrived
this afternoon in thirty days from Mazatlan, bringing the eventful
intelligence that war had been declared between the United States and
Mexico. The mysterious silence of the officers of the Spy is now
explained. But their secrecy has availed them for only twenty-four
hours.

The war news produced a profound sensation here. The whole population
were instantly thrown into groups in the corridors and at the corners of
the streets. The hum of voices continued late into the night. It was an
extinguisher on the hopes of those who had looked to Mexico for aid, or
who had clung to the expectation that the American government would
repudiate our possession of California, and order the squadron
withdrawn. They now relinquish all idea of a return to their old
political connection, and appear resigned to their fate, which seems
inevitable. These disappointed families compose but a part of the
population; another portion has become thoroughly wearied with
revolutions, and are prepared to countenance almost any government that
promises stability.


THURSDAY, AUG. 13. The Warren sailed this morning for San Pedro, to
convey the war intelligence to Com. Stockton. It will throw a new aspect
upon his operations in California. Expediency gives place to moral
necessity. We have now a double motive for exertion—national honor,
which looks at home, and an enlarged philanthropy, which looks here. It
is of but little moment what the ultimate action of our government may
be in reference to California. It cannot change her destiny. She is
severed forever from Mexico. Should our government attempt to throw her
back on that country, she will not stay thrown back. The rebound will
carry her further off than ever. She is on a wave which will not ebb
till this generation have mouldered in their graves.


FRIDAY, AUG. 14. Sixty of a tribe of wild Indians, who live in the
mountains, about two hundred miles distant, made a descent a few days
since upon a farm within thirty miles of Monterey, and carried off a
hundred horses. Twenty of the tribe, with the chief, remained behind to
secure further booty. Intelligence of this having reached Capt. Mervin,
he dispatched a mounted force, apprehended them in their ambush, and
brought them to Monterey, and delivered them over to our court for
trial.

They were as wild a looking set of fellows as ever entered a civil
tribunal. The chief was over seven feet high, with an enormous blanket
wrapped round him and thrown over the shoulder like a Spanish cloak,
which set forth his towering form to the best advantage. His long black
hair streamed in darkness down to his waist. His features strikingly
resembled those of Gen. Jackson. His forehead was high, his eye full of
fire, and his mouth betrayed great decision. His step was firm; his age
must have been about fifty. He entered the court with a civil but
undaunted air. When asked why he permitted the men of his tribe to steal
horses, he replied that the men who took the horses were not properly
members of his tribe, that they had recently attached themselves to him,
and now, that he had found them horse-thieves, he should cut them. I
could get at no satisfactory evidence that he, or the twenty with him,
had actively assisted those who took off the horses. I delivered them
over to Capt. Mervin, who commanded the military occupation of the town.

The United States troops were formed into a hollow square, and they were
marched into the centre where they expected to be shot, and still not a
muscle shook, and the features of each were as set as if chiselled from
marble. What must have been their unbetrayed surprise, when Capt. Mervin
told them they were acquitted by the tribunal! He then told the chief he
should recognize him as king of the tribe—that he must not permit any of
his men to commit the slightest depredations on the citizens, that he
should hold him responsible for the conduct of his tribe, and that he
must come and report himself and the condition of his tribe every two
moons. To all this the chief fully assented.

They were then taken on board the frigate, where the crew had been
mustered for the occasion. Here they were told how many ships, men, and
guns we had at our command; so much to inspire them with awe: and now
for their good will. The whole party were rigged out with fresh
blankets, and red handkerchiefs for each, which they use as a turban.
The chief was attired in a uniform of one of our tallest and stoutest
officers: navy buttons, epaulets, sword, cap with a gold band, boots,
and spurs; and a silver chain was put about his neck, to which a medal
was attached, recognizing him as the high chief of the tribe. He looked
every inch a chief. The band struck up Hail Columbia, and they departed,
vowing eternal allegiance to the Americans. The sailors were delighted
with these savages, and half envied them their wild life.


SATURDAY, AUG. 15. To-day the first newspaper ever published in
California made its appearance. The honor, if such it be, of writing its
Prospectus, fell to me. It is to be issued on every Saturday, and is
published by Semple and Colton. Little did I think when relinquishing
the editorship of the North American in Philadelphia, that my next feat
in this line would be off here in California. My partner is an emigrant
from Kentucky, who stands six feet eight in his stockings. He is in a
buckskin dress, a fox-skin cap; is true with his rifle, ready with his
pen, and quick at the type-case.

He created the materials of our office out of the chaos of a small
concern, which had been used by a Roman Catholic monk in printing a few
sectarian tracts. The press was old enough to be preserved as a
curiosity; the mice had burrowed in the balls; there were no rules, no
leads, and the types were rusty and all in pi. It was only by scouring
that the letters could be made to show their faces. A sheet or two of
tin were procured, and these, with a jack-knife, were cut into rules and
leads. Luckily we found, with the press, the greater part of a keg of
ink; and now came the main scratch for paper. None could be found,
except what is used to envelop the tobacco of the cigar smoked here by
the natives. A coaster had a small supply of this on board, which we
procured. It is in sheets a little larger than the common-sized
foolscap. And this is the size of our first paper, which we have
christened the Californian.

Though small in dimensions, our first number is as full of news as a
black-walnut is of meat. We have received by couriers, during the week,
intelligence from all the important military posts through the
territory. Very little of this has transpired; it reaches the public for
the first time through our sheet. We have, also, the declaration of war
between the United States and Mexico, with an abstract of the debate in
the senate. A crowd was waiting when the first sheet was thrown from the
press. It produced quite a little sensation. Never was a bank run upon
harder; not, however, by people with paper to get specie, but exactly
the reverse. One-half of the paper is in English, the other in Spanish.
The subscription for a year is five dollars; the price of a single sheet
is twelve and a half cents; and is considered cheap at that.


SUNDAY, AUG. 16. A brilliant day, and no sounds to disturb its
tranquillity save the moan of the pine-grove as the wind sighs through
it, and the thunder of the breaking waves on the beach. We had divine
service on board the Savannah,—a much more grateful occupation to me
than the investigation of crimes in the Alcaldean court.

Till the Americans took possession of Monterey, the Sabbath was devoted
to amusement. The Indians gave themselves up to liquor, the Mexicans and
Californians to dancing. Whether the bottle or the fiddle had the most
votaries it would be difficult to say. But both had so many, that very
few were left for the church. Some, however, attended mass before they
dressed for the ball-room. But their worship and their waltz came so
close together, that a serious thought had only time to dodge out of the
way.


MONDAY, AUG. 17. A complaint was lodged in my court this morning,
involving the perplexities of a love-matter. The complainant is a
Californian mother, who has a daughter rather remarkable for her
personal attractions. She has two rival suitors, both anxious to marry
her, and each, of course, extremely jealous of the attentions of the
other, and anxious to outdo him in the fervency and force of his own
assiduities. The family are consequently annoyed, and desire the court
to interfere in some way for their repose. I issued an order that
neither of the rival suitors should enter the house of the complainant,
unless invited by her, till the girl had made up her mind which she
would marry; for it appeared she was very much perplexed, being equally
pleased with both: and now, I suppose, roses and all the other silent
tokens of affection will pass plenty as protestations before.

            “The course of true love never did run smooth.”


TUESDAY, AUG. 18. The ado made to reach the hand of the undecided girl
shows how very rare such specimens of beauty are in these parts. She has
nothing to recommend her as a sober, industrious, frugal housekeeper.
She knows how to dance, to play on the guitar and sing, and that is all.
She would be as much lost in the kitchen as a dolphin on dry land. She
would do to dress flowers in the balcony of a millionaire, but as the
wife of a Californian, her children would go without a stocking, and her
husband without a shirt. Her two suitors own, probably, the apparel
which they have on and the gay horses which they ride, but neither of
them has a real in his pocket. Yet they are quite ready to be married:
just as if the honey-moon had a horn of plenty instead of a little urn
of soft light, which gushes for a few brief nights, and then leaves its
devotee like one of the foolish virgins, whose lamp had gone out!


WEDNESDAY, AUG. 19. Several of Gen. Castro’s officers have just arrived
in town, delivered themselves up, and been put upon parole. They state
that the general’s camp, near the Pueblo de los Angeles, broke up a few
days since in the night; that the general and Gov. Pico had started for
Sonora with fifty men and two hundred horses; that their flight was
hastened by the approach of Com. Stockton, with the forces of the
Congress, on the north, and Maj. Fremont, with his riflemen, on the
south. The commodore had reached, it appears, within a few hours’ march
of his camp. The general had taken the precaution to send forward in
advance a portion of his horses, to serve as fresh relays on his
arrival. He expects to leave Col. Fremont on the right, and will be
obliged to cross an immense sandy plain, lying between the Pueblo and
Red River, where his horses will be for two days without water or food.
He is to cross Red River, a broad and rapid stream, on a raft, the
construction of which will detain him a day; his horses will swim, for
California horses are trained to rush over mountain-torrents. The only
hope of his capture lies in his detention at the river, unless Col.
Fremont, anticipating his flight, has thrown a force south to intercept
him. Once across the river he is safe; nothing but a tornado, or a
far-striking thunder-bolt, can overtake a Californian on horseback.


THURSDAY, AUG. 20. An Indian was brought before me to-day, charged with
having stolen a horse. He was on his way, it appears, to Monterey, and
when within thirty miles, his own horse having given out, he turned him
adrift, and lassoed one belonging to another man, which he rode in, and
then set him at liberty as he had his own. The owner arrived soon after,
recovered his horse, and had the Indian arrested, who confessed the
whole affair, and only plead in excuse that his own horse had become too
tired to go further. I sentenced the Indian to three months’ labor on
the public works. He seemed at first very much surprised at what he
considered the severity of the sentence; but said he should work his
time out faithfully, and give me no further trouble. As he was half
naked, I ordered him comfortable apparel, and then delivered him over to
Capt. Mervin, to be employed in excavating a trench around the
newly-erected fort.


FRIDAY, AUG. 21. A Californian is most at home in his saddle; there he
has some claims to originality, if not in character then in costume. His
hat, with its conical crown and broad rim, throws back the sun’s rays
from its dark, glazed surface. It is fastened on by a band which passes
under his chin, and rests on a red handkerchief, which turbans his head,
from beneath which his black locks flow out upon the wind.

The collar of his linen rolls over that of his blue spencer, which is
open under the chin, is fitted closely to his waist, and often
ornamented with double rows of buttons and silk braid. His trowsers,
which are fastened around his loins by a red sash, are open to the knee,
to which his buckskin leggins ascend over his white cotton drawers. His
buckskin shoes are armed with heavy spurs, which have a shaft some ten
inches long, at the end of which is a roller, which bristles out into
six points, three inches long, against which steel plates rattle with a
quick, sharp sound.

His feet rest in stirrups of wood, carved from the solid oak, and which
are extremely strong and heavy. His saddle rises high fore and aft, and
is broadly skirted with leather, which is stamped into figures, through
the interstices of which red and green silk flash out with gay effect.
The reins of his bridle are thick and narrow, and the head-stall is
profusely ornamented with silver plate. His horse, with his long flowing
mane, arching neck, broad chest, full flanks, and slender legs, is full
of fire. He seldom trots, and will gallop all day without seeming to be
weary. On his back is the Californian’s home. Leave him this home, and
you may have the rest of the world.


SATURDAY, AUG. 22. Our little paper, the Californian, made its
appearance again to-day. Many subscribers have sent in their names since
our last, and all have paid in advance. It is not larger than a sheet of
foolscap; but this foolscap parallel stops, I hope, with the shape. Be
this as it may, its appearance is looked for with as much interest as
was the arrival of the mail by the New Yorkers and Bostonians in those
days when a moon waxed and waned over its transit.


SUNDAY, AUG. 23. Officiated to-day on board the Savannah. There is no
Protestant church here. Emigrants have generally become Roman Catholics.
Policy, rather than persuasion or conviction, suggested it. Men who make
no pretensions to religion, have nothing to give up in the shape of
creeds or conscientious scruples. They are like driftwood, which runs
into the eddy which is the strongest; or like migratory birds, which
light where they can find the best picking and the softest repose. The
woodpecker never taps an undecayed tree; and a worldling seldom embraces
a thoroughly sound faith.




                              CHAPTER III.

  A THIEF OBEYING ORDERS.—GAME.—NO PENITENTIARY SYSTEM.—THE CALIFORNIA
    CART ON A GALA DAY.—THE RUNAWAY DAUGHTER.—FAITH OF THE
    INDIANS.—RETURN FROM THE WAR.—FIRST TRIAL BY JURY.—INDIAN AND HIS
    SQUAW ON THE HUNT.—WHALES IN THE BAY.—THE TWO GAMBLERS.—LADIES ON
    HORSEBACK.—MERRIMENT IN DEATH.—THE ENGLISHMAN AND HIS MISTRESS.

MONDAY, AUG. 24. One of our officers, bound with dispatches to San Juan,
fell in with an Indian to-day, on a horse, without saddle or bridle,
save a lasso; and knowing from this circumstance that he had stolen the
animal, ordered him to come to Monterey and deliver himself up to the
alcalde, and then passed on. So on the Indian came with the horse, and
presented himself at our office.

I asked him what he wanted; he told me the order he had received; but I
could not at first comprehend its import, and inquired of him if he knew
why the order had been given him. He replied, that it was in consequence
of his having taken the horse of another man. I asked him if he had
stolen the animal; he said yes, he had taken him, but had brought him in
here and given himself up as ordered; that he could not escape, as the
Americans were all over California. I told him stealing a horse was a
crime, and sentenced him to three months’ labor on the public works. He
was half naked. I ordered him comfortable clothes, and gave him a plug
of tobacco, and in an hour he was at his task, chewing and cheerful. He
is not wanting in intelligence; and if he only had as much respect for
the rights of property as he has for military orders, he might be a
useful member of the community.

Oats in California grow wild. The last crop plants the next, without the
aid of man. The yield is sufficient to repay the labors of the
husbandman, but is gratuitously thrown at his feet. But the fecundity of
nature here is not confined to the vegetable kingdom, it is
characteristic of the animals that sport in wild life over these hills
and valleys. A sheep has two lambs a year; and if twins, four: and one
litter of pigs follows another so fast that the squealers and grunters
are often confounded.


WEDNESDAY, AUG. 26. The Californians breakfast at eight, dine at twelve,
take tea at four, supper at eight, and then go to bed—unless there is a
fandango. The supper is the most substantial meal of the three, and
would visit anybody but a Californian with the nightmare. But their
constant exercise in the open air and on horseback gives them the
digestion of the ostrich.

The only meat consumed here to any extent is beef. It is beef for
breakfast, beef for dinner, and beef for supper. A pig is quite a
rarity; and as for chickens, they are reserved for the sick. The woods
are full of partridges and hare; the streams and lagoons are covered
with ducks and wild geese; and the harbor abounds with the most
delicious fish. But no Californian will angle or hunt, while he has a
horse or saddle left. And as for the Indians, but very few of them have
any hunting gear beyond the bow and arrow; with these they can kill the
deer and elk, but a partridge and hare are too shy and too quick. They
spear a large salmon which frequents Carmel river, three miles distant,
and bring it in to market. This fish is often three feet long, extremely
fat, and of a flavor that takes from Lent half the merit of its
abstinence. Spearing them is high sport for the Indian, and is another
feature in California life.


THURSDAY, AUG. 27. Nothing puzzles me so much as the absence of a
penitentiary system. There are no work-houses here; no buildings adapted
to the purpose; no tools, and no trades. The custom has been to fine
Spaniards, and whip Indians. The discrimination is unjust, and the
punishments ill suited to the ends proposed. I have substituted labor;
and have now eight Indians, three Californians, and one Englishman at
work making adobes. They have all been sentenced for stealing horses or
bullocks. I have given them their task: each is to make fifty adobes a
day, and for all over this they are paid. They make seventy-five, and
for the additional twenty-five each gets as many cents. This is paid to
them every Saturday night, and they are allowed to get with it any thing
but rum. They are comfortably lodged and fed by the government. I have
appointed one of their number captain. They work in the field; require
no other guard; not one of them has attempted to run away.


FRIDAY, AUG. 28. The ox-cart of the Californian is quite unique and
primitive. The wheels are cut transversely from the butt-end of a tree,
and have holes through the centre for a huge wood axle. The tongue is a
long, heavy beam, and the yoke resting on the necks of the oxen, is
lashed to their horns, close down to the root; from these they draw,
instead of the chest, as with us; and they draw enormous loads, but the
animals are large and powerful.

But to return to the cart. On gala days it is swept out, and covered
with mats; a deep body is put on, which is arched with hoop-poles, and
over these a pair of sheets are extended for a covering. Into this the
ladies are tumbled, when three or four yoke of oxen, with as many Indian
drivers, and ten times as many dogs, start ahead. The hallooing of the
drivers, the barking of the dogs, and the loud laughter of the girls
make a common chorus. The quail takes to the covert as the roaring
establishment comes on, and even the owl suspends his melancholy note.
What has his sad tone to do amid such noise and mirth? It is like the
piping cry of an infant amid the revelry and tumult of the carnival.


SATURDAY, AUG. 29. Four Californians—a girl, her father, mother, and
lover, all well clad and good-looking—presented themselves before me
to-day. The old man said he had come to reclaim his daughter, who had
run away with the young Mexican,—that he had no objection to his
marrying her, but this running away with her didn’t look decent. The
rash lover stated in his defence that he was ready to marry her, had run
away with her for that purpose, had placed her immediately with his
sister, and that she was still as chaste and pure as the driven snow. To
all this the father and mother assented.

I now expected we should have a wedding at once, and that I might be
called upon to officiate. But to my utter surprise, on asking the girl
if she insisted on marrying her lover, she declined. She said her escape
with him was a wild freak; she had now got over it, and wished to return
with her father. This fell like a death-knell on the ears of her lover,
who again protested his affection and her purity. Having been once
myself a disappointed suitor, I had a fellow feeling for him, and
advised the girl to marry him; but she said no, that she had changed her
mind: so I delivered her to her father, and told my brother in
misfortune he must wait; that a woman who had changed her mind once on
such a subject, would change it again.


SUNDAY, AUG. 30. Several gentlemen and ladies of Monterey were present
to-day at our service on board the Savannah. I have it in contemplation
to establish a service on shore. There are plenty of halls, which are
now used for dancing, and I should have as little scruple in converting
one of them into a church, as Father Whitfield had in appropriating to
his use the popular airs of the day, when he said he had no notion of
letting the devil run away with all the fine tunes. Blessings on the
memory of that devoted missionary! He has embalmed in his church
melodies that will live when the profane lyres from which they flowed
have long since been silent.

The wild Indians here have a vague belief in the soul’s immortality.
They say, “as the moon dieth and cometh to life again, so man, though he
die, will again live.” But their future state is material; the wicked
are to be bitten by serpents, scorched by lightning, and plunged down
cataracts; while the good are to hunt their game with bows that never
lose their vigor, with arrows that never miss their aim, and in forests
where the crystal streams roll over golden sands. Immortal youth is to
be the portion of each; and age, and pain, and death, are to be known no
more.


MONDAY, AUG. 31. I am at last forced into a systematic arrangement of my
time; without it, I could never get through with my duties. I rise with
the sun, read till eight o’clock, and then breakfast, at nine, enter on
my duties as alcalde, which confine me till three, P. M., then dine; and
at four take my gun and plunge into the woods for exercise and
partridges; return at sunset, take tea, and in the evening write up my
journal, and an editorial for the Californian.

When the Sabbath comes, I preach; my sermons are composed in the woods,
in the court-room, or in bed, just where I can snatch a half hour. I
often plan them while some plaintiff is spinning a long yarn about
things and matters in general, or some defendant is losing himself in a
labyrinth of apologetic circumstances. By this forbearance both are
greatly relieved; one disburdens himself of his grievances, the other
lightens his guilt, and, in the mean time, my sermon develops itself
into a more tangible arrangement. My text might often be—“And he fell
among thieves.”


TUESDAY, SEPT. 1. It is singular how the Californians reckon distances.
They will speak of a place as only a short gallop off, when it is fifty
or a hundred miles distant. They think nothing of riding a hundred and
forty miles in a day, and breaking down three or four horses in doing
it, and following this up by the week. They subsist almost exclusively
on meat, and when travelling, sleep under the open sky. They drive their
ox-carts, loaded with lumber or provisions, two hundred miles to market.
Their conceptions seem to annihilate space.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 2. The officers of Gen. Castro have been permitted to
return to their homes, after having taken an oath that they will not, on
pain of death, be found in arms against the United States during the
existence of the present war. A few, perhaps from national pride,
refused at first the oath, but were compelled to take it, or be treated
as prisoners of war. They of course preferred the former. The ladies
don’t seem to care much about these nice points in military etiquette:
they want their husbands at home; and their return, though on parole, is
the signal for getting up a ball. A Californian would hardly pause in a
dance for an earthquake, and would be pretty sure to renew it, even
before its vibrations had ceased. At a wedding they dance for three days
and nights, during which time the new-married couple are kept on their
feet. No compassion is shown them, as they have so much bliss in
reserve.


THURSDAY, SEPT. 3. Dispatches were received this morning, by courier,
from Com. Stockton, dated at the Pueblo de los Angeles. They contain his
second address to the people of California, which defines the new
attitude in which the country is placed by the declaration of war
between the United States and Mexico. The address is humane in its tone,
expansive and vigorous in its spirit. It has had the salutary effect to
set the community at rest, by establishing in the minds of the wavering
the full conviction that California is henceforth a part of the United
States. Ex-Gov. Pio Pico, it seems, did not escape with Gen. Castro, but
has surrendered to the commodore. He is one of the few who commanded the
confidence and respect of the public.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 4. I empannelled to-day the first jury ever summoned in
California. The plaintiff and defendant are among the principal citizens
of the country. The case was one involving property on the one side, and
integrity of character on the other. Its merits had been pretty widely
discussed, and had called forth an unusual interest. One-third of the
jury were Mexicans, one-third Californians, and the other third
Americans. This mixture may have the better answered the ends of
justice, but I was apprehensive at one time it would embarrass the
proceedings; for the plaintiff spoke in English, the defendant in
French, the jury, save the Americans, Spanish, and the witnesses all the
languages known to California. But through the silent attention which
prevailed, the tact of Mr. Hartnell, who acted as interpreter, and the
absence of young lawyers, we got along very well.

The examination of the witnesses lasted five or six hours; I then gave
the case to the jury, stating the questions of fact upon which they were
to render their verdict. They retired for an hour, and then returned,
when the foreman handed in their verdict, which was clear and explicit,
though the case itself was rather complicated. To this verdict, both
parties bowed without a word of dissent. The inhabitants who witnessed
the trial, said it was what they liked—that there could be no bribery in
it—that the opinion of twelve honest men should set the case forever at
rest. And so it did, though neither party completely triumphed in the
issue. One recovered his property, which had been taken from him by
mistake, the other his character, which had been slandered by design. If
there is any thing on earth besides religion for which I would die, it
is the right of trial by jury.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 5. I encountered on my hunting excursion to-day a wild
Indian, with a squaw and papoose. They were on horses, he carrying his
bow, with a large quiver of arrows hung at his side, and she with the
child in the bunt of her blanket, at the back. They were dashing ahead
in the wake of their dogs, which were in hot chase of a deer. The squaw
stuck to her fleet animal as firmly as the saddle in which she sat, and
took but little heed of the bogs and gullies over which she bounded. His
glance was directed to a ridge of rocks, over which he seemed to expect
the deer to fly from the field of wild oats through which the chase lay.
I watched them till they disappeared in their whirlwind speed over the
ridge. Whether the deer fell into their hands or escaped, I know not;
but certainly I would not hazard my neck as they did theirs for all the
game even in the California forests. But this, to them, is life; they
seek no repose between the cradle and the grave.


SUNDAY, SEPT. 6. The bell of the Roman Catholic church, which has been
silent some weeks, rung out loud and clear this morning. I directed the
prisoners, sentenced to the public works, to be taken to the service. I
had given them soap, and sufficient time to clean their clothes, on
Saturday; though having but one suit, they had only their blankets for
covering while these were washing and drying. With a marine at their
head, armed and equipped, they made quite a respectable appearance.
Their conduct, during service, was reported to me as very becoming. They
may yet reform, and shape their lives after the precepts of morality and
religion. My own service was on board the Savannah, where we had the
officers of the Erie.


MONDAY, SEPT. 7. We have been looking for a whale-ship, or spouter, as
she is called by our sailors, to come in here, and take care of the
whales which are blowing around us. One belonging to the genuine old
Nantucket line, came to anchor last evening. She had been on the
northwest coast in pursuit of the black whale; but found them so wild,
owing to the havoc that has been made among them, that she captured but
very few.

This morning her boats were lowered, and their crews put off in pursuit
of one of these monsters. The fellow plunged as they approached, and was
out of sight for some minutes, when he hove up at a distance. “There she
blows!” was the cry, and off they darted again; but by the time they had
gained the spot another plunge was heard, and only a deep foaming eddy
remained. The next time she lifted they were more successful, and lodged
one of their harpoons. The reel was soon out, and away the boat flew,
like a little car attached to a locomotive. But the harpoon at last
slipped its hold, and the whale escaped. The loss seemed proportionate
to the bulk of the monster.


TUESDAY, SEPT. 8. We have had for the last five days hardly an hour of
sunshine, owing to the dense fogs which prevail here at this season.
These murky vapors fill the whole atmosphere; you seem to walk in them
alone, like one threading a mighty forest. A transcendentalist might
easily conceive himself a ghost, wandering among the cypresses of a dead
world. But, being no ghost or transcendentalist, I had a fire kindled,
and found refuge from the fog in its cheerful light and warmth.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 9. A Californian came into my court in great haste last
evening, and complained that another Californian was running away with
his oxen. Suspecting the affair had some connection with a gambling
transaction, I immediately handed him a warrant for the arrest of the
fugitive, when off he started at the top of his speed to execute it. In
less than an hour he returned with his prisoner.

I then asked the plaintiff if the oxen were his; he said they were. I
asked him of whom he obtained them; he said of the man who attempted to
run away with them. I asked him what he gave for them; this was a
puzzler, but after hemming and hawing for a minute, he said he had
played for them, and won them. I asked him what else he had won of the
man; he replied, the poncho, and a thin jacket, both of which he had on.
I then ordered them both into the calaboose for the night. The winner,
who had apprehended the other, and who, no doubt, expected to get the
oxen at once, looked quite confounded.

This morning I had the two gamblers before me: neither of them looked as
if he had relished much his prison-couch. I made the winner return all
his ill-gotten gains, oxen, poncho, and jacket, and then fined them each
five dollars. The one who had served the warrant shrugged his shoulders,
as if he had made a great mistake. There was no escape from the
judgment, so they paid their fine and departed. The next time they
gamble, they will probably settle matters between themselves, without a
resort to the alcalde.


THURSDAY, SEPT. 10. My alcalde duties required me to-day to preside at
the executive sale of two dwelling-houses and a store. I was about as
_au fait_ at the business as Dr. Johnson at the auction of widow
Thrales’ brewery, when he informed the bidders, in his towering
language, that he offered them, not a few idle vats and worms, but the
“potentiality of becoming rich.” The property sold well, forty per cent.
higher than it would under the Mexican flag. All real estate has risen
since our occupation of the territory. This tells what the community
expects in terms which none can mistake. A Californian told me to-day
that he considered his lands worth forty thousand dollars more than they
were before our flag was hoisted. The old office-holders may, perhaps,
grumble at the change, but they whose interest lies in the soil silently
exult. They desire no ebb in the present tide of political affairs.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 11. An express came in to-day, bringing the intelligence
that a thousand Wallawalla Indians had reached the Sacramento from
Oregon. They have come, as the express states, to avenge the death of a
young chief, who was wantonly and wickedly killed about a year since, by
an American emigrant. They belong to a tribe remarkable for their
intelligence, hardihood, and valor. Their occupation is that of
trappers, and they are thoroughly used to fire-arms. Capt. Mervin has
sent a force from the Savannah, and Capt. Montgomery another from the
Portsmouth, to arrest their progress. Capt. Ford, with his company of
California rangers, who understand the bush-fight, will also be on the
spot.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 12. My partner in the “Californian” has been absent
several weeks. All the work of the office has devolved upon a sailor,
who has set the type for the whole paper, with fingers stiff as the
ropes around which they have coiled themselves into seeming fixtures.
Yet the “Californian” is out, and makes a good appearance. Who would
think, except in these uttermost ends of the earth, of issuing a weekly
journal, with only an old tar to set the type, and without a solitary
exchange paper! By good fortune, a hunter brought along a copy of the
“Oregon Spectator;” it was quite a windfall, though the only
intelligence it contained from the United States, was that brought its
editor by some overland emigrant. The “Spectator” speaks of the
institutions of the “City of Oregon” with as much reverence as if they
had the antiquity of the Egyptian Pyramids; when there is scarce a
crow’s nest which does not date further back. But age is no certain
evidence of merit, since folly runs to seed as fast as wisdom.




                              CHAPTER IV.

  FUNERAL CEREMONIES.—ELECTED ALCALDE.—FLIGHT OF GEN. CASTRO.—LOS
    ANGELES TAKEN.—OVEN-BATH.—GROG IN A CHIMNEY.—THE FLEA.—FIRST
    RAIN.—RISING OF THE CALIFORNIANS.—MEASURES OF COM.
    STOCKTON.—MORMONS.

SUNDAY, SEPT. 13. Officiated to-day on board the Savannah, and called on
my way to see a sick child, whose mother seems at a loss whether to
grieve or rejoice in prospect of its death. If it dies, she says it will
at once become a little angel: if it lives, it will be subject to sorrow
and sin. She desires, for her sake, that it may live; but, for its own,
that it may die. This balancing between life and death, is common here
among mothers. Their full persuasion of an infant’s future bliss,
forbids that they should mourn its loss. They therefore put on no weeds,
and utter no lamentations. The child, when its pure spirit has fled, is
dressed in white, and stainless roses are strewn upon its little shroud.
It is borne to the grave as if it were to be laid at the open portal of
heaven, and few are the tears which fall on that threshold of immortal
bliss.


MONDAY, SEPT. 14. A letter from the Sacramento, received to-day, informs
me of the arrival of two thousand emigrants from the United States. They
are under the guidance of experienced men, and have been but a little
over four months on the way. The Mormons are selecting the site of their
city, which they intend shall be the paradise of the west.


TUESDAY, SEPT. 15. The citizens of Monterey elected me to-day alcalde,
or chief magistrate of this jurisdiction—a situation which I have been
filling for two months past, under a military commission. It has now
been restored to its civil character and functions. Their election is
undoubtedly the highest compliment which they can confer; but this token
of confidence brings with it a great deal of labor and responsibility.
It devolves upon me duties similar to those of mayor of one of our
cities, without any of those judicial aids which he enjoys. It involves
every breach of the peace, every case of crime, every business
obligation, and every disputed land-title within a space of three
hundred miles. From every other alcalde’s court in this jurisdiction
there is an appeal to this, and none from this to any higher tribunal.
Such an absolute disposal of questions affecting property and personal
liberty, never ought to be confided to one man. There is not a judge on
any bench in England or the United States, whose power is so absolute as
that of the alcalde of Monterey.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 16. The Congress, bearing the broad pennant of Com.
Stockton, returned last evening from her trip to the south. She has
captured, during her absence, Santa Barbara, San Pedro, and the Pueblo
de los Angeles. Over these the American flag is now flying.

Gen. Castro had taken up his position just outside the Pueblo, on an
elevation which commands the town and adjacent country. He was well
supplied with field-pieces, and had a force of seven hundred men. Com.
Stockton landed at San Pedro with three hundred seamen and marines from
the Congress, and marched against him. His route, which extended some
thirty miles, lay through several narrow passes, which Gen. Castro might
easily have defended against a much superior force. But the general kept
in his entrenched camp; and informed the commodore by a courier, that if
he marched upon the town he would find it the grave of his men. “Then,”
said the commodore, “tell the general to have the bells ready to toll in
the morning at eight o’clock, as I shall be there at that time.” He was
there; but Castro, in the mean time, had broken up his camp, mounted
with an armed band, and fled towards Sonora, in Mexico. The town was
taken, the American flag hoisted and cheered.


THURSDAY, SEPT. 17. The U. S. ship Cyane, under Commander Du Pont,
proceeded from this port to San Diego, took that important place, and
landed Col. Fremont, with his riflemen, who hastened to cut off the
retreat of Castro. He would have done it could he have anticipated his
route; but to overtake him was impossible, as the general had taken the
precaution to send on in advance relays of fresh horses, sufficient to
take him and his band beyond the reach of any pursuit.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 18. A bearer of dispatches from Commodore Stockton to our
government is to leave to-morrow morning in the Erie, and we are all
busy in writing letters home by him. The Erie is to take the
dispatch-bearer to Panama, and then proceed to the Sandwich Islands. We
have not received any letters from home since we sailed from Callao; the
year has rolled from the buds of spring into the sear leaf of autumn
since any intelligence has reached us from those we love. Death may have
stricken them into the grave, but the sad tidings is yet a melancholy
secret. We ought to have a regular mail between the United States and
California. We seem remarkably eager to possess ourselves of foreign
territory, and then leave the wild geese to convey all intelligence. If
the land is only ours, and those at home can hear from it once in fifty
or a hundred years, that will do; a more frequent communication would be
quite superfluous. Had we possessed Egypt in the days of Cheops, all
information would still be considered seasonable which should come when
his pyramid had crumbled.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 19. I encountered to-day a company of Californians on
horseback, bound to a pic-nic, each with his lady love on the saddle
before him. He, as in duty bound, rides behind, throws his feet forward
into the stirrups, his left hand holds the reins, his right encircles
and sustains her, and there she rides safe as a robin in its nest;
sprigs of evergreen, with wild-flowers, wave in her little hat, and
larger clusters in his; both are gayly attired, and smiles of light and
love kindle in their dark expressive eyes. Away they gallop over hill
and valley, waking the wild echoes of the wood. One of my hunting dogs
glanced at them for a while, and seemed so tickled, he had to plunge
into the bushes to get rid of his mirth.


SUNDAY, SEPT. 20. At the invitation of Captain Richardson, I preached
this afternoon on board the Brooklyn. The crew assembled in the cabin,
which the captain had converted for the occasion into a chapel. None
attended by compulsion, but all were present of their free will. The
good order and respectful attention which prevailed showed the spirit
which pervaded the ship, and conveyed a testimony of the wise and
Christian conduct of the captain which none could mistake. I have never
met with a ship where a greater degree of harmony and alacrity in duty
were observable; all this, too, without any resort to physical force;
such is the result of moral influence when brought into full play. Give
us more of this in the navy.


MONDAY, SEPT. 21. A Californian mother came to me to-day to plead her
son out of prison. He had driven off a herd of cattle which had another
owner, and sold them, and I had sentenced him to the public works for a
year. She felt as a good mother must feel for her son, and plead for his
liberation with a pathos that half shook my resolution. Nothing but an
iron sense of duty kept me firm. There is something in a mother’s tears
which is almost irresistible; she wept and trembled, and would have
kneeled, but I would not let her. I lifted her to her feet, and told her
I once had a mother, and knew what her sorrows were. I told her I would
liberate her son if I could, but it was impossible; law and justice were
against it. But if he behaved well, I would take off a few months from
the close of the year; and in the mean time she might see him as often
as she desired. She thanked me, lingered as if she would plead again,
and departed. What depths there are in a mother’s soul!


TUESDAY, SEPT. 22. The frigate Savannah sailed this morning for San
Francisco. She left her berth, where she has lain since our flag was
raised here, and with her royals set, glided gracefully out of the bay.
The Congress gave her three cheers as she passed,—still she goes with a
heavy heart. The time of her crew is out; they are almost half the
circuit of the globe from their home, and have now, seemingly, as little
prospect of reaching it as they had a year since. Com. Stockton went on
board a few days since and addressed them, but even with his happy tact
in inspiring enthusiasm, it was difficult to arouse their despondency,
and make them cheerful in a resignation to their lot. The war being
against a power unarmed at sea, is with them a mere bubble. To chase or
capture a privateer is a game not worth the candle. Were an English or
French squadron in this ocean, in declared hostility, they would not
murmur while a tattered sail could be set, or a shot be found in the
locker.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 23. I was waked this morning by sounds of merriment in
the street. Day had only begun to glimmer, and its beam was contending
with the glare of rockets, flashing over the lingering shadows of night.
The child which I had visited a few evenings since had died, and this
was its attendant ceremony to the grave. It had become, in the
apprehension of those who formed the procession, a little angel—and they
were expressing their joy over the transformation. The disruption of
ties which bound it here—its untimely blight—and the darkness of the
grave—were all forgotten. Its little coffin was draped in white, and
garlanded with flowers; and voices of gladness, ringing out from
childhood and youth, heralded its flight to a better world.


THURSDAY, SEPT. 24. An Englishman called at the court to-day, and
desired me to issue a warrant for the apprehension of his mistress, who
he said had run away and carried off a rich shawl and diamond breastpin
which did not belong to her. I told him, when he entered into a criminal
compact of that kind with a person, he might expect just such results as
he had experienced,—and as for a warrant, I should issue none, and would
not if she had carried off every thing in his house, and him too; for I
should consider the community quit of two persons who could in no way
benefit its morals. He looked not a little surprised at this decision,
shrugged his shoulders, and departed. The first thing a foreigner does
here is to provide himself with a horse; the second, with a mistress;
the third, with a pack of cards. These, with a bottle of aguardiente,
are his capital for this world and the next. This is true of many, but
not all; there are some high and honorable exceptions.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 25. The Congress left her moorings last evening, and held
her course majestically out of the bay for San Francisco. Com. Stockton
proposes, while there, to construct batteries which can command the
entrance to the harbor, and afford protection to our merchantmen in the
absence of our squadron. The new city will probably be located before
his return. It is the point towards which all eyes are now turned. The
tide of emigration is setting there with as much steadiness and strength
as the rivers which roll into its capacious bosom. The day is coming
when the spires of a great city will be mirrored in its waters.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 26. The Indians here are practical Thomsonians or
Hydropathists; they sweat for every kind of disease. Their bath is a
large ground-oven, to which you descend by a flight of narrow steps, and
which has a small aperture at the top for the escape of the smoke. In
the centre of this they build a fire, close the entrance, and shut
themselves in till the temperature reaches an elevation which throws
them into a profuse perspiration. They then rush out and plunge
themselves into a stream of cold water. This is repeated every day till
the disease leaves or death comes.

But many, without any ailment, resort to this bath as a luxury. They
will stay in the oven till they are hardly able to crawl out and reach
the stream. It is great fun for the more sturdy ones to lift out the
exhausted and dash them in the flood. You hardly expect to see them rise
again, but up they come, and regain the earth full of life and vigor.
The reaction is instantaneous, and the effect, I have no doubt, in many
cases beneficial. It, at least, gives them a good washing, which they
would hardly get without, and which they too often need. The Indian also
takes to the water to quench the flames of rum. His poor mortal tenement
is often wrapped in such a conflagration. It would be a good thing if
all the rum-drinkers could be marched once a week under the falls of
Niagara.


SUNDAY, SEPT. 27. There is no day in the week in which my feelings run
homeward so strongly as on the Sabbath. That day makes me feel indeed as
an exile. A vast moral desolation spreads around me: only here and there
a speck of verdure sprinkles the mighty waste. All else is bleak and
barren. You turn your eyes to the hills where you were born, the church
where you were baptized, and would rush back to them on the steep wave
of time.


MONDAY, SEPT. 28. When Monterey was taken by our squadron, an order was
issued by the commander-in-chief that all the grog-shops should be
closed. The object of this was to prevent disorder among the populace
and among the sailors, whose duties as a patrol confined them to the
shore. It was with great difficulty that this order could be enforced.
All moderate fines failed to secure its observance. The price of
aguardiente rose to four and five dollars the bottle, more than ten
times its original cost: for such a premium the shopkeeper would run the
hazard of the penalty.

We searched for it as for hid treasures, but only in one instance found
its hiding-place. This was in a chimney, hanging about midway from the
top. When discovered, the shopkeeper laughed as loudly as they who made
the search. He was fined, not for having grog in his chimney, for that
is a very good place for it, but for retailing it at his counter. An
offer of four or five dollars from a customer never failed to bring down
a bottle. He paid his fine of twenty-five dollars, but begged hard for
the liquor. I took it into my custody, and told him to call for it when
the last American man-of-war had left port.


TUESDAY, SEPT. 29. A brother and sister of a Mexican family applied to
me to-day for permission to leave their mother. On inquiring the cause
of this singular request, they stated that their father was dead, and
that their mother by her immoralities had brought sore discredit on
their house. I ascertained from other sources the truth of their
statement, and then gave them permission to rent another dwelling. They
were both modest and genteel in their appearance, but jealousy of a
sister’s fair reputation had prevailed with the brother over filial
affection. And yet when he spoke of his mother his eyes filled with
tears.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 30. An express arrived last night from the Pueblo
below, bringing the startling intelligence that the populace had risen
upon the small American force left there under command of Capt.
Gillespie—that the insurgents had entire possession of the town—that the
Americans were closely besieged in their quarters, and it was doubtful
if they would be able to hold out much longer. The express stated that
he left the town under a volley of musketry, which he narrowly escaped,
but which took such deadly effect on his horse, that he dropped under
him about two leagues out.

He had a permit from the American alcalde to press horses wherever
found. He rode the whole distance—four hundred and sixty miles—in
fifty-two hours, during which time he had not slept. His intelligence
was for Com. Stockton, and in the nature of the case was not committed
to paper, except a few words over the signature of the alcalde, rolled
in a cigar, which was fastened in his hair. But the commodore had sailed
for San Francisco, and it was necessary he should go on a hundred and
forty miles further. He was quite exhausted; I ordered him a bowl of
strong coffee, which revived him, and a hearty supper, which he eagerly
devoured. He was allowed to sleep three hours: in the mean time I
procured fresh horses, and penned a permit for him to press others when
these should begin to flag. Before the day glimmered he was up and away.


THURSDAY, OCT. 1. Com. Stockton, before the departure of the Congress,
appointed T. H. Green, Esq., collector of customs at this port. Mr. G.
is a native of Pennsylvania, has resided in this country several years,
and enjoys a wide reputation for business habits, and sterling integrity
of character. Mr. Hartwell, an Englishman by birth, has been appointed
inspector and translator. He is familiar with all the languages spoken
in California, and filled the same office under the Mexican government
to which he has been appointed under this. But we are gratified with his
appointment for another reason. He has some twenty children of his own,
and in addition to these, five adopted orphans.


FRIDAY, OCT. 2. A Spaniard of some note and noise here, and consul of
her Christian Majesty, attempted in court to-day to flourish down the
claim of an humble Californian to whom he was indebted some eight
hundred dollars. He said this creditor was once his servant, that he
could neither read nor write, and that he felt quite indignant that he
should have the assurance to bring him into court. I told him the first
question was, whether he really owed the man the amount claimed: this
being settled, we could very easily dispose of the belles-lettres part
of the matter. He at first recollected nothing, except that the man had
once been his servant; but on being shown the account, reluctantly
admitted that it might be correct. I told him, if correct, and he had
the means, he must pay it, though the creditor were fresh from Congo.
Finding that we had in our court only a horizontal justice, holding its
level line alike over kings and slaves, he signed an obligation for the
payment in six months, and gave the security required. So much for
attempting to liquidate a debt by an hidalgo flourish. Law which fails
to protect the humble, disgraces the name which it bears.


SATURDAY, OCT. 3. A heavy mist hung over the landscape this morning till
the sun was high in the heavens, and many began to predict rain, a
phenomenon which I have not yet witnessed in California. But towards
noon the mist departed like a shadow dissolved in light. The scorched
hills lifted their naked summits, and the deep ravines revealed their
irregular lines of lingering verdure. In these the cattle still graze,
though the streams which once poured their waters through them exist now
only in little motionless pools, hardly sufficient to drift a duck. A
stranger looking at these hills might be excused if he inquired the
distance to Sodom. It would never enter his most vagrant dreams that he
had reached that land towards which the tide of emigration was rolling
over the cliffs of the Rocky Mountains.


SUNDAY, OCT. 4. The presiding priest of this jurisdiction applied to me
a few days since to protect the property of the San Antonio Mission. A
Spaniard, it seems, who owns a neighboring rancho, had, under color of
some authority of the late administration, extended his claims over the
grounds and buildings, and was appropriating the whole to his private
purposes. I summoned the Spaniard before me, and asked for the evidence
of his right and title to the establishment. He had no document to
exhibit. His sole claim evidently rested in some vague permission, in
which the lines of moral justice were wholly omitted, or too faintly
drawn to be seen.

I therefore ordered that the mission buildings and grounds should be
delivered back to the presiding priest, and that the fixtures, which had
been removed, should at once be restored. The order was forthwith
carried into effect. This decision is of some moment, as it will serve
as a precedent in reference to other missions. These sacred domains are
the patrimonial inheritance of the Indian, and they once embraced the
wealth of California. But they have fallen a prey to state exigencies
and private rapacity. They ought at once to be restored to their
primitive objects, or converted into a school-fund.


MONDAY, OCT. 5. A courier arrived to-day from San Francisco, bringing
the intelligence that the Savannah had sailed for San Pedro. They will
there land a large force, which will march at once to the Pueblo de los
Angeles, and, if possible, bring the insurgents to an engagement. But
the probability is, that they will instantly disband and fly to the
forests. If they declined battle, with Gen. Castro and his regular
troops at their head, they will undoubtedly do it when left to
themselves, unless frantic passion has entirely overcome inherent
fickleness.


TUESDAY, OCT. 6. The usual rate of interest for money loaned here on
good security, is twenty-four per cent. This is sufficient evidence of
its scarcity, and yet it is almost valueless when you come to the
question of labor. A foreigner may be induced to work for money, but not
a Californian, so long as he has a pound of beef or a pint of beans
left. Nor is it much better with the Indian: take from him the
inducements to labor which rum and gambling present, and he will refuse
to work for you. The blanket, which he wore last year, will answer for
this; his shirt and pants can easily be repaired; his food is in every
field and forest, and he seems to have as little scruple in taking it
from the one as the other.

Hunger is unknown here; the man who has not a foot of land seems about
as independent as he who has his ten-league farm, and has vastly less
trouble and vexation. It is true he will now and then kill a bullock
that is not his, but the fact that there are vast herds roaming about
which never had an owner, seems, in his estimation, greatly to diminish
the private trespass which he commits. It is with him only as if he had
taken a pickerel from a pond instead of the ocean.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 7. The great Mormon company, who came out in the
Brooklyn, have had a split. The volcano, it seems, has been rumbling for
some time, and has at last broke forth in flame. The explosion will
undoubtedly throw them into different parts of California, and defeat
any attempts at a distinct political community. The difficulty lay in
the assumptions of the leader. He has all the ambition of their lost
prophet, without any of his affected meekness. He attempted the iron
rod, without first having persuaded those who were to feel its force
that it had been put in his hands by a higher power.


THURSDAY, OCT. 8. One of the rooms in the house which I have rented, has
been occupied by some of the goods and chattels of the previous tenant.
To-day they were called for, and I observed among them a large basket
filled with egg-shells. They had been perforated at both ends, and their
contents blown out. But to what use could any one put these empty
shells? They had been prepared, it seems, for the festivities of the
carnival. On this occasion they are to be filled with scented water or
tinsel, the apertures closed with wax, and then broken, in merriment,
over the heads of guests. This liberty with caps and wigs is warranted
only where some intimacy exists between the parties. Where this is
found, the eggs fall thick as hail. The young and old float in lavender
and cologne. This expensive frolic is often indulged in by those who,
perhaps, have hardly money enough left to purchase one of the forty hens
that laid the eggs.


FRIDAY, OCT. 9. The trouble of young and old here is the flea. The
native who is thoroughly inured to his habits may little heed him, but
he keeps the stranger in a constant nettle. One would suppose, from his
indiscriminate and unmitigated hostility, he considered himself the
proprietor of all California. Indeed, he does seem to be the genuine
owner of the soil, instead of a tenant at will. It is true he may
construct no dwellings, but he will plant himself in every nook and
corner of the one which you may construct. He jumps into your cradle,
jumps with you all along through life, and well would it be for those
who remain if he jumped with you out of it. But no, he remains still;
and grief for your loss will half forget its bereavement in parrying his
assaults.


SATURDAY, OCT. 10. We are waiting with some anxiety for news from the
Pueblo de los Angeles. A rumor reached here yesterday, that the small
American force there would not be able to hold out much longer against
the overwhelming odds of the insurgents. But the Savannah must by this
time have reached San Pedro, and her crew be on their march to the scene
of action. They are a body of brave, unflinching men, and are commanded
by officers of great firmness and force. A sailor on land never thinks
of running more than he would at sea. He is trained to stand to his
post, and will do so on the field as well as the deck. The last man who
left the ground in that disreputable retreat from Bladensburg was a
sailor. When the rest were far out of sight he remained at his gun, and
was wadding home to give the enemy another shot. In the fight of the
Essex many threw themselves out of the ports, determined to drown sooner
than surrender.


SUNDAY, OCT. 11. Another bright and beautiful Sabbath has dawned; but
there is little here to remind one of its sacredness. A few of the
larger stores are closed, but the smaller shops are all open. More
liquors are retailed on this day than any other three. I have the power
to close these shops, and shall do it.




                               CHAPTER V.

  FIRE ON THE MOUNTAINS.—EMIGRANTS.—PISTOLS AND PILLOWS.—LEADERS OF THE
    INSURRECTION.—CALIFORNIA PLOUGH.—DEFEAT AT SAN PEDRO.—COL. FREMONT’S
    BAND.—THE MALEK ADHEL.—MONTEREY THREATENED.—SOLDIER
    OUTWITTED.—RAISING MEN.—BRIDEGROOM.—CULPRITS.

MONDAY, OCT. 12. A wide conflagration is sweeping over the hills which
encircle the bay of Monterey. The forests, and the grass with which they
are feathered, are as dry as tinder, and the flame rolls on with its
line of fire clearly and fearfully defined. This has become still more
grand and awful since the night set in. The clouds seem to float in an
atmosphere of fire; and the billows, as they roll to the rock-bound
shore, are crested with flame. The birds are flying from their crackling
covert, and the wolves go howling over the hills. It is a type of that
final conflagration in which the great frame of nature will at last
sink.


TUESDAY, OCT. 13. Emigrants from the United States are still pouring
into the rich valley of the Sacramento. A letter from one of them
says:—“It may not be uninteresting to you to know that the emigrants by
land the present season far exceed the expectation of the most sanguine.
No less than two thousand are now in the interior, and within a hundred
miles of the settlements. They bring with them a large amount of
intelligence, wealth, and industry, all of which are greatly needed in
their new home. The Mormons alone have a train of more than three
hundred wagons.”

These emigrants will change the face of California. We shall soon have
not only the fruits of nature, but of human industry. We shall soon be
able to get a ball of butter without churning it on the back of a wild
colt; and a potatoe without weighing it as if it were a doubloon. Were
it possible for a man to live without the trouble of drawing his breath,
I should look for this pleasing phenomenon in California.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 14. The success of the insurgents at the south has
emboldened the reckless here. Bands have been gathering in the vicinity
to make a night assault on Monterey. Their plan is to capture or drive
out the small American force here, and plunder the town. Those engaged
in it are men of desperate fortunes. The streets to-day have been
barricaded, and the true and trusty among the citizens have been formed
into a night patrol. I sleep with my rifle at my bedside, and with two
pistols under my pillow. My servant, who is a brave little fellow, is
also armed to the teeth. He ought to be brave, for he was born in St.
Helena, close to the tomb of Napoleon, and must have caught some fire
from the hero’s ashes. My house has grated windows, and an entrance that
is easily defended against odds, so that we shall probably make a pretty
good fight of it. One thing is certain, neither of us go out alive. I
will not be taken, tortured, and hacked to pieces, as two of our
countrymen were a few months since.


THURSDAY, OCT. 15. No assault yet; but a company of horsemen have been
seen to-day crossing the southern plain, and winding off behind the
hills at the west. They have, as a messenger informs us, joined another
party much larger than their own, and are now encamped in the woods. The
citizens here who have been true to our flag, feel deeply alarmed; and
in truth they have some occasion, for if the town is sacked they will be
among the first sufferers. I have sent an express to Com. Stockton, who
is at San Francisco, where he has been engaged in raising and
dispatching a heavy force for San Pedro. He will be here with the
Congress as fast as the winds and waves can bring him.


FRIDAY, OCT. 16. Our relief has come. The Congress arrived to-day, and
the commodore immediately landed, under Capt. Maddox, U. S. marine
corps, a sufficient force to repel any attack that may be made. Our
friends now breathe more freely. They may go outside the town without
the fear of having their retreat cut off by a flying horseman, and sleep
at night without the apprehension of awaking under a flaming roof. The
noble tars of the Congress, when they saw our flag still flying on the
fort, hailed it with three stout cheers, which were heard over all
Monterey. They feared, and not without reason, that it had been
captured; and when they saw it still streaming on the wind, their
enthusiasm and joy broke forth.


SATURDAY, OCT. 17. As soon as the intelligence of the insurrection below
reached Com. Stockton, he dispatched the Savannah to San Pedro; and sent
fast in her wake a quick coaster, with Col. Fremont and two hundred
riflemen on board, who are to land in the night at Santa Barbara, and
take the place by surprise. This was managed with so much celerity and
secrecy, that the disaffected here are still ignorant of the fact.

What will be the surprise of the insurgents at los Angeles, if defeated
by the forces of the Savannah, to find their retreat cut off by the
riflemen of Col. Fremont! Between these two fires there will be little
chance of escape. Not a few of them have given their parol of honor that
they will not, on pain of death, take up arms against the United States.
They are now in the field, and their treachery may cost them their
lives. It is painful, but may be necessary to make examples of them.
California will never have any repose while they are in it. They have
headed every revolution that has taken place for years, and they have
now headed their last.


SUNDAY, OCT. 18. I issued, a few days since, an ordinance against
gambling—a vice which shows itself here more on the Sabbath than any
other day of the week. The effect of it has been to drive the gamblers
from the town into the bushes. I have been informed this evening, that
in a ravine, at a short distance, some thirty individuals have been
engaged through the day in this desperate play. They selected a spot
deeply embowered in shade, and escaped the eye of my constables. But
there is an eye from the glance of which the gloom of the forest and
even the recesses of night afford no refuge.


MONDAY, OCT. 19. Some twenty men left the precincts of Monterey, last
night, to join the insurgents at the south. They are all men of
desperate fortunes, and may find that they have started too late. They
who have been duped may perhaps be spared, but the ringleaders are
doomed. There is only one resting-place for them in California. He who
breaks his solemnly plighted faith, can claim no mercy for the past and
no confidence for the future.

Were this frantic insurrection sustained by the slightest probability of
success, it would relieve, perhaps, its madness and atrocity. But they
who instigated it knew it must end in disaster and blood. They knew its
only trophies must be a little plunder, cursed by the crimes through
which it had been procured. They threw themselves down this cataract,
and will never again reascend its steep wave.


TUESDAY, OCT. 20. The mode of cultivating land in California is
eminently primitive. In December or January they take a piece of wood in
the shape of a ship’s knee, dress it down a little with a dull axe, and
spike a piece of iron to the lower point. A pole, by which the oxen
draw, runs from the inner bend of the knee to the yoke. This pole has a
mortise, about eight inches long, made slanting, and about a foot from
the after end; a piece of wood, about two inches by six, runs up through
the plough and pole, and is so wedged into the mortise of the pole, as
to make the plough run shallow or deep as required. But if the ground
happens to be hard the plough will not enter an inch, and if there are
roots in the ground it must be lifted over, or it will be invariably
broken. Such is a California plough; such a fair specimen of the arts
here.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 21. If late in the season, the Californian rarely
prepares the ground by any furrowing attempts. He scatters the seed
about the field, and then scratches it in with the thing which he calls
a plough. Should this scratching fail of yielding him sixty bushels to
the acre, he grumbles. In reaping he cuts so high, to save a little
trouble in threshing, which is done here by horses, that he loses
one-eighth of his crop; but this eighth serves for seed the next season;
and what to him is better still, saves the trouble of sowing. So that
his second crop plants itself from the first, and is often nearly as
large as its predecessor. Even the third self-planted crop is quite
respectable, and would satisfy a New England farmer for his laborious
toil; but here it generally goes to the blackbirds.


THURSDAY, OCT. 22. A mother came to me, to-day, with a request that I
would summon before me another woman, who had slandered her daughter. I
tried to dissuade her from it—told her that persevering virtue would
outlive all scandal. But she said she was a poor widow, and the
reputation of her family was all she had to depend on. So I summoned the
woman, who confessed her injurious words, but said they had been uttered
in passion, and that she now deeply regretted them. On her assurance
that she would repair as far as in her power any injury she had done, I
dismissed the parties.


FRIDAY, OCT. 23. The merchant ship Vandalia is just in from San Pedro,
with intelligence from the seat of war. Capt. Gillespie, it seems, had
been obliged to capitulate; but the terms were that he should leave the
Pueblo with all the honors of war. He marched out of the town with his
flag flying; and, on arriving at San Pedro, embarked on board the
Vandalia.

The frigate Savannah soon hove in sight. Her forces under Capt. Mervin,
and those from the Vandalia under Capt. Gillespie, started at once for
the Pueblo. After a march of fifteen miles, they encamped for the night.
But their slumbers were soon disturbed by a shot, which thundered its
way into their midst. They seized their arms, but in the darkness of the
night nothing could be seen, and nothing heard save the distant tramp of
horses. At break of day they renewed their march, but had not proceeded
far before they were attacked by a Californian force on horseback,
drawing a four-pounder. Their enemy kept out of the range of their
muskets, fled as fast as they charged, and, having gained a safe
distance, wheeled and played upon them with their four-pounder, charged
with grape. Capt. Mervin, finding himself unable to bring the enemy to a
general engagement, and having five of his men killed, and a greater
number wounded, ordered a retreat, and returned without further
molestation on board the Savannah. His defeat lay in the fact that his
men were all on foot, and without any artillery to protect them against
the longer range of the piece which the enemy had brought into the
field.


SATURDAY, OCT. 24. Col. Fremont having fallen in with the Vandalia, and
ascertained from her that no horses could be procured for his men at
Santa Barbara, decided on returning in the Sterling to this port. His
arrival has been delayed by a succession of light head winds, and dead
calms. When within fifty miles of the port, a boat was dispatched, which
is just in. Several of his men came in her, who are to start in advance
in quest of horses. They will probably have to go as far as the
Sacramento, for all the horses in this immediate vicinity have been
driven south by the insurgents. I have lost both of mine; but what are
two to the hundred and fifty which were driven from the farm of one man.
If misery loves company, I have a plenty of that sort of consolation.
But the extent of a misfortune depends not so much on what is taken, as
what is left. The last surviving child in a family is invested with the
affections which encircled the whole.


SUNDAY, OCT. 25. With us the sound of the church-going bell has been
exchanged for the roll of the drum. One of the moral miseries of war is
the profanation of the Sabbath which it involves. There is something in
military movements which seems to cut the conscience adrift from its
moorings on this subject.


MONDAY, OCT. 26. We shall soon see what the genius of Com. Stockton is
equal to in a great emergency. He will arrive at San Pedro without
horses, or any means of procuring them. They are all driven off, or
under men who seem as if born on the saddle. He will encounter on his
march to los Angeles the same flying-artillery which foiled the forces
under Capt. Mervin. But he will have several well-mounted pieces; they
must be drawn, however, by oxen over a deep sandy road. If the enemy
comes within range, he will open and give them a volley of grape. In
this way he will reach, recapture the place, and unfurl the stars and
stripes. But how he will maintain himself—how he will procure provisions
with the country around in the hands of a mounted enemy, remains to be
seen. Military genius, however, asserts its fullest force in the
greatest emergency. It is like the eagle exulting in peril, and throwing
its strong pinions on the mountain storm.


TUESDAY, OCT. 27. The prize brig Malek Adhel, commanded by Lieut. W. B.
Renshaw, arrived in port this afternoon in thirty days from Mazatlan.
She brings the first intelligence of her own capture. The U. S. ship
Warren, under Commander Hull, anchored off Mazatlan on the sixth ult.,
and found there the Malek Adhel, moored within a hundred and fifty yards
of the mole, with sails unbent, and running rigging unrove. The next day
her rudder was to have been unshipped, and she was to have been hauled
up the creek for safe keeping. Commander Hull determined immediately to
cut her out; hauled his ship in close to the bar, and sent sixty men in
the launch and the three cutters, under charge of Lieuts. Radford and
Renshaw, with orders to bring her out, or finding that impracticable, to
burn her. On their approach, the officer in charge escaped to the shore:
they boarded her without opposition, unmoored and warped her outside the
bar. While doing this, about two hundred and fifty Mexican soldiers
mustered on the mole; another party dragged a field-piece up the hill
abreast of the brig, commanding her and the channel to the bar; but upon
a second thought the governor determined to offer no resistance,
alleging that the Warren’s guns would do more damage to the town than
the brig was worth. The Malek Adhel, however, is a valuable prize, being
a fine sailer and a good seaboat; she was gallantly captured.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 28. The Sterling is just in with Col. Fremont and his
riflemen. They are in a half-starved condition, having been for several
days on the very shortest commons. I never met with a more famished
crew. The call for meat and bread roused up all the butchers and bakers
in Monterey. What an energy there is in downright hunger!


THURSDAY, OCT. 29. Our Indian scouts, who came in yesterday, reported
the discovery of a large band of Californians in the cover of the hills
within the vicinity of Monterey. They probably purposed an attack on the
town last night, as the garrison had been weakened by the absence of
thirty men, who had left, under the command of Capt. Maddox, for San
Juan. But the unexpected arrival of Col. Fremont frustrated their plans.
We might have a battle with them were there horses here; but to attempt
it on foot, would be like a man with a wooden leg chasing a hare.

Monterey has at present much the aspect of a military garrison. The
streets are barricaded; a patrol is kept up night and day; no one is
permitted to leave without a written passport, and no one allowed to
enter without reporting himself to the police. No one can be in the
streets after nine without the countersign. Every thing, of course, in
the shape of amusement is at an end; even ordinary business is in a
great measure suspended. You hear only the roll of the drum at muster,
and the toll of the bell over some one going to his last rest.


FRIDAY, OCT. 30. One of the guard in charge of Col. Fremont’s horses, in
the vicinity of the town, was approached, this afternoon, by two
Californians on horseback, who inquired if he had seen a buck break from
the woods near by. Having by this natural question laid suspicion, they
entered into conversation on other topics, watched their opportunity,
seized his rifle, shot him, and dashed off at full speed. The nefarious
act produced a profound sensation in the camp. The shot, however, proves
not mortal, so that the wounded man may yet have an opportunity of
facing his foe in the field.


SATURDAY, OCT. 31. Enlistments are going on actively among the emigrants
recently arrived on the banks of the Sacramento. The women and children
are placed in the missions; the men take the rifle and start for the
battle-field: such is their welcome to California. The Israelites
entered the land of promise by arms, and established themselves by the
force of their military prowess. But this is not quite the land of
promise, nor are these Israelites who stream over the Rocky Mountains.
But they are a sturdy band, whose enterprise will cover these fertile
hills with golden harvests. They have pitched their tents by the
water-courses, and those tents they will never strike.

They are enlisted into the service mainly through the activity of Capt.
Montgomery, who commands the Portsmouth, and is military commandant of
the northern department of California. His measures have been judicious,
his action prompt, and he has rendered substantial service in supplying
from the emigrations the sinews of war. Every American in California
shows his entire stature; no one is lost in the crowd; no voice is
drowned by a general clamor; every action tells. It is a blow which
thunders by itself on the great anvil of time. It is another rock rolled
into the foundations of a mighty empire.


SUNDAY, NOV. 1. An Indian was taken up by one of our scouts yesterday,
who confessed that he was the bearer of a message from a Roman Catholic
priest to a party that were arming themselves to join the insurrection.
The message conveyed intelligence of the approach of our forces. The
Indian was sent back to his master with the intelligence that if he
attempted any further correspondence with the enemy, it would be at the
peril of his life.


MONDAY, NOV. 2d. Our bay is full of the finest fish, and yet it is rare
to meet one on the table. There is not a boat here in which one can
safely trust himself a cable’s length from land. And if there were,
there would be no Californian to row it. Could they go to sea on their
horses, and fish from their saddles, they would often be seen dashing
through the surf; but to sit quietly in a boat and bob a line, is
entirely too tame a business. Put a fish on land, and give him the speed
of the buck, and he would have a dozen Californians and forty hounds on
his trail.


TUESDAY, NOV. 3. A Californian in my employ asked me to-day to pay him a
small sum in advance of his services, stating that he was on the eve of
being married, and wanted this advance to enable him to put silver
mountings on his saddle and bridle. Had he asked me for money with which
to pay the priest, I should have understood the propriety of the
request; but the connection between a silver star on the head-stall of
his bridle and a marriage celebration, surpassed my dim comprehension.
However, as there was a lady in the case, I let him have the money. But
it seems it is the custom here, for the bridegroom to appear on his
wedding-day upon a splendid horse, elegantly caparisoned. It is then the
silver star shines out. The noble steed and glittering trappings divide
with the bride the admiration of the crowd.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 4. The Californians now in arms number twelve or
fourteen hundred. They are from every section of the country. Their
rallying point is los Angeles. They have made a clean sweep of all the
horses along the coast. Natives as well as foreigners are left to get
along on foot. This is not an easy task in a country where furlongs
stretch into leagues.

Of these twelve hundred in arms, probably not a hundred have a foot of
land. They drift about like Arabs, stealing the horses on which they
ride, and the cattle on which they subsist. They are ready to join any
revolution, be its leaders whom they may. If the tide of fortune turns
against them, they disband and scatter to the four winds. They never
become martyrs in any cause. They are too numerous to be brought to
punishment. No government has been strong enough to set them at
defiance, or dispense with their venal aid. They have now, however, to
deal with a power too sagacious to be cajoled, and too strong to be
overawed. They will not be permitted to spring a revolution, and leave
its consequences to others. The results will follow them into every
forest and fastness. They have but one escape, and that leads into
Mexico. Men of substance will regret their loss about as much as the
Egyptians the disappearance of the locusts.


THURSDAY, NOV. 5. The second rain of the season fell last night. It came
down copiously for several hours: multitudes forgot their dreams in
listening to its grateful patter on the roof. The effects of the first
shower, which fell a few days since, are visible in the landscape.

              From the moist meadow to the withered hill,
              Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,
              And swells and deepens to the cherished eye.


FRIDAY, NOV. 6. Two Californians were arrested to-day by one of my
constables, charged with having broken open a shop and robbed it of many
valuable articles. The burglary was committed several nights since, but
no clue to the perpetrators could be obtained. By keeping silent on the
subject, one of them had at last the imprudence to offer for sale one of
the stolen articles, which was immediately identified, and led to the
detection of both. Most of the property was found in their possession,
and restored to its owners. The evidence of their guilt being
conclusive, and there being no young lawyer here to pick a flaw in the
indictment, or help them to an _alibi_, they were sentenced each to the
public works for one year. The way of transgressors is hard.


SATURDAY, NOV. 7. In Monterey, as in all other towns that I have ever
seen, crimes are perpetrated mostly at night. The Indian, however,
steals when the temptation presents itself, and trusts luck for the
consequences. And in truth if any being has a right to steal, it is the
civilized Indian of California. All the mission lands, with their
delicious orchards, waving grain, flocks and herds, were once his, and
were stolen from him by the white man. He has only one mode of
retaliating these wrongs. But Californians and foreigners, more wary,
steal at night. It is as true here as elsewhere—

         “That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
         Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
         Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
         In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
         But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
         He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
         And darts his light through every guilty hole,
         Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
         The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs,
         Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves.”


SUNDAY, NOV. 8. There is not, except myself, a Protestant clergyman in
California. If the tide of emigration continues, there will be thousands
here without a spiritual teacher. Years must elapse before any can be
trained here for the sacred office. The supply must come from abroad.
The American churches must wake up to their duty on this subject. These
emigrants are their children, and they should extend to them their most
jealous care.

[Illustration: Burt, sc.]




                              CHAPTER VI.

  SANTA BARBARA TAKEN.—LIEUT. TALBOT AND HIS TEN.—GAMBLING IN
    PRISON.—RECRUITS.—A FUNNY CULPRIT.—MOVEMENTS OF COM.
    STOCKTON.—BEAUTY AND THE GRAVE.—BATTLE ON THE SALINAS.—THE CAPTAIN’S
    DAUGHTER.—STOLEN PISTOLS.—INDIAN BEHIND A TREE.—NUPTIALS IN
    CALIFORNIA.

MONDAY, NOV. 9. The guard of ten, commanded by Lieut. T. Talbot, and
posted at Santa Barbara to maintain the American flag, arrived here last
evening. When the insurrection broke out at the south, they were
summoned by some two hundred Californians to surrender. They contrived,
however, under cover of night, to effect their escape. Their first halt
was in a thicket, to which they were pursued by some fifty of the enemy
on horseback. They waited, like lions in their lair, till the foe was
within good rifle shot, and then discharged their pieces with terrific
effect. The surviving assailants left their dead, and rushed back for
reinforcements: but in the mean time, the hardy ten had pushed their way
several leagues to the east, and gained a new ambush. An Indian might
perhaps have trailed them; but their pursuers had not this wild
sagacity. They rode here and there, penetrating every thicket, but the
right one, and to prevent their escape at night, set fire to the woods.
But one ravine, overhung with green pines, covered them with its
mantling shadows; through this they made their noiseless escape.

To avoid the Californians, who were coming down in great numbers from
the north to join their comrades in the south, the party of ten held
their course to the east. They spent several days in attempting to find
the pass which leads through the first range of the Californian
mountains to the valley of the San Joaquin; but being unacquainted with
the topography of the country, their utmost efforts were baffled. During
this time they suffered greatly from hunger and thirst: the rugged
steeps, among which they were straying, yielded neither streams nor
game. At last, they fell in with a Cholo, the Arab of California, who
kindly offered to conduct them to the mountain pass, and surrendered the
use of his horse to carry their knapsacks and blankets. The pass was
gained; but their hospitable guide still continued with them till they
reached a tribe of Indians on the opposite side. Here he took leave of
them, declining all compensation for his pains, and started back for his
wild mountain home.

The Indians received them kindly, gave them their best acorns to eat,
and their purest water to drink. These are the Indians who were brought
before me a few months since, charged with an attempt to steal a drove
of horses from Carmel. There being no positive proof of guilt, they were
kindly treated, and instead of being threatened with dungeons and death,
were dismissed with many beautiful presents. These presents they still
preserved, and exhibited them with evident gratification and pride to
their new guests.

Lieut. Talbot and party, guided by these faithful Indians, now held
their course through the valley of the San Joaquin. Their progress was
delayed by the sickness of one of their companions, whom they were
obliged to carry on a litter. They subsisted entirely on the wild game
which they killed. They were all on foot; and after travelling nearly
five hundred miles in this manner, reached Monterey, where they were
welcomed to the camp of Col. Fremont with three hearty cheers.


TUESDAY, NOV. 10. The merchant ship Euphemia arrived to-day from the
Sandwich Islands, bringing the intelligence that the Columbus, bearing
the broad pennant of Com. Biddle, had sailed from Honolulu for
Valparaiso. We shall not then see that noble ship on this coast; she is
bound homeward round the Cape. Her eight hundred men, with Com. Biddle
at their head, would have been a great accession to our strength. It is
not, however, a naval force of which we stand in greatest need. The war
in California can never be decided from the deck. We want some five
hundred horsemen, thoroughly accustomed to the saddle and the rifle, and
a few pieces of flying-artillery. Without these we shall have constant
attempts at revolution. They will invariably end in the defeat of those
who get them up, but will involve private property and the public
tranquility.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 11. I found one of our prisoners at work to-day without
a shirt, and supposed at first that he was indulging in some whim; but
ascertained, upon further inquiry, that he had gambled it away to a
fellow-prisoner. They had no cards or dice, but had managed to
substitute a bone, which they whirled into the air, and which decided
the game by falling with this or that end into the ground. I made the
winner give back the shirt, which he did with evident reluctance, as he
had played his own against it, and would have been, had he lost, as
naked as his neighbor. An Indian, and Californian too, will gamble to
the skin of their teeth, and even part with their grinders were they
articles of value to others. But a tooth is much like the principle of
life, which avails no one save its owner.


THURSDAY, NOV. 12. Capt. Grigsby arrived to-day from Sonoma with thirty
mounted riflemen and sixty horses, and joined Col. Fremont’s encampment.
Capt. Hastings is expected in every day from San José with sixty men,
well mounted, and twice that number of horses. Every rider here,
destined on an arduous expedition, must have one or two spare horses,
especially at this season of the year, when no feed can be procured
except the slender grass which has sprung up in the recent showers, and
which contains very little sustenance. It is easier to procure provender
for a thousand horses on a march in the United States than ten here. And
yet the table-lands here are covered through the summer with wild oats.
But where are the reapers? On horseback, galloping about and carousing
at this rancho and that. Their sickles are the rein, their sheaves a
pack of cards, their flails a guitar.

            “No cocks do them to rustic labor call,
              From village on to village sounding clear;
            To tardy swain no shrill-voiced matron’s squall,
              Nor hammer’s thump disturbs the vacant ear.”


FRIDAY, NOV. 13. Two fellows of Mexican origin were brought before me
to-day, charged with breaking open the money-chest of the eating-house
where they had transiently stopped, and taking from it about five
hundred dollars. The owner having immediate occasion to go to his chest,
discovered his loss, and suspected at once the persons concerned in it.
They were apprehended, and soon after the money was found in the back
yard, where it had been hastily buried after having been tied up in a
handkerchief, which was identified as the neck-cloth of one of the
accused. One discovery led to another, till the evidences of guilt,
involving both, were fully established.

One of them then said there was no use in trying to get rid of the
business any longer, and he would now tell the whole story straight as
an arrow. He said that he and Antonio had talked over the matter the
night before, and that he then attempted to reach the chest, but that
the person in whose room it lay, and who had been asleep, suddenly
stopped snoring, and getting alarmed he ran down stairs. But this
morning, while Antonio was entertaining the rest, and treating them to
cocktails, he slipped up to the chamber, broke the lock, and filled his
pockets with the coin. He had no time, he said, to pick out the gold,
which would have been a great convenience, but scraped up silver and
gold as they came, leaving in the chest about as much as he took. It was
very vexatious, he said, to leave so much, but his pockets would hold no
more: he was really afraid they would fetch away with what they had got.
But he buoyed them up with his hands, reached the back yard, where he
delivered the money over to Antonio, who received it in his handkerchief
and buried it; but buried it in exactly the wrong spot, for he went off
into a corner instead of sinking it where everybody must step over it.

He told this story with a countenance which played between a tragic and
comic expression. Antonio, who had been both diverted and alarmed by the
narrative of his accomplice, when it came his turn to speak, said his
companion was the funniest fellow alive; he believed he would joke on
the scaffold, if he could shake a kink out of the rope, and get
breathing time for it. They were both a strange compound of wit and
villany. They were sentenced to the public works for three years.


SATURDAY, NOV. 14. The Savannah arrived here to-day from the leeward,
and reports the Congress on her way to San Diego, where she had gone to
reinforce the garrison. This important post had been recaptured by the
Americans, under the command of Capt. Merrit, an emigrant officer of
undaunted courage. He had been obliged to evacuate it a few weeks
before, and was fortunate in being able to get his men on board a whale
ship lying in the offing at the time. But a portion of the force opposed
to him having been withdrawn to support the Mexican flag at los Angeles,
he landed again in the night, and took the garrison by surprise. This
being the most southern post in California, Com. Stockton deemed it of
the first importance to make its possession secure. To effect this
object, he was obliged to postpone his purpose of recapturing at once
the capital of the province. The best way to fight the Californians is
to hem them in. They never turn upon you as lions at bay. The
possibility of an escape is an element in their courage. They never
borrow resolution from despair. They are so accustomed to range at
freedom, to make their homes wherever adventure or caprice may carry
them, that the idea of being cooped up to one place has almost as much
privation and misery in it as the slave-ship inflicts upon its captives.

              They still might deem their scope too pent,
              Though each had leave to pitch his tent
              Where’er his wildest wish might urge,
              Within creation’s utmost verge.


SUNDAY, NOV. 15. One of the most beautiful ladies in Monterey has this
day been consigned to the silent grave. She was in the bloom of life,
and visions of happiness threw their enchantments along the vista of her
future years. She had all that wealth and beauty can bestow. Her
personal charms were rivalled only by those of her mind. Her heart
trembled through every fibre of her frame.

           “Whene’er with soft serenity she smiled,
             Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise,
           How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild,
             The liquid lustre darted from her eyes!
           Each look, each motion, waked a new-born grace,
             That o’er her form a transient glory cast:
           Some lovelier wonder soon usurped the place,
             Chased by a charm still lovelier than the last.”

But she is gone! she has left us like the bird which carolled in the
morn, and departed upon its slanting ray. But her virtues survive in a
brighter sphere; her beauty is stamped with immortality; her hand
strikes a harp that will pour its melodies when the groves and streams
of earth are silent.


MONDAY, NOV. 16. A Delaware Indian, quite out of breath, entered Col.
Fremont’s camp this morning with the intelligence that an irregular
engagement took place last evening between a party of forty Americans,
and a hundred and fifty Californians, on the Salinas river, about
fifteen miles from Monterey. The Americans were coming down from San
Juan, and had with them three hundred fresh horses which they had
brought from the Sacramento. The intelligence of their approach had
reached the Californians, who had mustered all their force in this
quarter, more for the purpose of capturing the horses than their riders.
But the Americans, who were sixty strong, anticipating the possibility
of an attack in crossing the river, left their horses, except those they
rode, in the rear with twenty of their number, while forty came ahead to
engage the Californians. They were surprised at their numbers, but
rushed at once into the encounter. Capt. Foster was killed in the first
charge, and Capt. Burrows, who was wounded in the first, fell in leading
the second. Two American privates were killed, and a number of
Californians. The encounter took place near sunset, and the Americans
remained in possession of the ground.

The Delaware Indian, when the firing had slackened, left the field to
bring the intelligence to Col. Fremont; but having to turn the enemy’s
line, he was attacked by three Californians—one of whom he shot with his
rifle, another he killed with his tomahawk, and the third fled. His
horse broke down before he got in, and he ran the rest of the way on
foot. He reports that Thomas O. Larkin, Esq., the American consul, had
been captured the night before, while at a rancho between this and San
Juan. He had left Monterey to visit a sick child at San Francisco, and
stopped for the night, when he was suddenly pounced upon: nor wife nor
child will in any probability see him soon again. He will be closely
guarded; his life will be considered good for that of several prominent
Californian officers who have broken their parol; and not unlikely some
half-dozen may, in the event of disaster, be redeemed through his
liberation.


TUESDAY, NOV. 17. Col. Fremont, with his three hundred riflemen, took
his departure from Monterey this morning. They presented a very
formidable line as they wound around the bay and disappeared in the
shadows of the hills.

                   Spur on my men; the bugle peals
                     Its last and stern command,—
                   A charge! a charge!—an ocean burst
                     Upon a stormy strand.

The artillery is under the command of Capt. McLain, an officer of much
private worth and professional merit. He has at present two beautiful
brass-pieces, well mounted, and will have two more of the same
description on leaving San Juan. With these he will be able to do good
execution. Nothing alarms the Californians so much as a piece of
flying-artillery. They had rather see the very Evil One come scraggling
over the hills.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 18. The horses which the Californians were endeavoring
to reach in their rencounter on the river, were all preserved. Their
loss would have been irretrievable in this campaign. The twenty men with
whom they were left, declared they would perish to a man sooner than
give them up. Rash as this resolution may seem, it would, had the
emergency occurred, have been terribly realized. The American engaged in
this war puts his life on the die. He must prevail or perish. If there
shall be a general engagement between the forces now in the field, it
will be one of the most frightful on record. The Americans are
outnumbered three to one,—still they are determined to hazard the issue;
and would, probably, were the odds much greater. As horsemen, the
Californians excel them; but they are greatly their superiors in the use
of the rifle and in maneuvering artillery. And these, after all, are the
weapons and engines that must decide a hot engagement. Neither party has
any veteran cuirassiers to hew their way to triumph through the cloven
crests of the foe. The most terrific encounters on the field of Waterloo
were between those who wielded the glaive. With them, at least,

           “An earthquake might have passed unheededly away.”


THURSDAY, NOV. 19. How strangely the lights and shadows of life are
blended! As I passed this evening the house of Capt. de la T——, a light
strain of music came floating out from the corridor upon the silent air.
It was the daughter of the captain whose hand swept the guitar which
accompanied the modulations of her melodious voice. Her father and her
uncle are both in the ranks of the Californians, leading a forlorn hope,
after having broken their parol of honor, and forfeited their lives. And
yet she is gay as if her father were only out hunting the gazelle. Just
list the numbers as they break from her thoughtless heart:—

                Fly not yet, ’tis just the hour
                When pleasure, like the midnight flower,
                That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
                Begins to bloom for sons of night,
                  And maids who love the moon!

And yet that moon before it wanes may gleam upon her father’s grave. But
she knows it not. She thinks this war will end as other Californian
wars—in smoke. But it is a tempest-cloud charged with bolted thunder.


FRIDAY, NOV. 20. A German complained to me this morning that one of the
volunteers, a countryman of his, under Col. Fremont, had stolen from him
a pair of valuable pistols. He strongly suspected the person who had
taken them. I sent for him; he confessed the act, delivered up the
pistols, and begged me, as this was his first offence, not to expose
him. He was a youth of eighteen or so, slightly built, and with a fair
and remarkably ingenuous countenance. I told him he must take heed, as
one offence often paves the way to another; but as he was in the
campaign, and might soon be on the field of peril and death, his error
should rest in silence with his own conscience. The tears stood in his
eyes.


SATURDAY, NOV. 21. Capt. Foster, it appears, was not shot in the heat of
the engagement on the river. He had rushed forward in advance to
reconnoiter, and was suddenly surrounded from an ambush, and fell,
bravely fighting to the last. A Delaware Indian, who was hastening to
his rescue, finding himself hotpressed, jumped from his horse behind a
tree, from which he shot three of his antagonists, and then effected his
escape. His living breastwork now shows in its scathed rind, how well it
served him. It looks as if the auger-worm had bored there for an age.

There is something about a tree, with an Indian behind it, armed with a
rifle, pointing this way and that, which awkwardly tests a man’s nerves.
You seem to be shooting at the muzzle of his rifle instead of him; and
that is not the worst of it, he is all the while shooting at you. If
partial concealment lends a charm to beauty, it also lends terror to an
Indian. We think of the brake as much as the serpent coiled in its
shadows. Were lightning to fall without thunder, people would put
conductors on their bean-poles; and yet the blazing bolt strikes and
shivers while the lagging thunder is yet unheard.


SUNDAY, NOV. 22. As soon as it will be prudent to withdraw our men from
their posts on the Sabbath, I intend to propose a religious service. We
shall soon be able to gather fifty or more. Every house here has a
ball-room where the gay may dance, and a Madonna to whom the afflicted
may kneel; but none have a chapel; and if they had, the forms of
Protestant worship would be held a profanation. There is only one way to
get to heaven here, and that is through the absolving power of the Papal
See. Every other path leads to purgatorial pangs and penal fire.


MONDAY, NOV. 23. It is said the Californians are born on horseback; it
may also be said they are married on horseback. The day the marriage
contract is agreed on between the parties, the bridegroom’s first care
is to buy or borrow the best horse to be found in his vicinity. At the
same time he has to get, by one of these means, a silver-mounted bridle,
and a saddle with embroidered housings. This saddle must have, also, at
its stern, a bridal pillion, with broad aprons flowing down the flanks
of the horse. These aprons are also embroidered with silk of different
colors, and with gold and silver thread. Around the margin runs a string
of little steel plates, alternated with slight pendants of the same
metal. These, as the horse moves, jingle like a thousand mimic bells.

The bride, also, comes in for her share in these nuptial preparations.
The bridegroom must present her with at least six entire changes of
raiment, nor forget, through any sentiment of delicacy, even the
chemise. Such an oversight might frustrate all his hopes; as it would be
construed into a personal indifference,—the last kind of indifference
which a California lady will forgive. He therefore hunts this article
with as much solicitude as the Peri the gift that was to unlock
Paradise. Having found six which are neither too full nor too slender,
he packs them in rose-leaves which seem to flutter like his own heart,
and sends them to the lady as his last bridal present. She might
naturally expect him to come next.

The wedding-day having arrived, the two fine horses, procured for the
occasion, are led to the door, saddled, bridled, and pillioned. The
bridegroom takes up before him the godmother, and the godfather the
bride, and thus they gallop away to church. The priest, in his richest
robes, receives them at the altar, where they kneel, partake of the
sacrament, and are married. This over, they start on their return,—but
now the gentlemen change partners. The bridegroom, still on the pillion,
takes up before him his bride. With his right arm he steadies her on the
saddle, and in his left hand holds the reins. They return to the house
of the parents of the bride, where they are generally received with a
discharge of musketry. Two persons, stationed at some convenient place,
now rush out and seize him by his legs, and, before he has time to
dismount, deprive him of his spurs, which he is obliged to redeem with a
bottle of brandy.

The married couple then enter the house, where the near relatives are
all waiting in tears to receive them. They kneel down before the parents
of the lady, and crave a blessing, which is bestowed with patriarchal
solemnity. On rising, the bridegroom makes a signal for the guests to
come in, and another for the guitar and harp to strike up. Then
commences the dancing, which continues often for three days, with only
brief intervals for refreshment, but none for slumber: the wedded pair
must be on their feet; their dilemma furnishes food for good-humored
gibes and merriment. Thus commences married life in California. This
stream, it is to be hoped, is much smoother than its fount.


TUESDAY, NOV. 24. Monterey has been for the last two days remarkably
quiet. The excitement occasioned by the battle on the Salinas has sunk
into a dead calm. They who fell have received Christian burial; and they
who survived have departed, some to find graves elsewhere. The great
tragedy of life here is so filled with incident that it requires no
stage effect. It is the visionary sword which eluded the grasp of
Macbeth, turned into flashing steel.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 25. A Californian in trouble, often disregards the
suggestions of national pride and personal resentment, and seeks succor
where it can best be had. One of them who had been dangerously wounded
in the late engagement, came into Monterey this morning, and applied to
our surgeon to have the ball extracted from his hip. He seemed to think
that as he had been disabled by one American, it was only right and
proper he should be restored by another. He will then probably be off to
fight us again. Nor does this in him argue a want of gratitude. He seeks
the field to encounter his foes, much on the same principle that you do
the wood to hunt wild game. You level your rifle at the hawk, not
because he has injured you, but partly to exercise your skill, and
partly because he is a saucy fellow, screeching about and frightening
the other birds. I never yet saw the little king-bird chase a hawk, or
the sword-fish pursue a whale, without a sentiment of delight. Neither
have harmed me; but I hate all tyrants, whether they are on wings, fins,
or legs.


THURSDAY, NOV. 26. Some of the shopkeepers here have been so long in the
habit of smuggling under the former high rate of duties, that now they
hardly know how to give up the trick, though there is very little motive
for pursuing it. I caught a Frenchman to-day endeavoring to evade the
municipal duty on rum. He had a hundred subterfuges, and flew from one
to another, like a frightened catbird in the bush. His words fell so
thick and fast that they quite covered up his falsehoods; the leaves of
a wind-shaken tree in autumn conceal the nuts which fall with them to
the ground. It is idle to expect honesty in a man who resorts to it only
in the failure of his craft and cunning. His integrity is like the
religion of some sailors—breaking out in shipwreck.




                              CHAPTER VII.

  SAN JOSÉ GARRISONED.—A CALIFORNIA RAIN.—ESCAPE OF CONVICTS.—SHOOTING
    EDWARDS.—TWO WASHERWOMEN.—DEATH OF MR. SARGENT.—INDIAN HENS.—HUNTING
    CURLEW.—THE CALIFORNIA HORSE.—AN OLD EMIGRANT.—THE GRIZZLY BEAR.

FRIDAY, NOV. 27. The prize brig Julia, Lieut. Selden commanding, arrived
here to-day from San Francisco. She left there the Savannah and Warren.
Fifty of the Savannah’s men had been sent by Capt. Mervin to San José,
under command of Lieut. Pinkney, where they will form a military post,
of sufficient strength, it is believed, to repel any hostile attacks,
and maintain the flag. The northern half of California is now pretty
safe; the ranchos may suffer from marauding parties of the enemy, and
some acts of violence be committed, but no important post can be
wrenched from our possession. In the south we hold San Diego, and have
an enemy in the field at los Angeles. They will probably break covert at
two or three different points; some will fly for Mexico, and some for
the sheltered coves of the San Joaquin. Let those catch them who can; I
would as soon track a chamois among the clefts and pinnacles of the
Alps.


SATURDAY, NOV. 28. It is now near the close of that month which in other
climes is often one of the most unpleasant in the year; but here it has
been one of unrivalled brilliancy. The sky has been almost without a
cloud, the winds have slept, and the soft air has lain on the landscape
like a golden slumber. Such is the tranquil beauty in which the vernal
year here sinks to repose.

               “Ah! ’twere a lot too bless’d,
           Forever in thy color’d shades to stray;
           Amid the kisses of the soft southwest
               To rove and dream for aye;

               And leave the vain low strife
           That makes men mad; the tug for wealth and power,
           The passions and the cares that wither life,
               And waste its little hour.”
                                                     BRYANT.


SUNDAY, NOV. 29. Two Californians called upon me to-day, to decide a
difficulty which had arisen between them in some money transactions. I
told them to call on some week-day—that I attended to no business
matters on the Sabbath. They apologized for interfering with my
_recreations_; I told them I had no recreations to be disturbed, but I
would not open my office for business on the Sabbath. Had I told them I
was going to a cock-fight, their only wonder would have been that they
had not heard of the sport; and both would have forgotten their business
in hunting their cash for the ring. Such is the moral obtuseness which a
perversion of the Sabbath induces. The heart on which the dews of this
sacred morn have never melted, will be desolate of moral verdure; though
here and there a leaf may spring like flowers in the cleft of a rock.


MONDAY, NOV. 30. We have had at last a true specimen of California
showers. The wind blew a gale from the south. Cloud on cloud was piled
into the zenith, till the whole dome of heaven was filled with
substantial darkness. The earth lay in an eclipse. A few heavy rolls of
thunder, and the rain fell in torrents; it lasted twelve hours. Every
roof and frowning cliff became a cascade. Down each ravine rolled an
exulting tide. The aquatic bird dashed onward in its foam to the sea.
Suddenly the wind veered into the west, and in a few moments the sky was
without a cloud. Field and forest flashed out in the splendors of the
sun; and on the soft wind came gushes of music from the wild-wood.
Instead of bleak November, you would have said:

          “Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May;
                The tresses of the woods
          With the light dallying of the west wind play
                And the full briming floods,
              As gladly to their goal they run,
              Hail the returning sun.”
                                                    PERCIVAL.


TUESDAY, DEC. 1. I was startled from my slumbers last night by the
report of a musket under my window; and, seizing my rifle, rushed to the
door but could perceive no one near, and only heard, in the darkness,
the sound of retreating footsteps. The mystery was soon explained: the
convicts had escaped from prison, and the sentry, posted near my
residence, had fired upon them as they rushed past. Several of the guard
went immediately in pursuit, and succeeded in apprehending two; but
seven others, favored by the darkness and storm of the night, had
cleared the town.

It appeared, on investigation, that the sentry, posted at the prison,
had stolen the keys from the guardroom, where they were kept, unlocked
the outer and inner doors, and then run himself with the convicts.
Another sentry, by a preconcerted plan, had also joined them. Only one
prisoner remained in the apartment which had been unlocked. When asked
by me why _he_ did not run, he said he would not be seen running from
Tophet in such company. This was the funny fellow who stole the money.
One of those who escaped, was a great overgrown Californian—a monstrous
mass of flesh and bone. He had been shot in the leg in a previous fray,
and always affected the cripple, hobbling about on huge crutches, which
fairly bent under him. But last night, when his pursuers were close on
his trail, he bounded forward like a rabbit. Crutches, and all occasion
for them, had been left behind. You would have thought some shape of air
were flitting before you, but for the heavy puffs which heaved, at brief
intervals, from his laboring trunk. An innocent man escaping from
violence has often a hard time of it, but a felon escaping from justice
much harder; his guilty conscience will long keep the pursuer at his
heels.


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 2. A party, well mounted and armed, started this morning
in pursuit of the convicts. They overtook one of them and the two
sentries about twenty miles distant. The sentries still had their arms,
which they surrendered, and delivered themselves up without resistance.
The convict was shot down through the impetuosity of one of the party.
There is a degree of ferocity in shooting down an unarmed man at which
humanity revolts. We can hardly find an apology for it, even in the
brutal instincts of the savage. The fate of the two sentries concerned
in liberating the prisoners whom they were posted to guard, is
uncertain. If tried by a court-martial, their sentence will be death; if
delivered over to the civil authority, they will be sentenced to the
public works for a long term of years.


THURSDAY, DEC. 3. The convict Edwards, found with the two sentries, and
who had been shot after he had surrendered, was left in a dying
condition on the public road. My constable left this morning to find
him, but was unable to cross the Salinas river on account of the
freshet, and its extreme rapidity. His horse got frightened and refused
to swim him over. He fastened him on this side, and, divesting himself
of his hat, shoes, and coat, plunged in; but the current after sweeping
him down a mile or more, landed him on the same side from which he had
started.

He is a man of great humanity as well as courage and resolution, and it
was not with his consent that Edwards was left at night-fall, wounded
and dying, exposed to a pitiless storm, and to be devoured by wild
beasts. It was inhuman to leave him in this condition, when he might
have been brought in, or taken to some house in the neighborhood. Those
in fault, now that the wrong has been done, and is irretrievable, would
gladly veil it from the public eye. There is a tongue in cruelty, which
those who inflict it can never silence. It will speak out and awaken
pangs in the most callous conscience. If we have no mercy on others, how
can we expect it for ourselves in that day when we most need it?

                    “Teach me to feel another’s woe,
                      To hide the faults I see;
                    The mercy I to others show,
                      That mercy show to me.”


FRIDAY, DEC. 4. The moment a child is born on a farm in California, and
the nurse has had time to dress it, it is given to a man on horseback,
who, with its future godfather and godmother, ride post-haste with it to
some mission, and present it to a priest for baptism. This ceremony
concluded, the party, full of glee, start on their return; and the
little new-comer may now, perhaps, rest a week or two before he starts
on another excursion; but after that, hardly a day will elapse without
his being on horseback. He literally rides from his cradle to his grave.
Thus, by the time a boy is ten or twelve years of age, he becomes an
expert rider, is devoted to the saddle, and looks upon pedestrial motion
as a contemptible way of getting through the world. He would sooner
travel a hundred miles on horseback than ten on foot, and connect less
fatigue and hardship with the result. Most of his labors, too, are on
the saddle. He has a farm of twenty or thirty miles to ride over; vast
wheat-fields to survey, and, perhaps, ten thousand head of cattle to
keep from straying. He would have but little time for repose if he went
by steam.


SATURDAY, DEC. 5. Of all the women I have had to deal with here the
washerwomen are the most unmanageable. Two of them entered my office
to-day as full of fight as the feline antagonists of Kilkenny. It seems
they had been out washing in one of the little pools created by the
recent showers, when one had taken that part of the margin previously
occupied by the other. War offensive and defensive immediately
commenced. One drew a knife, which had a blade two mortal inches in
length, and the other a sharp ivory bodkin. But what their weapons
wanted in terror and strength their ungentle anger supplied.

At last one cried out, “the alcalde;” the other echoed it, and so they
both rushed down to the office to have their difficulties settled. Both
of course commenced talking at the same time; and their stories ran
together like two conflicting rivulets forced into the same channel.
There was plenty of tumult and bubble. When these had a little subsided,
I began cautiously to angle for the truth—a difficult trout to catch in
such waters. But one darter after another was captured, till I had
enough to form some opinion of those that had escaped. These we
discussed till bitter feeling, like biting hunger, became appeased. The
rest was very easily settled. Both went away declaring either margin of
the pool good enough, and each urging on the other the first choice.

               How gentle is forgiveness! and how sweet
               To feel the severed heart flow back again
               To one we loved, estranged by hasty words!


SUNDAY, DEC. 6. Mr. Sargent, who came out in the Congress in the
capacity of clerk to the purser, and who had been left here several
weeks since for the restoration of his mind and health, was missed from
his quarters on Tuesday last. He has been laboring for some time under
mental aberrations which wear a reasoning show, and which alarm only the
close observer. His amiable disposition and exemplary life exempted him
from all reproach, and have excited a general sympathy and concern for
his uncertain fate. He was last seen winding his way through the forest
which skirts Monterey, towards a ledge of rocks which overhangs the
boiling surf of the bay. I have traversed the beach for miles, and
watched each swell as it rolled in, to see if it bore on its crest aught
like a human form. But nothing came to the shore or eddied in the surge,
to resolve mystery and give a painful certainty to doubt. The sea itself
is an awful mystery, and becomes doubly so when the fate of one we loved
is locked in the tongueless silence of its unfathomed depths.

                 The waves tell not the fate of those
                 On whom their hasty waters close;
                 But deeper still their secrets spread,
                 That travel with their drifting dead.


MONDAY, DEC. 7. The simplest article for the table is often beyond the
reach of your money here. I have found it so difficult to procure a few
eggs, when required, that I have at last gone to keeping hens. I
purchased six of an Indian woman for six dollars, and a rooster for
fifty cents. On asking the woman why she charged only half price for the
rooster, she replied that the fellow laid no eggs, and as for his
crowing that did nobody any good. Sounder reasons than these could not
be furnished in a much higher place than a hencoop. The habits of these
hens are a little singular. They are perfectly tame, and are as much at
home in the kitchen as the cook. They never trouble themselves much
about a nest, but deposite their eggs where they find it most
convenient; one takes the tea-tray, another the ironing-table, a third
the oven, and there is one that always gets into the cradle. She is not
at all disturbed by the tossing of the little fellow on whose premises
she is obtruding. Neither she nor any of her feathered sisters cackle
when they leave the nest. They don’t seem to think that any thing worth
making an ado about has come to pass. The rooster, it is true, perks up
a little, and perhaps feels a feather taller. But this is the vanity of
his sex. There are a great many who crow over what others have done.


TUESDAY, DEC. 8. The banditti, that have hovered for some weeks past in
the vicinity of Monterey, have made it unsafe to venture out on our
hunting excursions, unless in sufficient numbers to repel an attack. But
last evening, the want of exercise, and of something to relieve the
endless monotony of beef on the table, induced me forth. I took my boy,
and put into his hands one of Colt’s revolving rifles, and took myself
the fowling-piece. We had hardly got a mile from town, when two horsemen
broke from the covert of the woods, and dashed down in our direction. I
had but little more than time to exchange pieces with my boy, when they
were within rifle shot. Their garb showed them to be Californians. My
heart beat a great deal louder than usual. But they suddenly wheeled,
and soon disappeared behind one of the hills which look out on the bay.
They had no arms, except pistols at the saddle-bow. Whether they had
hostile intentions, I know not: their movements had very much that
appearance; and I must say I never before experienced so fully those
feelings men describe in going into battle. They are not fear so much as
an intensity of excitement, which seems as if it would suffocate life:
it is dispelled with the first gun. I had once occasion to repel an
exasperated Spaniard with a pistol, and though I had anticipated his
attack, was prepared for it, and believed that the aim of the pistol
would make him sheath his knife; still there was for a moment an
intensity of feeling that would, if prolonged, destroy one. We continued
our hunting, but changed our ground to the vicinity of the sea, and
brought home a dozen curlew, which almost rival in flavor the
canvas-back duck.


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 9. The horses of California are of a hardy nature; and
it is well for them that they are, considering the inhuman manner in
which they are generally treated by the natives. If a man wants to ride
forty or fifty miles from his residence, he mounts his horse, and spurs
off upon the gallop. On arriving at the place of his destination, he
ties him to a post, where he stands two or three days, waiting for his
master. During this time he is not once fed, and is quite fortunate if
he gets a swallow of water. At last, his rider comes, mounts him, and he
takes him back again at the same free and easy gait with which he first
started. This, of course, is confined to the summer season, when the
grass has the most substance and nutriment: still it is almost
incredible. Besides the weight of his heavy rider, the horse generally
carries fifty or sixty pounds in the gear of his saddle, and double this
in a soaking rain. It requires two large tanned ox hides to fit out a
Californian saddle; then add to this, the wooden stirrups, three inches
thick, the saddle-tree, with its stout iron rings and buckles, a pair of
goat-skins across the pommel, holsters and pistols, and spurs at the
heels of the rider, weighing from four to six pounds, and we have some
idea of what a Californian horse has to carry. Still he is cheerful and
spirited, and never flags till nature sinks with exhaustion. A man who
can abuse such an animal, ought to be bitted and saddled himself.


THURSDAY, DEC. 10. The old as well as the young are coming over the
mountains. I had an emigrant to dine with me to-day, who has recently
arrived, and who is seventy-six years of age. His locks are as free of
gray hairs as those of a child, and his eye still flashes with the fires
of youth. He is among the volunteers, and you may see him every day on a
spirited horse, with a rifle at his saddle-bow. He has four sons with
Col. Fremont. They enlisted before they had time to unpack their
saddles, and have with them the remnants of the biscuit and cheese which
they brought from the United States. I asked the old man what could
induce him at his age to come to California. He said his children were
coming, and so he determined to come too. I asked him if he had no
compunction in taking up arms against the inhabitants the moment of his
arrival. He said he had Scripture example for it. The Israelites took
the promised land of the East by arms, and the Americans must take the
promised land of the West in the same way. I told him that would do, if
he could show the same high commission. But I find this kind of parallel
running in the imagination of all the emigrants. They seem to look upon
this beautiful land as their own Canaan, and the motley race around them
as the Hittites, the Hivites, and Jebusites, whom they are to drive out.
But they have gone at it with other weapons than ram’s horns, except as
powder-flasks.


FRIDAY, DEC. 11. The grizzly bear is the most formidable and ferocious
animal in California; and yet, with all this ferocity of disposition,
rarely attacks a man unless surprised or molested. The fellow never lies
in wait for his victim. If the hunter invades his retreat or disputes
his path he will fight, but otherwise contents himself with the immunity
which he finds in the wildness of his home and the savage grandeur of
his nature. It is never safe to attack him with one rifle; for if you
fail to hit him in a vital part, he is on you in the twinkling of an
eye. Your only possibility of escape is up a near tree, too slender for
his giant grasp; and then there is something extremely awkward in being
on the top of a tree with such a savage monster at its root. How long he
will remain there you cannot tell; it may be a day, and it may be a
week. Your antagonist is too shrewd to hand you up your rifle, or let
you come down to get it. You are his prisoner, more safely lodged than
in a dungeon, and he will set you at liberty when it suits him. He
sleeps not himself at his post; day and night his great flashing eyes
are fastened upon you. The lyre of Orpheus may have lulled to sleep the
sentinel of Hades, but its magic tones have never charmed to slumber the
sentinel of the California forest.

The full-grown California bear measures from eight to ten feet in
length, and four or five in girth. His strength is tremendous, his
embrace death. Had the priest of Apollo fallen into his folds, he would
have perished without any of those protracted agonies which the
sympathetic muse has wailed round the world. Nature has thrown over him
a coat of mail, soft indeed, but impervious to the storm and the arrow
of the Indian. The fur, which is of a dark brown color, is nearly a span
long, and when the animal is enraged each particular hair stands on end.
His food in the summer is chiefly berries, but he will now and then, on
some of his feast days, slaughter a bullock. In winter he lives on
acorns, which abound in these forests. He is an excellent climber, and
will ascend a large oak with the rapidity of a tar up the shrouds of his
ship. In procuring his acorns, when on the tree, he does not manifest
his usual cunning. Instead of threshing them down like the Indian, he
selects a well-stocked limb, throws himself upon its extremity, and
there hangs swinging and jerking till the limb gives way, and down they
come, branch, acorns, and bear together. On these acorns he becomes
extremely fat, yielding ten or fifteen gallons of oil, which is said to
be sufficiently pungent and nutritive as a tonic to tuft a statue’s
marble head.

The she bear has one peculiarity that must puzzle even the philosophical
inquirer. As soon as she discovers herself with young, she ceases to
roam the forest, and modestly retires from the presence of others, to
some secluded grotto. There she remains, while her male companion, with
a consideration that does honor to his sex, brings her food. She
reappears at length with her twin cubs, and woe to the luckless wight
who should attempt to injure or molest them. They are guarded by an
affection and ferocity with which it would be madness to trifle. For
them she hunts the berries, and dislodges the acorns. Her maternal care
is a beautiful trait in her savage nature, and

             “Shines like a good deed in a naughty world.”

[Illustration: Burt, sc.]




                             CHAPTER VIII.

  LITTLE ADELAIDA.—COL. FREMONT’S BATTALION.—SANTIAGO IN
    LOVE.—SENTIMENTS OF AN OLD CALIFORNIAN.—THE PRIZE
    JULIA.—FANDANGO.—WINTER CLIMATE.—PATRON SAINT OF CALIFORNIA.—HABITS
    OF THE NATIVES.—INSURRECTION IN THE NORTH.—DRAMA IN A
    CHURCH.—POSITION OF COM. STOCKTON.

SATURDAY, DEC. 12. Our paper, the only one published in California, made
its hebdomadal appearance again to-day. It is a little fellow, but is
half filled or more with original matter. A paper is much like an
infant; the smaller it is, the more anxious the attentions which it
requires. My partner promised to stick by me, but has been the greater
part of the time since its commencement on the bay of San Francisco. He
went there to locate a city, but if rumor speaks truly, has gone off in
quest of his Aphrodite before he builds her shrine. I suppose he thinks
there is but little use in a cage without a bird, but there is still
less in a bird without a cage. Birds, however, always pair before they
rear their nests. So that my partner is after all in nature’s great
line, however wide it may run from the columns of the Californian.


SUNDAY, DEC. 13. I miss very much the light step and laughing eye of my
little friend Adelaida, the infant daughter of our consul, Mr. Larkin.
She was a sweet child, and beguiled with her gladness, many a moment
that had else passed less lightly. But a change came over her
brightness, an eclipse whose shadow passes not. We watched its dim veil,
and idly dreamed it might still pass, when its faint, inwoven light was
lost in spreading darkness. She passed away like a bird from its clouded
bower; and though her flight lay over dark waters, she now sings in the
purple land of the blest. There no shadows fall, and death has no
trophies. One eternal spring, with its sparkling founts and fragrant
blossoms, reigns through the vernal year. The soft airs as they stir,
wake the strings of invisible lyres; and the tender leaves whisper in
music. There walk the pure; there survive the meek who wept with us
here. They wait to welcome our flight to their joys and sinless repose.
O that I had wings like the dove that I might fly away and be at rest!


MONDAY, DEC. 14. It is now two weeks since Col. Fremont broke up his
encampment in the vicinity of San Juan, and commenced his march south.
His progress has been retarded by a succession of heavy rains, and it is
feared that some of the rivers which he must cross, swollen by torrents
from the mountains, have been rendered impassable. His horses may
perhaps swim them, but his artillery and ammunition must be floated over
on rafts. The construction of these, especially where the material is
not at hand, will occasion long and impatient detentions. The condition
of the roads, soaked as they are with rain, will still further delay his
progress; still, with all these drawbacks, we believe he will reach his
destination.

He moves upon no idle or vague object. The great body of the
Californians now in arms are at the capital of the southern department,
waiting his hostile arrival. They intend to give him battle, and redeem,
if possible, some of the laurels which they lost in their precipitate
retreat before Com. Stockton. Their forces outnumber his two or three to
one; they excel them as horsemen, but fall far short of them in the
dexterous use of the rifle. They want that coolness, deliberation,
self-reliance, and resolute firmness which appertain to the character of
the Americans. We wait the issue of the encounter with a profound
interest. Com. Stockton may, perhaps, march from San Pedro and capture
los Angeles, as he has done once before; but with the country around in
the possession of the enemy, and the cattle driven off upon distant
plains, and the wheat and flour removed into the gorges of the
mountains, he could not subsist his forces. So at least it would seem;
but we shall see. It was the prospect of famine that drove Napoleon from
Moscow.


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 16. An old Californian, much respected for his
intelligence and patriotic virtues, sent, a few days since, a
communication to our paper, written in good, vigorous Castilian, and
which will find an echo in the heart of all the considerate portion of
the community. He opens his article in these words:—

“The political aspirants in California have inflicted upon her since
1836, only a continued succession of evils. They have seized all the
national property and all the missions, as though they were their own
patrimony. These riches they have distributed with a prodigal hand among
their satellites; a multitude of officers were created, for whom there
was no employment; and military grades established more abundantly than
in Paraguay, though with this difference in the result. Doctor Francia,
when he died, left eight millions of dollars in the public coffers;
while the military chieftains in this country, at the close of their
brief career, have left the country overwhelmed in debt. And now, to
gratify their infatuated ambition, and secure further plunder, have
again hoisted the Mexican flag, which they have long hated and cursed.
The rash step taken by these men at the town of the Angeles has only
compromised their brethren, and ruined many families. The wealth of this
country consists in cattle and agriculture; to maintain the one and
carry on the other, horses are indispensable; but these frantic men have
driven off the horses and cattle to meet the exigencies of war. They
have given their afflicted country her death-stroke, merely because they
are not permitted to retain those offices which they are not capable of
filling. And such outrageous ambition is called by them, love of
country! If there ever existed a spark of patriotism in their hearts,
they would never have attempted the slightest revolutionary act. They
would have seen and felt that it could end only in general disaster and
ruin.”

Thus writes an old Californian, with the frosts of seventy winters on
his head. He understands the condition of this country, and the
character of her military chieftains, and has the moral courage to tell
the world what he thinks.


THURSDAY, DEC. 17. The United States brig Julia, a prize to the Cyane,
left our harbor this morning for the southern coast. She is a beautiful
vessel, rides the water like a duck, and sails with the speed of the
wind. Her masts rake to an angle that might almost startle a Baltimore
clipper. She is commanded by Lieut. Selden, an officer to whose
professional attainments she may be safely confided. She goes south to
communicate with Col. Fremont at the Rincon, a narrow pass below Santa
Barbara. The colonel’s route will lead him through this pass, which lies
hemmed in between the bluff of a mountain range and the dashing surge of
the sea. A small force can defend it against immense odds. Its
advantages are well known to the Californians. They have often in their
previous revolutions made a stand here, though they have never made it
quite a Thermopylæ. Should they post themselves in this pass, the
well-trained gun of the Julia may dislodge them, or, at least, act in
concert with Col. Fremont on his arrival. A man wants the eyes of Argus
in this California war.


FRIDAY, DEC. 18. The ladies of Monterey have so many relatives, near and
remote, involved in the issue of the war, that they have had but little
heart for their customary amusements. But time, which assuages grief,
has slowly quelled a sense of peril, and they are gradually coming back
into their more gay and social element. The lively tones of their
guitars salute you from their corridors, and often the fandango shakes
its light slipper in the saloon. It has been customary here for a person
giving a dance to apply to the alcalde for a permit, which was never
refused, and, which always brought to the purse of this functionary
three dollars in the shape of a fee. A similar application was made to
me a few days since. To grant it would be to sanction the fandango; to
refuse it would be an arbitrary exercise of power. Tack which way I
would, I must run on a rock, so I determined not to tack at all, and
told the applicant I had nothing to do with his fiddles, fandangoes, or
fees, so long as the public peace was not disturbed.


SATURDAY, DEC. 19. The season is now verging towards mid-winter, and we
have not yet experienced the first wrinkling frost. The hills and
valleys, since the recent rains, are mantled with fresh verdure, and
here and there the violet opens its purple eye to the sun. The children
are out at play, as in June; their glancing feet are unshod, and their
muslin slips but half conceal their pulsing limbs. Even the old men,
from whom the ethereal fires have escaped, are abroad in the same
garments which covered them in midsummer. Such is the climate of a
California winter, or, at least, its interludes, and these will continue
to visit us like sunbows between the showering clouds.


MONDAY, DEC. 21. The house of the humbler Californian has often but one
apartment, and is without fireplace or floor. Here a family of ten or
fifteen tumble in and sleep on the ground. If they have guests, which is
often the case, they turn in among the rest. The thicker they lie, of
course, the less covering they need. The walls of this promiscuous
dormitory are formed of rough piles, driven in the ground, just
sufficiently to support a roof that is thatched with flag. Through the
chinked piles the night-wind whistles in gusty glee; through the roof
the star-light falls in broken flakes. The shower-cloud often pauses
over it, and, as if in wanton mischief, empties its floating cistern.
But little heed the sleepers these freaks of the elements: they have
been familiar with them from their birth. The only beings that seem at
all disturbed are the fleas; but they still manage to dodge the
shower-drops and secure their nocturnal repast. Those on whom they
commit their depredations spring no rattle, raise no cry of alarm. The
thief is there, but they know it not. Habit has exempted them from even
a perception of their wrongs. Happy flea of California!

               When night-birds fill with waking numbers
                 The star-lit pauses in the storm,
               He deftly springs where Beauty slumbers,
                 And feasts on her seraphic form.

               She little knows who shares her pallet,
                 Has heard no lover lift the latch,
               And, waking, only hears the ballet
                 Danced by rain-drops on her thatch.

               Were all our ills which others tell us,
                 And all that darken fancy’s dream,
               Confined to those we knew befell us,
                 How few our real woes would seem.


TUESDAY, DEC. 22. A courier arrived last evening from the north, with
the startling intelligence that forty or fifty mounted Californians had
sallied from the hills in the vicinity of San Francisco, and captured
several Americans; among them Mr. Bartlett, chief magistrate of that
jurisdiction. Capt. Weber, as soon as the news reached him on his
station at San José, started with fifty mounted volunteers in pursuit;
and fifty more have left Monterey this morning under the command of
Capt. Maddox. One party is to come down upon them from the north, and
the other is to cut off their retreat to the south. The plan is well
laid, and we shall know in a few days if it has been executed with any
decisive results.


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 23. It becomes us to keep a pretty sharp look-out here,
or another hostile party may take advantage of the absence of the forces
under Capt. Maddox, and pay us a flying visit. No one here can tell when
these visits are to be expected; when you feel most secure, they are,
perhaps, nearest the door. In all other lands, war bears on its front
such a flaring banner that you see its terrific insignia long before you
feel its presence; but here, it comes like the descent of the eagle from
his mountain eyrie—you hear not his pinions till they beat the air in
his reascending: you look for the milk-white lamb that frolicked in your
flock, and it is gone. Peril here, like death, borrows half its terrors
from the secrecy in which it wraps its footsteps.


THURSDAY, DEC. 24. As soon as the sun had gone down, and twilight had
spread its sable shadows over the hills and habitations of Monterey, the
festivities of Christmas Eve commenced. The bells rang out a merry
chime; the windows were filled with streaming light; bonfires on plain
and steep sent up their pyramids of flame; and the sky-rocket burst high
over all in showering fire. Children shouted; the young were filled with
smiles and gladness; and the aged looked as if some dark cloud had been
lifted from the world.

While the bonfires still blazed high, the crowd moved towards the
church; the ample nave was soon filled. Before the high altar bent the
Virgin Mother, in wonder and love, over her new-born babe; a company of
shepherds entered in flowing robes, with high wands garnished with
silken streamers, in which floated all the colors of the rainbow, and
surmounted with coronals of flowers. In their wake followed a hermit,
with his long white beard, tattered missal, and his sin-chastising lash.
Near him figured a wild hunter, in the skins of the forest, bearing a
huge truncheon, surmounted by an iron rim, from which hung in jingling
chime fragments of all sonorous metals. Then came, last of all, the Evil
One, with horned frontlet, disguised hoof, and robe of crimson flame.
The shepherds were led on by the angel Gabriel, in purple wings and
garments of light. They approached the manger, and, kneeling, hymned
their wonder and worship in a sweet chant, which was sustained by the
rich tones of exulting harps. The hermit and hunter were not among them;
they had been beguiled by the Tempter, and were lingering at a game of
dice. The hermit seemed to suspect that all was not right, and read his
missal vehemently in the pauses of the game; but the hunter was troubled
by none of these scruples, staked his soul, and lost! Emboldened by his
success, the Tempter shoved himself among the shepherds; but here he
encountered Gabriel, who knew him of old. He quailed under the eye of
that invincible angel, and fled his presence. The hermit and hunter,
once more disenthralled, paid their penitential homage. The shepherds
departed, singing their hosannas, while the voices of the whole assembly
rose in the choral strain.


FRIDAY, DEC. 25. At our last advices, Com. Stockton was at San Diego;
the Congress and Cyane had been warped into the harbor, and a large
portion of the officers and crews were in camp near the town. The
Californians were in possession of the country, and often presented a
formidable force on the surrounding hills. They were well mounted, and
had it in their power to dash down at night on the camp of the
commodore. Still, it was of the utmost importance to maintain this
position; but aggressive movements were deemed here impracticable. The
idea has never been seriously entertained here, that the
commander-in-chief could march a body of seamen and marines, drilled
into an infantry, to los Angeles, in the face of the flying-artillery of
the Californians; and still less that he could subsist his forces there
with all the resources of the country in the hands of the enemy. The war
here is not on a great scale, but it impinges, at certain points, with
terrific energy. It is not always the magnitude of the field and of the
interests at issue, which test most severely the resources of the
general. This California war has to be carried on by means which
requires consummate tact, coolness, and courage. A few weeks more will
decide the fate of the southern department, and with that, the whole
tide of affairs here. That department lost in the pending engagement,
our northern positions will be put in imminent peril. It is an idle
dream to suppose the Californians will not fight; give them faithful and
competent leaders, and they evince a dashing bravery which lifts them
immeasurably above contempt. He who presumes on their timidity will
learn his error when it may be too late.


SATURDAY, DEC. 26. It is an old custom here for the shepherds, when they
have performed their sacred drama in the church, to repeat it, during
the holydays, in the residences of some of the citizens. One of the
first personages to whom they pay their respects is the chief magistrate
of the jurisdiction; I was accordingly saluted this evening with their
festive compliment.

The large hall, occupying the centre of the building, was sufficiently
ample to accommodate them, and some fifty gentlemen and ladies as
spectators. They brought their own orchestral accompaniment, which
consisted entirely of violins and guitars. Their prelude had so many
sweet harmonies that the listener determined to listen on. The dialogue
and chant of the shepherds would have awakened their appropriate
associations, but for the obtrusions of the hermit, hunter, and devil,
who now gave much freer scope to their characteristic peculiarities than
they did in church. The hermit forgot that his lash was intended for
himself, and began to use it on others. The hunter left off snaring
birds, and commenced setting springes to catch Satan; but his intended
victim not only managed to escape, but to decoy the hunter himself into
his own net. The hermit tried to disenchant him through the power of his
missal, but this having no effect, he threatened to chastise the subtle
author of the mischief, but wanted some one to seize and hold him, for
fear his horn, hoof, or tail might come in conflict with the life-glass.
During this side-acting, the dialogue and chant of the shepherds went
on, though it would be difficult to conceive of any two things more wide
asunder in their spirit and effect. The whole was concluded with the
riata dance, by the shepherds, who executed its airy movements with a
lightness and precision of step that would have thrown enchantment on
any occasion less sacred in its associations than the present.




                              CHAPTER IX.

  DAY OF THE SANTOS INNOCENTES.—LETTING OFF A LAKE.—ARRIVAL OF THE
    DALE WITH HOME LETTERS.—THE DEAD YEAR.—NEWLY-ARRIVED
    EMIGRANTS.—EGG-BREAKING FESTIVITIES.—CONCEALMENT OF CHAVES.—PLOT
    TO CAPTURE THE ALCALDE.

SUNDAY, DEC. 27. The dramatic shepherds have just passed my door on
their way to the mansion of Gen. Castro, where they are to perform their
pastorals. Their drama is ill suited to the sacredness of the Sabbath:
its grotesque appendages, in the person of the wild hunter and
apocalyptic dragon, are but little short of a burlesque on the
devotional chant of the shepherds. Indeed, there is not a truth
connected with man’s redemption which can derive any force from scenic
representation. Every passage in the life of the Redeemer, every act
that he performed, and every precept that he inculcated, are invested
with a solemnity which should exempt them from the attempts of dramatic
art. They have a significancy and force which transcend the evanescent
triumphs of the stage. The tragedy of the Cross stands alone; no human
passion can approach it; it is shielded in its sorrows by the divinity
of the sufferer; its love overwhelmed angels; its agony awoke the dead.


MONDAY, DEC. 28. This is the festival day of the Santos Innocentes, and
is devoted by the lovers of fun to every kind of harmless imposition on
the simplicity of others. The utmost ingenuity is exercised in
borrowing, for every article lent has to be redeemed. Although aware of
this, still, in a moment of forgetfulness, one succeeded in borrowing my
spurs. A gentleman, who has lived here from his boyhood, lent his cloak,
another his saddle and bridle, and a third his guitar. Two ladies
performed feats that would have been difficult on any day. One borrowed
money of a broker, and the other a rosary of a priest. It is rumored,
but not credited, that a client has induced his lawyer to allow his case
to be amicably adjusted; that a patient has actually persuaded his
physician to permit the aid of nature in throwing off his disease; and
that a customer has made a shopkeeper confess an imperfection in his
wares. It is said, but doubted, that an old Spanish hidalgo, after being
told that his son is engaged in marriage to a peasant girl, will
probably sleep before he disinherits him. It is also said, though few
believe it, that a wife, whose husband is going to sea, has consented
that he shall take the family breeches with him. It is further stated,
but on no good authority, that a political partizan has hesitated about
voting for his candidate on account of his having been once sentenced to
the penitentiary for sheep-stealing. Several other rumors are afloat,
but they are not credited. One is, that a disappointed lover has
persuaded himself that his suit has been rejected without any parental
interference; another is, that a young collegian has written a letter to
his grandmother without quoting a word of Greek; another is, that a
young clergyman has composed an entire sermon without anything about

            “Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute.”

Another is, that a man of giant intellect and profound erudition has
selected as his life-partner a woman of sense; another, that a lady who
has had an offer of marriage and rejected it, has kept it to herself;
another, that an old bachelor has come to the conclusion that he is less
captivating with the girls than he was when younger; another, that a
young military officer has taken tea with his aunt without having on his
regimentals; that a midshipman has entertained a lady fifteen minutes
without a gale or disaster; that a sexton had been seen shedding a tear;
that a Mormon has confessed Joe Smith’s Bible a little less authentic,
from the absence of the original plates; that a Millerite has forgiven a
debt, on account of the nearness of the last conflagration; that a
mesmerite, on account of the death-intelligence conveyed by his
clairvoyant, has gone into mourning; that an Englishman has been seen
with a smile on his countenance without a plum-pudding in his stomach;
that an American has said grace at his table without stopping to
expectorate; that a Frenchman has stopped his prattle before death had
stopped his breath; and, finally, that a new moon, with a drooping horn,
has been followed by a dry month.

While these incredible rumors were afloat, the public ear was startled
with the intelligence that a large ship had been driven on the rocks,
just behind Point Pinos. The whole population rushed at once in that
direction,—the women to see her go to pieces, the men to seize her
cargo, and a widow, who has a son at sea, to save the sailors. But the
ship proved to be the “Flying Dutchman,” with phantom hull and masts,
and sails through whose gossamer the setting sun poured its effulgent
beam. Some laughed as the spectral fabric dissolved, some grieved in
silence over their loss, and one old wrecker hung himself with
disappointment. Thus ended the day of the Santos Innocentes.


TUESDAY, DEC. 29. During the rains which prevail at this season of the
year, a multitude of small streams rush from the hills which encircle
Monterey into the lagoon which lies in the vicinity of the town. This
natural basin, replenished by these foaming rivulets, presented this
week quite a deep and spacious lake, and began to threaten with
inundation the buildings upon its margin. As it lay several feet above
the level of the sea, with only an intervening ridge of sand, it
occurred to me that it would be a good scheme to cut a channel between
the two. The work was easily accomplished; but my channel of two feet
soon widened to forty, and the whole lake came rushing down in a
tremendous torrent. It swept every thing before it, and carried two
boats, which lay on the beach, so far out to sea that they have not been
seen or heard of since. Even the sea-birds, that have dashed about here
among the breakers ever since they got out of their eggs, seemed
frightened, and took wing. Their screams came back on the wind like the
howling of wild beasts on a sinking wreck. The lake disappeared; its
waters, where the stars had mirrored themselves in tranquil beauty, went
off to join the roaring ocean, and left on its sandy bottom only a few
floundering fish. How tame is a lake when its bottom is laid bare! It is
like the heart of a coquette when the illusions of love have fled.


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 30. The phantom ship, which rounded into our harbor a
few weeks since, and departed without token or sign, turns out to be a
good sound oak reality, in the shape of a sloop-of-war, honored with the
name of Dale, bearing the stars and stripes, and commanded by Wm. W.
M‘Kean. She sailed from New York on the 6th of June, and has stopped on
her way out at Rio de Janeiro, Valparaiso, Callao, Payta, and Mazatlan.
She has brought a large mail for the Pacific squadron. What an eager
breaking of seals there will be!

I am indebted to her for a large package of letters, and for the receipt
of one which was written several weeks after she sailed. It was
dispatched alone to Jamaica, thence by the mail steamer to Chagres,
thence over the Isthmus to Panama, and thence by the steamer to Callao,
and then to Lima. Here it came into the care of my esteemed friend, Mr.
M‘Call, who forwarded it by the Dale. It brings me the intelligence of
the birth of a son, and of the safety and happiness of a young mother
over her first-born. Had this letter, in one of the many mischances to
which it was exposed, failed of reaching me, months might have passed
away without any intelligence to relieve my solicitude. There is a
Providence, whose care extends to the condition of each one. Not a
sparrow falls to the ground without his notice. But a long interval of
waning moons must pass, and half the earth’s circuit be traversed,
before I can see that infant being whose dawning light has shed a
gladness on my hearth. In this slow lapse of time what changes may
betide, what fearful shadows may fall!

      “My child, my child! when I shall reach my door,
      If heavy looks should tell me thou art dead,
        It seems as I should struggle to believe
          Thou wert a spirit, to this nether sphere
        Sentenced for some more venial crime to grieve;
        Didst sigh, then spring to meet Heaven’s quick reprieve,
          While we wept idly o’er thy little bier!”    COLERIDGE.


THURSDAY, DEC. 31. Com. Stockton is still encamped near San Diego,
expecting to march in a few days for the town of the Angels. He has
under his command detachments from the crews of the Congress, Cyane, and
Portsmouth, with some thirty volunteers, and has with him several pieces
of artillery. His plan evidently is, to attack the position of the
Californians from the south at the same time that Col. Fremont comes
down upon them from the north. Hemmed in by these encountering forces,
they will be obliged to surrender, or attempt a disastrous flight.
Public expectation is on the tip-toe to learn the result; but several
days must elapse before it can be known here.


FRIDAY, JAN. 1. Last night, while the sentinel stars were on their
mid-watch, the old year resigned its sceptre, and departed amid the
wailing hours to join the pale shadows of the mighty past. The strong
winds, awaking in grief, shook the forest leaves from their slumbers,
and poured from cloud and cliff their stormy dirge.

            “As an earthquake rocks a corse
              In its coffin in the clay,
            So white Winter, that rough nurse,
              Rocks the death-cold year to-day:
            Solemn hours! wail aloud,
            For your mother in her shroud.”        SHELLEY.

But nature never leaves the throne of time vacant. An heir to her wide
domain was invested at once with the imperial purple, while woods and
water-falls, the organ cloud and the sounding sea, sung his coronation
hymn. The great tide of time moved on as before, rolling in events
pregnant with the fate of nations. But men, blind to these momentous
issues, hail the eventful year—in which perhaps their own coffins
swing—with egg-nog! Out on their frivolity! Their mirth is the bubble
that paints the rainbow on Niagara’s thundering verge.


SUNDAY, JAN. 3. The deceased year is in its grave, but its deeds remain.
But few of them, it is true, are to be found in the archives of earth;
they have been sealed up and transmitted, by invisible hands, to
Heaven’s high chancery. There they will remain, above the ranges of time
and the wreck of worlds. When the sun’s last ray has expired, every line
and letter will flash out in characters of living light. It will then be
seen that our minutest action here touches a string that will vibrate
forever in the soul; and that issues of happiness or woe, vast as
eternity, take their rise in the silent pulses of a hidden thought. We
live between two worlds; every impulse we take from this throws an
action into the infinitude of the next; we follow it ourselves soon and
fast: once beyond the dim veil, we return no more; not a whisper comes
back to those we love. We have gone like a shooting-star over the steep
verge of night.


MONDAY, JAN. 4. It is mid-winter, and yet the robins are all out,
singing as if the buds of May were bursting around them. You miss none
of your favorites in meadow or grove. Hill and vale are echoing with
their wild numbers. This is not a gush of music that is to be followed
soon by silence; it is not an interval of sunlight that is to be
succeeded by cloud and hail. All these charms belong to the season, and
make you forget that it is winter. You look to the sun, and see that he
circles indeed far to the south; but you look around you and find the
sparkling streams unfettered by frost, and hear the whistle of the
ploughman as he breaks the glebe. You say to yourself, there is no
winter in California.


TUESDAY, JAN. 5. Many of the emigrants who have recently arrived, are
now with Col. Fremont at the south. By enlisting in this campaign, they
will have an opportunity of seeing every important part of California,
and will be able to locate themselves with some confidence in their
selection of grounds. This will compensate them in some degree in
foregoing their first year’s tillage. Besides, they generally arrive
here with very little means beyond their own enterprise. They are now
receiving twenty-five dollars a month, and have but few temptations for
spending it; they will consequently find themselves in funds, small to
be sure; but there is a period in almost every man’s life when a penny
takes the importance of a pound. “It is more difficult,” said the late
Stephen Girard, “to make the first hundred dollars, than the next
thousand.” But with all due deference to that eminent economist, I have
found it extremely difficult to make either, and when made, still more
difficult to keep it. It has slipped out of my hands like a squirming
eel in its slime. But this has very little to do with the emigrants.
They will, it is hoped, soon be able to return to their families, who
are now scattered about in the missions, and in shanties on the
Sacramento, without the comforts of life. They have suffered greatly
from being massed together in these temporary lodgments; and have often,
no doubt, wished themselves where they came from. The pioneers of
civilization have always a rough path. They force the bear from his
covert, not to make room for a palace, but that they may themselves take
his jungle.


WEDNESDAY, JAN. 6. As I was sitting in the house of an old Californian
to-day, conversing very quietly about the condition of the country, I
felt something break on my head, and, starting around, discovered two
large black eyes, lighted with their triumph. It flashed upon me, that
the annual egg-breaking festival here had commenced. The rules of this
frolic do not allow you to take offence, whatever may be your age or the
gravity of your profession: you have only one alternative, and that is,
to retaliate if you can. You have not to encounter the natural contents
of the egg—these are blown out; and the shell is filled with water,
scented with cologne, or lavender; or more often, with gold tinsel, and
flashing paper, cut into ten thousand minute particles. The tinsel is
rubbed by a dash of the hand into your hair, and requires no little
combing and brushing to get it out. Ladies will work at it for hours,
and find some of the spangles still remaining. When a liquid is used,
the apertures are closed with wax, so that the belligerent may carry it
about his person. The antagonist is always of the opposite sex. You must
return these shots, or encounter a railery, which is even worse. Having
finished my chat, I bade my good old Californian friend, and his
daughter, my egg-shell opponent, good morning; but turned into a shop,
procured an egg or two, and re-entered the mansion of my friend by a
side door, where I watched for my victim. A few moments brought her
along, all-unconscious of her danger. I slipped from my covert, and,
unperceived, dashed the showering egg on her head. Her locks floated in
cologne. I was avenged, and now stood square with the world, so far as
egg-breaking is concerned. This seems like children’s play; but here you
are forced into it in selfdefence.


THURSDAY, JAN. 7. Two or three of the Californians who were engaged
against the Americans on the Salinas, have since been in town; among
these, the leader, Chaves, who was wounded on that occasion. Many
attempts have been made to take him, but he has always managed to elude
the search. Last night, however, he had an extremely narrow escape. The
officer in command of the garrison, having been informed that he was in
a particular house, silently posted his sentinels around it, and at
about eight o’clock in the evening unceremoniously entered. Quick
footsteps were heard here and there, and only a part of the ladies were
found in the parlor; but these were calm as moonshine, and extremely
polite and amiable.

The officers apologized for their abrupt intrusion, and stated, very
frankly, what their object was: the ladies assured them that they were
quite right, and they should afford them every facility and aid that
might lead to the discovery of the obnoxious person. They took lights
and piloted them through every apartment of the house, opening every
closet, and lifting every bed-curtain. There was no place in garret,
cellar, kitchen or out-house on which their tapers did not shed their
light; but in none could a trace of the officer whom they sought be
found: so they renewed their apologies to the ladies and departed—when
out slipped Chaves from between two ladies, who had jumped into a bed
for the purpose of concealing him. They had lain there while the
officers were in the chamber; their dark locks floating over the
pillows, and their large eyes closed in seeming slumber. Between them

           “He had been hid—I don’t pretend to say
               How, nor can I, indeed, describe the where:
             Young, slender, and pack’d easily, he lay,
               No doubt, in little compass, round or square”


FRIDAY, JAN. 8. We have as yet no further intelligence in reference to
the party of Californians who carried off Mr. Bartlett, of San
Francisco. He had gone into the country, it seems, to attend to some of
his official duties, when he was captured, and is now detained as a
hostage. I came very near falling into a similar trap, a few weeks
since. A farmer in Santa Cruz had extended his improvements over the
lands of another, which lay contiguous to his own, and it became
necessary to go and define the boundaries by the original titles. The
day was fixed when I was to be there, and the parties interested were
summoned to appear on the spot. But the night before I was to leave,
intelligence reached me that an armed party of Californians were
encamped close to the road which I should have taken. But for this
information, brought in by a citizen of Monterey, I should now be
sleeping here and there, under the open heaven, without a change of
apparel, and with bandits for bedfellows: on such slender threads hangs
security here. I have been told by Californians, who are my friends,
that plans have been laid by their countrymen to slip me quietly out of
my house at night, or entrap me in my hunting excursions, on the
outskirts of the town. I began to think, last night, that this attempt
was to be realized. Quick footsteps and a loud rap came to my door,
followed by an excited call for the alcalde. My boy went out, with his
pistols swung at his side; but the call proved to be an honest one. A
shop had been robbed, and a warrant was wanted for the arrest of the
supposed felons.


SATURDAY, JAN. 9. How many inventions a Californian lady has! One who
was harboring a Mexican officer that had broken his parol, wishing to do
away with all possible suspicion, got up a fandango, to which she took
special pains to invite all the American officers. Such open-door
hospitality—such challenging of the public eye—threw an air of freedom
and frankness over her whole house. Everybody acquitted her at once of
the least shadow of suspicion. But while the violins and guitars were
trembling and thrilling in concert, and the floor of the old hall was
springing to the bounding measures of the fandango, and bright eyes

             “Were looking love to eyes that spake again,”

the Mexican officer was snugly taking a nap in the great oven, which,
near the cook-house, silently loomed into the moonlight. It must have
been a long nap, for the stars that kept the mid-watch were relieved
before the company broke up. The officer was then at liberty to leave
his oval dormitory to the baker; and creeping forth, had, no doubt, a
good laugh with his ingenious hostess over the success of the fandango.
There is no disguise so deep as that which seems to seek none.


SUNDAY, JAN. 10. I held service to-day on board the U. S. ship Dale.
Though on deck, no inconvenience was experienced from the weather. The
air was soft, and hardly a ripple disturbed the mirror of the sea. Capt.
McKean, in the absence of a chaplain, reads the service himself. He
appreciates the force of moral influences in the government of his crew,
and is well sustained in its exertion by his intelligent officers. It is
rarely that you meet with a commander in the service who is indifferent
to the religious character of his crew. If he has no religion himself,
still he respects it in others, and places his greatest reliance where
it exerts a controlling influence. Religion, wherever possessed,
vindicates its celestial origin.

The captain of a whale-ship applied to Mr. Damon, of Honolulu, to preach
on board his vessel, stating very frankly that he had no religion
himself, but then he wanted his ship to appear “a little decent.” Now
when a captain applies for a religious service to give an air of
respectability to his vessel, it shows that moral truth is in the
ascendancy, at least in the dignity of its claims. There was a time when
no such expedient was deemed necessary; but a higher light has struck
the mariners who float the great Pacific. Their hosannas will yet be
rolled to heaven in concert with the loud anthem of her many-voiced
waves.




                               CHAPTER X.

  DESTRUCTION OF DOGS.—THE WASH-TUB MAIL.—THE SURRENDER IN THE
    NORTH.—ROBBING THE CALIFORNIANS.—DEATH-SCENE IN A SHANTY.—THE MEN
    WHO TOOK UP ARMS.—ARRIVAL OF THE INDEPENDENCE.—DESTITUTION OF OUR
    TROOPS.—CAPTURE OF LOS ANGELES.

MONDAY, JAN. 11. I never expected, when threading the streets of
Constantinople, where dogs inherit the rights of citizenship, to
encounter such multitudes of them in any other part of the world. But
California is more than a match for the Ottoman capital. Here you will
find in every little village a thousand dogs, who never had a master:
every farm-house has some sixty or eighty; and every Indian drives his
cart with thirty or forty on its trail. They had become so troublesome,
that an order was given a few days since to thin their ranks. The
marines, with their muskets, were to be the executioners. The order, of
course, very naturally runs into dog-erels.

               The dogs, the dogs! my gallant lads—
                 Let each one seize his gun,
               And lead the battle’s fiery van,
                 Though Mars himself should run.

               Remember Lodi’s blazing bridge,
                 Marengo’s shaking plain,
               And Borodino’s thunder-clouds,
                 Where Cossacks fell like rain.

               Now hurl their howling squadrons down
                 To Lethe’s silent shore;
               They bark so loud, we scarce can hear
                 Our sleeping sentries snore.

               Lay low the watch-dog first of all;
                 For he’s a saucy loon,
               That bays all night the modest man
                 Who figures in the moon.

               Then down the pointer: he it is
                 That threads the leaves and grass—
               To train the sportman’s ready fire
                 At some poor luckless ass.

               Then wing the lap-dog, that pert imp
                 Befondled by the fair,
               And catching all the tender looks
                 Old bachelors should share.

               O’er him, who falls in this dread strife,
                 The thunder-clouds shall roll,
               Through shaking cliffs and caverned hills,
                 A requiem to his soul.

               And dewy stars shall softly bend
                 From their celestial bowers,
               To greet the meek-eyed spring, that comes
                 To strew his grave with flowers.


TUESDAY, JAN. 12. After three weeks, in which we had a cloudless sky and
balmy air, the wind has hauled into the southeast, and a gentle rain has
commenced falling. Its having crept upon us so softly, is a symptom that
it will continue with us some time. The first break of sunshine may be a
week hence.


WEDNESDAY, JAN. 13. We have no intelligence, as yet, from the seat of
war. The solicitude of the public to know the result is at the highest
pitch. No one doubts that the issue has been very decisive. A report
reached us to-day that the town of los Angeles had been taken by our
troops, and that a large portion of the Californians had laid down their
arms. This rumor comes through the washerwomen of this place. They get
their intelligence from the Indians, who cross the streams in which they
wash their clothes. Singular as this sort of mail may seem, it very
often conveys news, not only with wonderful dispatch, but with
extraordinary accuracy.

The first capture of los Angeles, by Com. Stockton, was announced here
by these washerwomen; they were also the first to spread the
intelligence of the breaking out of the insurrection at the same place,
and knew of the retreat of the Americans at San Pedro before any other
class of people in Monterey. So much for a wash-tub mail. You may think
lightly of it as of the soap-bubbles that break over its rim; but if you
are wise you will heed its intelligence. It is an old mail that has long
been run in California; and has announced more revolutions, plots, and
counterplots, than there are mummies in Memphis. Who, in other lands,
would dream of going to an old woman, washing her clothes in a mountain
stream, for the first tidings of events in which the destinies of
nations tremble? Mr. Morse need hardly come here with his magnetic
machine. One of these women would snap the news from a napkin or shirt
before his lightning-mail had got under way.


THURSDAY, JAN. 14. The small party of Californians who recently took up
arms on the bay of San Francisco, soon increased to two hundred. They
were, with few exceptions, men of the better stamp—men who had a
permanent interest in the soil, and who had refused to join the rash
spirits at the south. They had captured Mr. Bartlett, the chief
magistrate of the jurisdiction, and several other Americans, whom they
held as hostages.

Capt. Marston, with fifty men from the Savannah, and Capt. Maddox, with
a company of mounted volunteers, and Capt. Weber, with another band of
resolute spirits, met them. A general and decisive engagement was
anticipated; but after a few hours of pretty sharp fighting, the
Californians withdrew from Santa Clara, which was entered by our forces.
A flag of truce was sent in, and the leading spirits on both sides
assembled under the shadows of a great native oak. The Californians
stated that they had taken up arms, not to make war on the American
flag, but to protect themselves from the depredations of those who,
under color of that flag, were plundering them of their cattle, horses,
and grain; and that on assurance being given that these acts of lawless
violence should cease, they were ready to return quietly to their homes.
These demands were not enforced in a spirit of menace, but with that
moral firmness which belongs to a deep sense of wrong. They were acceded
to, and the parties separated, never again, I hope, to meet as
belligerents.

This is a much better mode of settling differences than through the
arbitrament of the bayonet. It is an easy thing to dislodge a man’s
argument by dislodging his life; but this summary process of getting rid
of an opponent will generally be followed by something worse. There is
terror even in the ghost of a misdeed.


FRIDAY, JAN. 15. We have further intelligence from the seat of war.
General Kearny, with his staff and a guard of one hundred dragoons,
arrived on the 6th ult. from New Mexico at San Pasqual, about thirty
miles from San Diego. Here he encountered a hundred and sixty
Californians, under Andres Pico, well mounted, and armed with rifles and
lances. A sanguinary engagement ensued, marked by the most daring,
determined conduct on both sides. Captain Johnson, with twelve dragoons,
led the charge, and was shot dead in the furious onset. Captain Moore,
with fifty dragoons, rushed to the front: the enemy wavered—retreated;
when this gallant officer, with a few of his men who were better mounted
than the rest, rushed on in pursuit. The enemy suddenly wheeled; and now
it was hand to hand between the heavy sword and lance. Captain Moore, on
his white charger was a mark which none could mistake. Lance after lance
was shivered by his flashing steel, till, at last, he sunk overpowered.
All this lasted but a few minutes, but long enough to reach its tragic
results before the remainder of the guard could come up.

The Californians at last retreated, and Gen. Kearny encamped on the
disputed field. But what a night it must have been! The camp-fire threw
its pale light on the countenances of nineteen, who sprung to their
saddles at the break of day, but who were now locked in the still
embrace of death. The burial rites performed, and another sun in the
heavens, the general was again on his way. But another hill bristling
with lances obstructs his march; it is stormed, carried, and here again
the weary and the wounded require repose. Through the energies of Lieut.
Beale, who seems ever to be where the hardiest enterprise demands, a
message is conveyed through the beleaguering lines of the enemy to the
camp of Com. Stockton, and a detachment of seamen and marines, under
Lieut. Gray, of the Congress, is sent out. This fresh force obliged the
Californians to relinquish their purpose of another engagement. Had they
not arrived, it was the intention of Gen. Kearny to cut his way to San
Diego, be the odds against him what they might. His gallant guard had
shown the reliance which might be reposed in them, by the desperate
valor which they had already evinced. The conduct of Capt. Turner, of
Lieut. Emory, and Capt. Gillespie might give a feature to any field
where life is perilled and laurels won; while the muse of history would
inscribe her glowing eulogy on the tombs of a Johnson, a Moore, and a
Hammond. They sleep in the soil of California, where the undying year

         “Garlands with fragrant flowers their place of rest.”


SATURDAY, JAN. 16. The depredations complained of by those who took up
arms in the neighborhood of San Francisco, were committed by some of the
volunteers, previous to their joining Col. Fremont on his present
campaign. They are a class of persons who have drifted over the
mountains into this country from the borders of some of our western
states. It is a prime feature in their policy to keep in advance of law
and order, and to migrate as often as these trench on their
irresponsible privileges. Their connection with our military operations
here is a calamity that can only find a relief in the exigencies of war.

Were their lawless proceedings directed against those who are active
participators in this revolution, the evils which they inflict would
have some palliation. But the principal sufferers are men who have
remained quietly on their farms, and whom we are bound in honor, as well
as sound policy, to protect. To permit such men to be plundered under
the filched authority of our flag is a national reproach. No temporary
triumph can redeem the injuries inflicted, or obliterate their stain.
But the rash acts committed by one portion of the Californians, and the
wrongs endured by another, are fast drawing to a close.


SUNDAY, JAN. 17. As I was passing this morning one of the little huts
sprinkled around the skirts of Monterey, my steps were arrested by the
low moans which issued from its narrow door. On entering, I found on a
straw pallet a mother whom disease had wasted to a mere shadow, but
whose sufferings were now nearly over. She did not notice my entrance,
or any thing around; her eyes were lifted, fixed, and glassed in death.
A slight motion drew my attention to another corner of the hut, where I
discovered, in the dim twilight of the place, a little boy lying on a
mat, whom I supposed asleep; his young sister was near him, and trying
to cross his hands on his breast. She did not seem to notice me, spake
not a word, but went on with her baffled task, for the hand which she
had adjusted would roll off while she was attempting to recover the
other. Now and then she stopped for a moment and kissed the lips which
could return none, while her tears fell silently on the face of her dead
brother. In a few minutes two women entered, who, it seems, had gone out
to call their clergyman to administer the last rites to the mother. He
was too late: her spirit had fled. He spoke to her, called her by
name—but there was no answer; he turned to the little boy, whispered
Raphael, but all was silent and still. Directing the women where to
procure grave-clothes at the expense of the alcalde’s office, I wended
my way home. How little heeds the great stream of life the silent
rivulets of sorrow which mingle with its noisy tide!


MONDAY, JAN. 18. It is deeply to be regretted that the military
operations in California should prevent, at this time, an experimental
proof of the fertility of her soil. The rain that has already fallen is
so abundant, that all the arable land will retain its moisture
sufficiently to enable the crops to come to maturity. But this war has
broken up every agricultural arrangement, and defeated every possibility
of a generous harvest. The calamity will be felt most severely by the
emigrants. They arrive here with very slender means; and the idea of
paying twenty dollars a barrel for flour covers them with dismay.
Instead of having reached a land of plenty, they hastily conclude that
they are to suffer the miseries of destitution, and yield to a
despondency deeper than that which shook the faith of the Israelites
before their wants were miraculously supplied. But there is no manna
here, and no quails, except those which are secured by the hunter’s
skill. The day of miracles is over, even in California.


TUESDAY, JAN. 19. One of my boys caught a dove, a few days since,
clipped his wing, and placed him in our yard, which has a high wall
around it. He looked very lonely at first, but his mate soon came,
hovered around on the wall, and finally preferring captivity with him to
freedom without, flew down to his side. How beautiful is that affection
which never forsakes in adversity, but becomes deeper and stronger as
the waves of affliction roll higher over the object of its sympathy and
trust!


WEDNESDAY, JAN. 20. There is one feature in our military operations here
which is far asunder from that system of order which appertains to a
well-disciplined army. Every one who can raise among the emigrants
thirty or forty men, becomes a captain, and starts off to fight pretty
much on his own hook. Nor is he very scrupulous as to the mode in which
he obtains his horses, saddles, and other equipments. He takes them
wherever he can find them, and very often without leaving behind the
slightest evidence by which the owner can recover the value of his
property. He plunders the Californian to procure the means of fighting
him. Public exigency is the plea which is made to cover all the culpable
features in the transaction. This may justify, perhaps, taking the
property, but it never can excuse the refusal or neglect to give
receipts. It is due to Com. Stockton and Col. Fremont to say, that this
has been done without their sanction. Still, it reflects reproach on our
cause, and is a source of vast irritation in the community. No man who
has any possible means of redress left will tamely submit to such
outrages; and yet we expect the Californians to hug this chain of
degradation, and help to rivet its links. Let foreigners land on our own
coast, and do among us what Americans have done here, and every farmer,
in the absence of a musket, would shoulder his pitchfork and flail.
Human nature is the same here as there, and a sense of wrong will burn
as deeply in the one place as the other. I utter, for one, my note of
remonstrance, though it be as little heeded as the whispers of a leaf in
the roar of a storm-swept forest.


THURSDAY, JAN. 21. The scarcity of provisions in Monterey continues.
Flour is twenty-five dollars the barrel, and there is hardly a barrel in
the place at that. We have in our garrison about a hundred and fifty
men, and all are on a short allowance of bread. There is wheat in the
interior, but the mules which should be there to grind it have gone to
the wars. Even that sorry animal seems here not wholly insensible to
military glory. The trump of fame finds an echo even in his long ears.


FRIDAY, JAN. 22. The flag on the fort informed us this afternoon of the
approach of a ship within the rim of our bay. As she neared, the signals
on the Dale told her to be an American man-of-war. We conjectured at
once that she must be the Congress; but as she rounded into her berth we
could not recognize, in her majestic form, the features of our old
friend. She proved to be the Independence, commanded by Capt. Lavelette,
and bearing the broad pennant of Com. Shubrick. She sailed from the U.
States on the twenty-ninth of August, and arrived at Rio de Janeiro in
fifty-three days; remained there ten days; doubled the Cape and reached
Valparaiso in thirty-four days; stopped there seven, and reached here in
thirty-eight. This is splendid sailing; but the Independence is one of
the fastest, as well as one of the most powerful ships in our service.
Though razeed of her carronades, all her effective force remains. Her
battery is a frowning mass of thunder. Her officers are men of
enterprise and professional merit. They have brought a mail, well filled
with letters and papers, from the United States. If you would know the
value of a single letter, let an ocean roll between you and your home.


SATURDAY, JAN. 23. The Independence left the Columbus at Valparaiso,
under the broad pennant of Com. Biddle, who has instructions to favor us
here with a visit. The Columbus was in want of supplies, and would be
detained several days in procuring them. She had better lay in all she
will require, for there is nothing here. Unless a transport arrives
soon, there will not be salt provisions enough on the coast to enable
our squadron to go to sea two weeks. There has not been a transport here
for six months; our sailors have been living on fresh meat till they
hanker for the salt more than they ever did for the fresh. As for
clothing, they can hardly muster a shirt a piece, and one pair of shoes
among half a dozen is becoming rather a rare sight. This is a hard case,
when our markets at home are glutted with these articles. The sailor is
required to be faithful to the government, and the government should be
faithful to him. He should not be left here barefooted to patter about
like a duck in shallow water. It is well for him that it is a California
winter through which he is obliged to pass in his destitution; in the
same latitude on the Atlantic he would nearly have perished.


SUNDAY, JAN. 24. It is difficult to make the Californians understand why
you will not attend to office duties on the Sabbath. The apology that
you want it as a day of recreation, would be appreciated; but the plea
of its sanctity is with many wholly unintelligible. If you would make a
person respect the Sabbath, you must rear him in its sacred observance.


MONDAY, JAN. 25. The wash-tub mail is still further establishing its
claims to confidence. Its intelligence is no bubble breaking over its
rim, and evaporating into thin air; but a chain of facts carrying with
them the destinies of a nation. All that has reached us through this
singular mail is confirmed this morning by a California youth who has
arrived from below.

He left los Angeles some fourteen days since, and states that previous
to his departure, Com. Stockton had entered the town at the head of the
American forces from San Diego. He says there had been some pretty hard
fighting, in which the Californians had suffered severely. Col. Fremont,
he states, was within two days’ march of the Pueblo, and in a position
to cut off the retreat of the Californians to the north. He believes
that most of them have surrendered. This intelligence is, in every
essential particular, identical with that which reached us several days
since through the washerwomen of this town. They must have obtained it
from those who swept through to the north when the rout below first
commenced.


TUESDAY, JAN. 26. A Californian made me a present to-day of a wild goose
which he had just killed. I value the gift for the giver, rather than
any benefit it may be to me. I live mostly on mush; such a thing as a
wild goose never floats within the shadows of my domestic dreams. Even
the drum of the partridge is rarely heard there. Wild geese prevail here
in the greatest abundance; every lagoon, lake, and river is filled with
them. They fly in squadrons, which, for the moment, shut out the sun; a
chance shot will often bring two or three to the ground. The boys will
often lasso them in the air. This is done by fastening two lead balls,
several yards from each other, to a long line, which is whirled into the
air to a great height. In its descent the balls fall on opposite sides
of the neck of some luckless goose, and down he comes into the hands of
the urchin hunter; sometimes a pair are brought down, but one generally
manages to effect his escape. The boy little heeds the domestic relation
that may have subsisted between them; and yet there is something in
killing the mate of even a goose that might be relieved in the thought
that no other goose loved him.




                              CHAPTER XI.

  ARRIVAL OF THE LEXINGTON.—THE MARCH TO LOS ANGELES, AND BATTLE OF SAN
    GABRIEL.—THE CAPITULATION.—MILITARY CHARACTERISTICS OF THE
    CALIFORNIANS.—BARRICADES DOWN.

THURSDAY, JAN. 28. Our harbor has been enlivened to-day by the arrival
of the U. S. ship Lexington, commanded by Lieut. Theodorus Bailey, an
officer that might well have been promoted years ago. Capt. Tompkins and
his company of one hundred and forty men, and field train of artillery,
are on board. She brings out also Capt. Halleck, U. S. Engineer, who is
entrusted with the erection of fortifications at this place and San
Francisco. The Lexington is laden with heavy battery guns, mortars,
shot, shells, muskets, pistols, swords, fixed ammunition, and several
hundred barrels of powder. She has also a quantity of shovels, spades,
ploughs, pickaxes, saws, hammers, forges, and all the necessary utensils
for building fortifications of the first class; and what is better
still, she brings with her a saw-mill and a good grist-mill.


FRIDAY, JAN. 29. The U. S. ship Dale, W. W. McKean commander, sailed
to-day for Panama. She takes the mail which is to cross the isthmus, and
reach the United States by the West India steamers. As soon as her
destination was known, a hundred pens were at work, transferring to
paper affections, fond remembrances, kind wishes, and a thousand tender,
anxious inquiries. How absence melts the heart. The cold is kindled, the
indifferent clothed with interest, antipathies melt away, and
endearments revive with undying power. I love the very stones over which
my truant footsteps ran, and could kiss the birch rod that chastised my
youthful follies. What language, then, can portray the love which clings
to one who throws sunlight through the shadows of this dark world, or
paint the cherished hope that buds into being with—

MY INFANT BOY.

                I have not seen thy face, my child;
                  They say each look and line,
                Which o’er thy father’s aspect plays,
                  Is miniatured in thine.

                They tell me that thy infant voice—
                  Its wildly warbled tone,
                Seems to thy mother’s listening ear
                  The echo of my own.

                I know it not, but fondly deem
                  That such a thing may be,
                And trust thy father’s better hopes
                  May long survive in thee.

                I have not seen thy face, my child,
                  Though weary moons have set
                Since mine and thy glad mother’s eyes
                  In tender transport met:—

                For ere thy being dawned to light,
                  Or knew what life might mean,
                Our ship had earth’s mid circuit swept,
                  And oceans rolled between.

                I waft thee back a father’s kiss—
                  A pledge of that wild joy,
                Which o’er his yearning heart will rush,
                  To clasp his infant boy.


SATURDAY, JAN. 30. The long-looked for intelligence has come at last in
an authentic shape. The American forces, commanded by Com. Stockton,
aided by Gen. Kearny, broke camp at San Diego on the 29th ult., and took
up the line of march for los Angeles. Their route lay through a rugged
country of one hundred and forty miles, drenched with the winter rains,
and bristling with the lances of the enemy. Through this the commodore
led our seamen and marines, sharing himself, with the general at his
side, all the hardships of the common sailor. The stern engagements with
the enemy derive their heroic features from the contrast existing in the
condition of the two. The Californians were well mounted, are the most
expert horsemen in the world, and whirled their flying-artillery to the
most commanding positions. Our troops were on foot, mired to the ankle,
and with no resource except in their own indomitable resolution and
courage. Their exploits may be lost in the shadow of the clouds which
roll up from the plains of Mexico, but they are realities here, which
impress themselves with a force which reaches the very foundations of
social order. The march of the American forces from San Diego to the
Pueblo below, and their engagements with the enemy, are vividly
described in a letter to me from one of the officers attached to the
expedition. This writer says:

  “Com. Stockton, at the head of a force amounting to about six hundred
  men, including a detachment of the 1st regiment of U. S. dragoons,
  under Gen. Kearny, left San Diego on the morning of the 29th of
  December, for los Angeles. Our line of march lay through a rough and
  mountainous country of nearly one hundred and fifty miles, with
  impediments on every side, and constant apprehensions of an attack
  from the enemy: our progress was nevertheless rapid; and though
  performed mostly by sailor troops, would have done credit to the best
  disciplined army.

  “On the morning of the 8th of January, we found ourselves, after
  several days’ hard marching and fatigue, in the vicinity of the river
  San Gabriel; on the north side of which the enemy had fortified
  themselves to the number of five hundred mounted men, with four pieces
  of artillery, under Gen. Flores, and in a position so commanding, that
  it seemed impossible to gain any point by which our troops could be
  protected from their galling fire. They presented their forces in
  three divisions—one on our right, another on our left, and a third in
  front, with the artillery. On reaching the south side of the river,
  the commodore dismounted, forded the stream, and commanded the troops
  to pass over, which they did promptly under the brisk fire of the
  enemy’s artillery. He ordered the artillery not to unlimber till the
  opposite bank should be gained; as soon as this was effected, he
  ordered a charge directly in the teeth of the enemy’s guns, which soon
  resulted in the possession of the commanding position they had just
  occupied. The first gun fired was aimed by the commodore before the
  charge was made up the hill; this overthrew the enemy’s gun, which had
  just poured forth its thunder in our midst. Having gained this
  important position, a brisk cannonading was kept up for some time. We
  encamped on the spot for the night. The next day we met the enemy
  again on the plains of the Mesa, near the city. They made a bold and
  resolute stand; tried our lines on every side; and manœuvred their
  artillery with much skill. But the firm and steady courage with which
  our troops continued to defend themselves, repelled their attempts at
  a general charge, and we found ourselves again victorious. We encamped
  again near the battleground, and on the morning of the tenth marched
  into the city, while the adjacent hills were glistening with the
  lances of the enemy.”


SUNDAY, JAN. 31. It is sweet in a land of tumult and strife to see the
Sabbath sun come up. Its sacred light melts over the rough aspects of
war like melting dew down the frontlet of the crouched lion. May the
spirit of devotion, in its ascending flight, bear into a serener element
the aspirations of the human heart! There let faith, and hope, and
immortal love build their tabernacle. It shall be a dwelling for the
soul when the palaces, temples, and towers of earth are in ruins. Over
its gem-inwoven roof shall stream the light of stars that never set;
flowers that cannot die shall wreath its colonnade, and hang in fragrant
festoons from its walls; while the voices of streamlets, as they flash
over their golden sands, shall pour unceasing music on the wandering
air.


MONDAY, FEB. 1. The forces under Col. Fremont were within a few leagues
of the town of the Angels when Com. Stockton entered it. Their approach
cut off the retreat of the Californians to the north. The forces of the
commodore were on foot, and of course unable to follow up their
brilliant successes. The enemy were mounted, and might have held the
country around. If attacked, they had only to retreat, and return again
on the retiring footsteps of their foes. But at this critical juncture,
Col. Fremont, with his battalion, came down upon them, leaving them no
alternative but to capitulate or attempt a disastrous flight into
Mexico. They wisely, with the exception of a few, determined to abide
the conditions of a treaty. The terms of capitulation are couched in a
spirit of great liberality and justice. One would hardly think that men
so amiable and confiding in their terms of peace, could have just been
on the eve of taking each others lives. But this is one of those
exhibitions of forbearance and generosity which not unfrequently relieve
the calamities of war.

The articles of capitulation, in substance, were, that the Californians
shall surrender their arms to Col. Fremont, return peaceably to their
homes, and not resume hostilities during the continuance of the war with
Mexico;—that they shall be guarantied the protection of life and
property, and equal rights and privileges with the citizens of the
United States. These terms were duly subscribed by the commissioners
appointed by the parties to the compact, and ratified by Col. Fremont.
They were liberal in their spirit, wise in their purpose, and just in
their application. More rigorous terms would have involved a sense of
humiliation in one party, without any advantage to the other. The
Californians were defeated, but not crushed. They have those salient
energies which rebound from misfortune, as their native forests sweep
back into the face of heaven, when the tempest has passed. They never
took the field out of reverence for the Mexican flag: it was a wild
impulse, deriving its life from a love of adventure, and the excitements
of the camp. They had had their tragedy, acted their part, and were now
willing the dim curtain should drop; and Col. Fremont very wisely
clenched it to the stage. A few in the orchestra still piped; but the
actors were away, the sidescenes vacant, and the spectators at their
homes; and there may they remain, till the sword shall be beaten into
the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning-hook, and the art of war
be known no more.


THURSDAY, FEB. 4. The Californians who left Monterey to join the
outbreak at the south are now returning to their homes. Every day brings
back two or three to their firesides. They look like men who have been
out on a hunt, and returned with very little game. Still, it must be
confessed that they have materially strengthened their claims to
military skill and courage. They have been defeated, it is true, but it
has cost their victors many sanguinary struggles, and many valuable
lives. They have raised themselves above that contemptuous estimation in
which they were erroneously held by many, and secured a degree of
respect, which will contribute to mutual forbearance. This result is to
be ascribed to the prowess of the few, rather than the conduct of the
many. The mass were governed by impulse and the pressure of
circumstances. It was not that calm, heroic spirit which disregards
personal safety, and exults in the hour of peril; nor was it that deep
sense of patriotic duty which makes a man firm in disaster and death. It
was rather that recklessness which springs from wounded pride, but which
often crowns with laurels a forlorn hope.


FRIDAY, FEB. 5. The outbreak at the north has passed away, and the last
wave of commotion perished with it. This result is to be ascribed to the
energy of Capt. Mervin, to the moderation and firmness of Capt. Marston
and his associates, and to the good conduct of the forces under their
command. Nor should it be forgotten that the Californians evinced, on
this occasion, a disposition well suited to bring about an amicable
treaty. They took up arms, not to make war on the American flag, but in
vindication of their rights as citizens of California, and in defence of
their property. They had been promised protection—they had been assured
that they should not be molested, if they remained quietly at their
homes—and these pledges had been glaringly violated. Their horses and
cattle had been taken from them under cover of public exigency, and no
receipts given, to secure them indemnification, till at last they
determined to have their rights respected, or to die like men. Still, it
was necessary to meet them in arms, and in sufficient force to inspire
respect. They were, however, well mounted, and might, had they so
listed, have prolonged the struggle. But this was not their object, and
they sent in a flag of truce. The conditions of the treaty were, that
they should lay down their arms, release their prisoners, and that their
property should be restored, or such vouchers given as would enable them
ultimately to recover its value. This was a reasonable requirement on
their part, and the American officers had the good sense to appreciate
its force. We must be just before we attempt to be brave. Laurels won
through wrong are a dishonor.


SATURDAY, FEB. 6. We have another rain; not a cloud is to be seen; but
the whole atmosphere is filled with a thick mist, which dissolves in a
soft perpetual shower. It seems as if nature had relinquished every
other occupation, and given herself up to this moist business. She calls
up no thunder, throws out no lightning; she only squeezes her great
sponge, and that as quietly as a mermaid smooths her dripping locks.


SUNDAY, FEB. 7. Com. Shubrick has ordered the barricades removed. Thank
God! we are at last relieved of martial law. It is one of the greatest
calamities that can fall on a civilized nation. It tramples on private
rights, trifles with responsibility, and cuts the conscience adrift from
its moorings. Men are thrown into this eddy of excess, and then act like
rudderless ships in a tempest-tost sea. Years will elapse before the
moral sentiments which have been unhinged by military violence can be
restored. Even California, where revolutions come and go like the
shadows of passing clouds, will long show the traces of the one which
has now passed over her. Its lightning has shivered the tree before the
fruit was ripe, and blasted a thousand buds that might have bloomed into
fragrant beauty.


MONDAY, FEB. 8. Much to the relief of the citizens, Com. Shubrick has
given orders that the volunteers on service here shall be paid off and
discharged. They are principally sea-beachers and mountain-combers, and
some of them are very good men; but others seem to have no idea of the
proprietorship of property. They help themselves to it as canvas-back
ducks the grass that grows in the Potomac, or migratory birds the
berries which bloom in the forests through which they wander. They
hardly left fowl enough here on which to keep Christmas. Could
dismembered hens lay eggs, they would have more chickens in their
stomachs than they ever had dollars in their pockets.




                              CHAPTER XII.

  RETURN OF T. O. LARKIN.—THE TALL PARTNER IN THE CALIFORNIAN.—MEXICAN
    OFFICERS.—THE CYANE.—WAR MEMENTOES.—DRAMA OF ADAM AND
    EVE.—CARNIVAL.—BIRTH-DAY OF WASHINGTON.—A CALIFORNIA
    CAPTAIN.—APPLICATION FOR A DIVORCE.—ARRIVAL OF THE COLUMBUS.

TUESDAY, FEB. 9. The U. S. ship Cyane, S. F. Dupont commander, is just
in from San Diego. She was dispatched to bring up General Kearny and
suit, and our consul, T. O. Larkin, Esq. The arrival of the Independence
was not known at San Diego when the Cyane sailed. The return of Mr.
Larkin was warmly greeted by our citizens. Even the old Californians
left their corridors to welcome him back. He was captured by those
engaged in the outbreak some three months since, and has been closely
guarded as a prisoner of war. Still, in the irregularities of the
campaign, and the easy fidelity of those who kept watch, he has had many
opportunities of effecting his escape, but declined them all. He was on
the eve, at one time, of being taken to Mexico, and got ready for the
long and wearisome journey; but some of his captors relented, and he was
allowed to remain at the town of the Angels, when the success of the
American arms relieved him. He experienced during his captivity many
acts of kindness. Even the ladies, who in California are always on the
side of those who suffer, sent him many gifts, which contributed
essentially to his comfort. But he is once more with his family, and
long may it be before he takes another such trip as his last.


WEDNESDAY, FEB. 10. My tall partner in the Californian is back at last
from his three months’ trip to San Francisco. I excused his long
absence, and cheerfully endured all the toil of getting out the paper,
with only the assistance of a type-setting sailor, under the vague
impression that he was hunting up a wife. But he has come back as single
as he came into the world. Whether his solitude is a thing of choice or
necessity I have not inquired. A man’s celibacy is a misfortune, with
which it seems wicked to trifle. It is too selfish for pity and too
serious for mirth. But let my partner go; he will get a wife in due
time; indeed he has had one already; and that is about the number which
nature provides. Some, it is true, take a second, and a few totter on to
a third, seemingly that they may have company when they totter into the
grave. Go down to your narrow house alone in the majesty of an unshaken
faith, and trust to meet the partner of your youth in heaven. She waits
there to beckon you to the hills of light. Meet her not with a harem of
spirits at your side, but singly, as on earth,

              When first beneath the hawthorn’s shade,
                The love she long had veiled from view,
              Her soft, uplifted eyes betrayed,
                As fell their broad, bright glance on you.


THURSDAY, FEB. 11. Two of the officers of Gen. Castro sent through me
to-day to Com. Shubrick, applications for permission to return to
Mexico. They are very poor, having received no pay since our flag was
raised. There are many more in the same situation. They are entitled to
our sympathy. They have tried, it is true, to retake the country; but
they are not to blame for that: who would not have done the same,
situated as they have been? We may call their courage sheer rashness;
but even that has higher claims to respect than pusillanimity. They
fought for their places, it is true, but I do not see why there is not
quite as much honor in a man’s fighting for bread with which to feed his
children, as for a feather with which to plume his ambition. Very few in
these days fight from pure patriotism. Some hope of profit or preferment
lights their path and lures them on. There has been, I apprehend, quite
as much love of country in the Californian as the American, in the storm
of battle which has swept over this land.


FRIDAY, FEB. 12. The Cyane sailed to-day for San Francisco, where she
will be allowed a short repose. And truly she merits this indulgence;
she has been, under her indefatigable commander, for six months
incessantly on duty, and has performed some exploits that will figure in
history. All our ships on this coast have been extremely active, and
their crews more active still. Wherever they have let go their anchors,
it has been for service on shore. They have furled their sails only to
unfurl their flags, and have relinquished the rope only to handle the
carbine. Not a man of them has been missed in the hour of peril; not a
murmur has escaped their lips in privation and fatigue. They have done
the duty of soldiers as well as sailors. They have conquered California.


SATURDAY, FEB. 13. The great scarcity of provisions here, and the
difficulty experienced in subsisting our forces, has induced Com.
Shubrick to issue a circular, throwing the ports open for six months to
all necessary articles of food. This step is characterized by sound
policy as well as humanity. It will have the effect of lowering the
exorbitant prices which we are now paying for these articles, and go far
to secure the good will of the citizens. Every measure which relieves
the present exigency, will be fully appreciated. The scarcity is the
result, in some measure, of the war; in this we have a responsibility,
and the least we can do is to relieve, so far as it lies in our power,
the calamity which it has entailed.


SUNDAY, FEB. 14. The bones which bleach on the battle-field, and the
groans which load the reluctant winds, are not the saddest memorials of
war. They lie deeper; they are coffined in decayed virtue, and in the
convulsions of outraged humanity. They convert the heart of a nation
into a charnel-house, where the gloomy twilight only serves to betray
the corruption which festers within. Flowers may bloom over it, and
garlands be woven of their fragrant leaves, but within is death. We
shudder at a recollection of the Deluge, and still gaze with wonder and
fear at its ghastly memorials: _that_ catastrophe, however, swept the
earth but once, and then departed; but war has for ages trampled over it
in blood, followed by the shrieks of fatherless children, and the wail
of ruined nations.

                Where’er the blood-stained monster trod
                Fell deep and wide the curse of God.


MONDAY, FEB. 15. We have had the drama of Adam and Eve as a phase in the
amusements, which have been crowded into the last days of the carnival.
It was got up by one of our most respectable citizens, who for the
purpose converted his ample saloon into a mimic opera-house. The actors
were his own children, and those near akin. They sustained their parts
well except the one who impersonated Satan; he was of too mild and frank
a nature to represent such a daring, subtle character. It was as if the
lark were to close his eyes to the touch of day, or the moon to invest
herself with thunder. But Eve was beautiful, and full of nature as an
unweaned child. She rose at once into full bloom, like the Aphrodite of
Phidias from the sparkling wave. Every sound and sight struck on her
wondering sense, as that of a being just waked to life. Her untaught
motions melted into flowing lines, soft and graceful as those of a bird
circling among flowers.

                 “Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
                 Like twilight’s too her dusky hair:
                 But all things else about her drawn,
                 From May-time and the cheerful dawn.”

The features of Adam betrayed his affinity to Eve. It was a brother’s
pride hovering over a sister’s loveliness. This imparted the highest
moral charm to the association. No unhallowed thought cast an ambiguous
shadow on the purity of their bliss. It was dashed by the evil one while
yet untouched by sorrow. When all was lost, Adam sustained himself in
his irreparable calamity with majestic resignation. In a moment of
forgetfulness he cast the blame on his companion, but her silent tears
instantly subdued him, and he clasped her to his heart. There is no
affection so deep as that which springs from sympathy in sorrow. Tears
fell here and there among the spectators, as the exiled pair left
forever their own sweet Eden. The birds became silent as if they had
sung only for the ear of Eve; the flowers would not lift themselves from
the light pressure of her departing footstep; and the streamlet trembled
in its flow, as if afraid it might lose the image, which her
disappearing form had cast upon its crystal mirror.


TUESDAY, FEB. 16. It is past midnight, and I have just come from the
house of T. O. Larkin, Esq., where I left the youth, the beauty, the
wisdom, and worth of Monterey. There are more happy hearts there than I
have met with in any other assemblage since I came to California. This
is the sunshine that has followed the war-cloud. This being the last
night of the carnival, every one has broken his last egg-shells. But few
of them contained cologne or lavender; nearly all were filled with
golden tinsel. Ladies and gentlemen too are covered with the sparkling
shower, and the lights of the chandeliers are thrown back in millions of
mimic rays. Two of the young ladies, remarkable for their sprightliness
and beauty, broke their eggs on the head of our commodore, and got
kissed by way of retaliation. They blushed, but still enjoyed their
triumph. I did not venture the _lex taliones_ in this form, but I had
eggs, and came off pretty even in the battle. The hens will now have a
little peace, and be allowed to hatch their chickens. The origin of this
egg-breaking custom I have not been able to learn. It seems lost in the
twilight of antiquity. I must leave it to those walking mummies, who
love to grope among the catacombs of perished nations: should they
discover it, their shouts will almost shake down the Egyptian pyramids.


WEDNESDAY, FEB. 17. A convict on our public works managed to escape
to-day, carrying off his ball and chain. Well, if he only will stop
stealing, he may run to earth’s utmost verge. I always like to see a
fellow get out of trouble, and sometimes half forget his crimes in his
misfortunes. This is not right, perhaps, in one situated as I am; but I
cannot help it; it is as much beyond my will as the pulses which throb
in my veins.


FRIDAY, FEB. 19. The volunteers, who accompanied Col. Fremont to the
south, are beginning to return to their homes on the Sacramento. Several
of them have stopped here on their way up, and report every thing
tranquil below. They murmur in deep undertones over their failure to
reach the Pueblo before the forces under Com. Stockton, and ascribe
their disappointment to a want of confidence in their courage and skill.
I know not how this may be; but, certainly, many and most of them could
have had but very little experience in California modes of warfare. They
may have been as brave as Cæsar, and their very daring have contributed
to their defeat. The secret of success here, where lances are used, lies
in a commander’s keeping his troops compact; but this is almost a moral
impossibility where men are well mounted and as full of enthusiasm as a
Cape Horn cloud of storms; without the severest discipline, they will
dash ahead, and take consequences however fatal. It was this error which
cost Capt. Burrows and his brave companions their lives.


SATURDAY, FEB. 20. We have had a fresh stir to-day, in the arrival of
Lieut. Watson, of the navy, with dispatches for Com. Shubrick and Gen.
Kearny, and with private letters to many of the officers. I have one
dated quite into November, and from my own hearth and home. I rushed
into the middle of it, then to each end, to ascertain that all were
well; and felt there was still one spot of earth covered with golden
light.

Mr. Watson sailed from New York, November twelfth, in the brig Sylvan,
landed at Chagres, and reached Panama on the twenty-seventh of the same
month; was detained there waiting for a conveyance till December the
twenty-fifth, when he took passage in an English steamer for Callao,
fell in with the U. S. storeship Erie, at Payta, on January third, went
on board of her, and arrived at San Francisco in thirty-nine days. But
for the detention in Panama, he would have reached here from New York in
sixty-seven days. But even this passage may be still further abridged by
a line of steamers. The day is not distant when a trip to California
will be regarded rather as a diversion than a serious undertaking. It
will be quite worth the while to come out here merely to enjoy this
climate for a few months. It is unrivalled, perhaps, in the world.


SUNDAY, FEB. 21. The American Tract Society has sent me out, by the
Lexington, a large box of their publications. Nothing could be more
timely. I have not seen a tract circulating in California. Emigrants are
arriving, settling here and there, without bringing even their Bibles
with them. The same is true of the United States troops. All these are
to be supplied from home, and by those two great institutions which are
now throwing the light of life over continents and isles. It remains for
the Missionary Society to do its duty, and dispatch to this shore the
self-denying heralds of the Cross.


MONDAY, FEB. 22. This is the birth-day of Washington. The Independence
and Lexington are brilliantly dressed; the flags of all nations stream
over them in a gorgeous arch. A salute of twenty-eight guns from the
Independence has expressed the homage of each state to the occasion.
Even here, and among the native population, Washington is known, and his
virtues are revered. People speak of him as a being exempted from the
weaknesses of our nature—as one commissioned of Heaven for a great and
glorious purpose, and endowed with the amazing powers requisite for its
accomplishment. It is the character of Washington that will never die.
His achievements will long survive on the page of history, but his
character is embalmed in the human heart. It is not a man’s deeds that
of themselves render him immortal. There must be some high consecrating
motive. He who reared the most gigantic of the pyramids has perished. He
sought an eternal remembrance in his monument, and not in any virtues
which it was to perpetuate. The monument remains, but where is its
builder?

          “Gone, glimmering through the twilight of the past.”


TUESDAY, FEB. 23. We are eagerly looking for the arrival of store-ships
from the United States. Our squadron is without provisions, except fresh
grub from the shore. Our ships, as far as sea-service is concerned, are
of about as much use as so many nautical pictures. They look stately and
brave, as they ride at anchor in our bay; but let them go to sea, and
they would carry famine with them. It is a strange policy that keeps a
squadron on this coast in such a disabled condition. One would suppose
the Department had concluded men could live at sea on moonshine.


WEDNESDAY, FEB. 24. A Californian woman complained to me, several months
since, of very ill-treatment from her husband. He was thoroughly
indolent, cross, and abusive. She had him and the children to feed and
clothe, while he did nothing but lounge about, find fault, and abuse
her. She asked for a divorce; but I told her she must be satisfied, for
the present, with a separation. So I called him before me, and ordered
him to gather up his traps, and leave the house for six months. He
grumbled a little, but obeyed the order.

To-day, the woman returned, and said she would try to live with her
husband again; that he often now walked past the house, and looked very
lonely and dejected; that she felt sorry for him, and, if I was willing,
she would try him again. I told her, with all my heart; that this was
good Christian conduct in her, and much better than a divorce. She
seemed gratified with this warm commendation; so did her husband with
the permission to return. How the restoration will turn out, remains to
be seen. But how forgiving is the heart of woman! Where she has once
loved, the affection never dies. Neglect may chill it, but it will bud
again, as plants, over which the snows of winter have been spread.


THURSDAY, FEB. 25. A courier arrived to-day from los Angeles. Every
thing continues quiet there. The Californians had entirely dispersed,
and retired to their ranchos, with the exception of those few who had
gone upon a forlorn hope to Sonora. They will never be able to raise a
force there sufficient to make any impression here. Mexico has enough to
do in her own borders, without an attempt to retake California.


FRIDAY, FEB. 26. A captain of artillery in the Californian army, said to
me a few days since, that his military career was now over, that he had
a numerous family to maintain, and he thought of engaging in making
adobes, if I would sell him a small patch of ground for that purpose,
belonging to the municipality; but stated that he had no money, and was
not a little puzzled to know how he was to pay for it, unless I would
suggest some method by which he could work it out with his boys and
team. I told him I was drawing stone for a prison; that he could engage
in this, and should be allowed the highest cash price. To-day I found
him, with his boys, at the quarry, lifting the stone into his cart. To
show him that I connected no idea of degradation with the work, I turned
to and assisted in heaving in one of the hugest in the pile. He wanted
to know if the people in the United States generally worked. I told him
all, except a few loafers and dandies, who were regarded as a public
nuisance. He said he was glad to hear it; for he must now work himself,
and it would be an easier lot with others to share it with him. I
assured him he would have company enough, as the emigration poured in
over the mountains. I must say, I have more respect for this working
captain of artillery, than for forty of his rank clinging to the shreds
of office, and shrinking from honest labor.


SATURDAY, FEB. 27. The weather continues bright and beautiful. The air
is soft, the sky clear, the trees are in bud, and the fields are
medallioned with flowers. A bouquet of these floral offerings was sent
me to-day by a California lady, with a little note in liquid Castilian,
that I would accept them as emblems of those hopes, which were timidly
expanding into life for California. Long may those hopes remain, and
long the gentle being who has sent these tokens live to walk in their
light. She is one, over whom adversity has swept; but she breaks from
its gloomy veil, bright as a star from the shadow of the departed cloud.


SUNDAY, FEB. 28. It is Lent; and the family that live the next door to
mine, are at their evening prayers. They were merry as a marriage-bell
during carnival, and now they are in sackcloth and ashes. Religion has a
wide vibration to reach these extremes of mirth and melancholy. But life
itself is made up of vicissitudes; wealth disappears in poverty; smiles
dissolve in tears; and the light of our mortal being goes out in the
night of the grave. But there is a higher life that is never overcast—a
spirit-home, where sorrow and change come not. Thither let the weary
lift the eye of faith, and forget the cares which environ their
pilgrimage here.


MONDAY, FEB. 29. Our harbor has been thrown into some commotion again by
another of the great leviathans of the deep. The U. S. ship of the line
Columbus, commanded by Capt. Wyman, and bearing the broad pennant of
Com. Biddle, entered our bay in stately majesty this morning. She came
in before a light breeze, under a vast cloud of canvas, and rounded to
in splendid style, near the Independence. She is the largest ship that
has ever been on this coast. Ladies and gentlemen watched from hill-top
and balcony her approach. She is last from Callao; her crew have
recovered from the effects of the East India climate, and her officers
are all in excellent spirits. They preferred, of course, a more
immediate return home, but evinced no want of alacrity in obeying the
mandate that has brought them here. I find among them my esteemed
friend, the Rev. Mr. Newton, highly and justly respected in the service.
We separated in Philadelphia to meet in California! After this we may
expect to encounter each other at the North Pole!


TUESDAY, MARCH 3. The U. S. ship Warren, under Commander Hull, is in
from San Francisco. She is now in the fourth year of her cruise, and has
hardly copper enough on her to make a warming-pan. Some say she will
tumble to pieces if an attempt is made to get her around Cape Horn. But
she has weathered many stormy headlands, and would undoubtedly weather
that. Still, she may be detained here as a harbor-ship; but wiser heads
than mine will determine that question. Her crew ought to be permitted
to return; it is cruel to keep men out as they have been. The sailor’s
lot is hard enough, indeed, when every suitable effort is made to
relieve it. There are but few drops of real happiness in his cup of
sorrow. He has his pastimes, it is true, but they partake more of
insanity than sober gladness. He is cradled in adversity, reared in
neglect, and dies in the midst of his days; and over his floating bier
the ocean thunders its dirge.


WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4. The convict that escaped a short time since was
overtaken by my constable ninety miles distant, and brought back to-day.
He looked like one whose last desperate hope had been baffled. I asked
what he attempted to run away for. He said the devil put it into his
head. I told him the poor old devil had enough to answer for without
being charged with his offences, and doubled the time of his sentence,
which was only for six months, and sent him back to the public works. He
is rather a hardened character, but if he has got a good vein in him, I
will try to find it. And in the mean time I shall set the prisoners
quarrying stone for a school-house, and have already laid the
foundations. The building is to be sixty feet by thirty-two stories,
suitably proportioned, with a handsome portico. The labor of the
convicts, the taxes on rum, and the banks of the gamblers, must put it
up. Some think my project impracticable; we shall see.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

  THE PEOPLE OF MONTEREY.—THE GUITAR AND RUNAWAY WIFE.—MOTHER ORDERED TO
    FLOG HER SON.—WORK OF THE PRISONERS.—CATCHING SAILORS.—COURT OF
    ADMIRALTY.—GAMBLERS CAUGHT AND FINED.—LIFTING LAND BOUNDARIES.

SATURDAY, MARCH 6. I have never been in a community that rivals Monterey
in its spirit of hospitality and generous regard. Such is the welcome to
the privileges of the private hearth, that a public hotel has never been
able to maintain itself. You are not expected to wait for a particular
invitation, but to come without the slightest ceremony, make yourself
entirely at home, and tarry as long as it suits your inclination, be it
for a day or for a month. You create no flutter in the family, awaken no
apologies, and are greeted every morning with the same bright smile. It
is not a smile which flits over the countenance, and passes away like a
flake of moonlight over a marble tablet. It is the steady sunshine of
the soul within.

If a stranger, you are not expected to bring a formal letter of
introduction. No one here thinks any the better of a man who carries the
credentials of his character and standing in his pocket. A word or an
allusion to recognized persons or places is sufficient. If you turn out
to be different from what your first impressions and fair speech
promised, still you meet with no frowning looks, no impatience for your
departure. You still enjoy in full that charity which suffereth long,
and is kind. The children are never told that you are a burden; you
enjoy their glad greetings and unsuspecting confidence to the last. And
when you finally depart, it will not be without a benison; not perhaps
that you are worthy of it; but you belong to the great human family,
where faults often spring from misfortune, and the force of untoward
circumstances. Generous, forbearing people of Monterey! there is more
true hospitality in one throb of your heart, than circulates for years
through the courts and capitals of kings.


TUESDAY, MARCH 16. Met Com. Biddle and Gen. Kearny to-day by
appointment, and gave them a history of California affairs from the time
the flag was raised. Both expressed a little surprise at some of the
events that had occurred, but neither called in question the wisdom of
the policy which had been pursued. The report of a disposition on the
part of these distinguished officers to cast reproach on events in
California, are without a shadow of foundation. Com. Biddle has not
come, it is true, to prosecute the measures of his predecessors, nor has
he come to repudiate them. He desires, so far as his instructions will
permit, to let them remain as he found them, and leave to time, that
moral touchstone of wisdom and folly, the tests of their expediency.


WEDNESDAY, MARCH 17. I met a Californian to-day with a guitar, from
which he was reeling off a merry strain, and asked him how it was
possible he could be so light-hearted while the flag of his country was
passing to the hands of the stranger. Oh, said the Californian, give us
the guitar and a fandango, and the devil take the flag. This reveals a
fact deeper than what meets the eye. The Californians as a community
never had any profound reverence for their nominal flag. They have
regarded it only as an evidence of their colonial relation to Mexico; a
relation for which they have felt neither affection nor pride.


THURSDAY, MARCH 18. A poor fellow came to me to-day, and complained that
his wife had run away with another man, and wanted I should advise him
what to do. I asked him if he desired her to come back; he said he did,
for he had five children who required her care. I told him he must then
keep still: the harder he chased a deer, the faster it would run; that
if he kept quiet she would soon circle back again to him.

He hardly seemed to understand the philosophy of inaction: I told him
there was hardly an animal in the world that might not be won by doing
nothing; that the hare ran from us simply because we had chased it; that
a woman ran for the same reason, though generally with a different
motive: the one ran to escape, the other to be overtaken. He consented
to try the do-nothing plan, and in the mean time I shal try to catch the
villain who has covered an humble family with disaster.


THURSDAY, MARCH 25. A California mother complained to me to-day, that
her son, a full-grown youth, had struck her. Usage here allows a mother
to chastise her son as long as he remains unmarried and lives at home,
whatever may be his age, and regards a blow inflicted on a parent as a
high offence. I sent for the culprit; laid his crime before him, for
which he seemed to care but little; and ordered him to take off his
jacket, which was done. Then putting a riata into the hands of his
mother, whom nature had endowed with strong arms, directed her to flog
him. Every cut of the riata made the fellow jump from the floor. Twelve
lashes were enough; the mother did her duty, and as I had done mine, the
parties were dismissed. No further complaint from that quarter.


MONDAY, APRIL 12. The old prison being too confined and frail for the
safe custody of convicts, I have given orders for the erection of a new
one. The work is to be done by the prisoners themselves; they render the
building necessary, and it is but right they should put it up. Every
bird builds its own nest. The old one will hold an uninventive Indian,
but a veteran from Sidney or Sing Sing would work his way out like a
badger from his hole, which the school urchin had obstructed. I had an
experiment with one a few nights since, and he went through the roof
with ball and chain. How he ever reached the rafters, unless the man in
the moon magnetized him, I cannot conjecture. But out he got, and it
cost me a California chase to catch him.


THURSDAY, APRIL 16. Six of the crew of the Columbus ran from one of her
boats this morning. They cleared the town in a few minutes, and plunged
into a forest which shadows a mountain gorge. The officer of the boat
came with a request from Capt. Wyman that I would have them caught and
brought back. My constables were both absent, and I ordered three
Californians who were well mounted to go in pursuit. The native people
are always inclined to aid a sailor in his attempt to escape; they seem
to think he is of course running from oppression or wrong, when in nine
cases out of ten he is running upon some sudden impulse, and continues
the race because he has begun it.

In this instance an order was given and it was obeyed; the sailors were
promptly apprehended and brought back. But had I offered a reward of
fifty dollars each for them, and left the Californians to pursue or not
as they preferred, not one of them would have been apprehended. I have
never known a Californian to molest a runaway sailor or soldier to
secure the reward offered. He will obey my order to arrest him, and he
would do the same if ordered to arrest his own brother, but he will not
do it to secure any pecuniary consideration. He seems to look upon it as
a breach of national hospitality. Were the De’il himself to call for a
night’s lodging, the Californian would hardly find it in his heart to
bolt the door. He would think they could manage against his horn hoof
and tail in some way.


SATURDAY, APRIL 18. The Pacific squadron having captured several prizes
not in a condition to be sent round the cape for adjudication in the
United States, the necessity of a court of admiralty here to determine
upon them, has induced Com. Biddle and Gen. Kearny to take the
responsibility of its organization. They have installed me in this new
office, invested with the authority which emanates through them from the
national executive, and the still higher sanctions derived _ex
necessitate rei_. And now comes the task of looking up those legal
authorities which may serve as guiding lights and safe precedents. But
even here, on this dim confine of civilization, loom to light all the
bright particular stars which have shed their rays on the intricacies of
national law and admiralty jurisprudence. We have the eloquent
commentaries of Kent, the able dissertations of Wheaton, the lucid
expositions of Chitty, and the authoritative decisions of Sir William
Scott. These, with half a dozen young lawyers ready to throw in their
own effulgent beam, as the glow-worm turns the sparkle in its tail to
the sun, will enable us perhaps to escape the breakers, where much
richer argosies than ours have been wrecked. But one thing is pretty
certain, my journal in the midst of all these perplexing duties will
find some breaks in it. I must hunt my rabbits, quail, and curlew, or
stagnate on beef; a sirloin may regale the hungry for a time, but even
that, if confined to it, palls on the appetite worse than a one-stringed
fiddle on the ear, or the low, wordless, monotonous grumble of a
discontented wife.


WEDNESDAY, MAY 12. A nest of gamblers arrived in town yesterday, and
last evening opened a monté at the hotel honored with the name of the
Astor House. I took a file of soldiers, and under cover of night reached
the hotel unsuspected, where I stationed them at the two doors which
afforded the only egresses from the building. In a moment I was on the
stairs which lead to the apartment where the gamesters were congregated.
I heard a whistle and then footsteps flying into every part of the
edifice. On entering the great chamber, not a being was visible save one
Sonoranian reclining against a large table, and composedly smoking his
cigarito. I passed the compliments of the evening with him, and desired
the honor of an introduction to his companions.

At this moment a feigned snore broke on my ear from a bed in the corner
of the apartment.—“Ha! Dutre, is that you? Come, tumble up, and aid me
in stirring out the rest.” He pointed under the bed, where I discovered,
just within the drop of the valance a multitude of feet and legs
radiating as from a common centre. “Hallo there, friends—turn out!” and
out came some half-dozen or more, covered with dust and feathers, and
odorous as the nameless furniture left behind. Their plight and
discovery threw them into a laugh at each other. From this apartment,
accompanied by my secretary, I proceeded to others, where I found the
slopers stowed away in every imaginable position—some in the beds, some
under them, several in closets, two in a hogshead, and one up a chimney.
Mr. R——, from Missouri—known here under the soubriquet of “the
prairie-wolf”—I found between two bed-ticks, with his coat and boots on,
and half smothered with the feathers. He was the ringleader, and raises
a monté table wherever he goes as regularly as a whale comes to the
surface to blow. All shouted as he tumbled out from his ticks. Among the
rest I found the alcalde of San Francisco, a gentleman of education and
refinement, who never plays himself, but who, on this occasion, had come
to witness the excitement. I gathered them all, some fifty in number,
into the large saloon, and told them the only speech I had to make was
in the shape of a fine of twenty dollars each. The more astute began to
demur on the plea of not guilty, as no cards and no money had been
discovered; and as for the beds, a man had as good a right to sleep
under one as in it. I told them that was a matter of taste, misfortune
often made strange bedfellows, and the only way to get out of the scrape
was to pay up. Dr. S—— was the first to plank down. “Come, my good
fellows,” said the doctor, “pay up, and no grumbling; this money goes to
build a school-house, where I hope our children will be taught better
principles than they gather from the example of their fathers.” The
“prairie-wolf” planked down next, and in ten minutes the whole,
Chillanos, Sonoranians, Oregonians, Californians, Englices, Americanos,
delivered in their fines. These, with the hundred dollar fine of the
keeper of the hotel, filled quite a bag. With this I bade them good
night, and took my departure. I hope the doctor’s prediction will prove
true; certainly it shall not be my fault if it turns out a failure. In
all this there was not an angry look or petulant remark; they knew I was
doing my duty, and they felt that they atoned in part for a violation of
theirs through their fines. If you must hold office be an alcalde, be
absolute, but be upright, impartial, and humane.


THURSDAY, MAY 27. A ranchero, living some forty miles distant, not
liking his own land, had lifted his boundary line, and projected it some
six miles over that of his neighbor. Quite a lap this would be among
farmers in the United States, but a small slice here. I was called upon
to decide the difficulty. Taking with me from the public archives a
certified copy of the original grant to each of the rancheros, I
proceeded to the spot, where I found some twenty men under the shadow of
a great oak-tree, and each ready to locate the boundaries agreeably to
the interests of the party that had summoned him. I listened to the
stories of each, and then asked the ranchero, who had lifted his line,
to show me his grant. He drew it from his pocket—a document signed,
sealed, and delivered with all the formalities of law. I then drew out
the original, and found their topographical lines as much alike as the
here and there of an unresting squatter. The fact was, the man had two
grants; but the last one being a palpable invasion of his neighbor’s
domain, as secured to him under the seal of the state, he must of course
retreat within the limits of the first. A township of land being thus
judicially and justly disposed of, I started on my return; fell in with
a grizzly bear—levelled and fired—but without waiting to see if the ball
took effect, dashed on. A loadless rifle, with an enraged bear at your
heels, makes you value a fleet horse in California.




                              CHAPTER XIV.

  A CONVICT WHO WOULD NOT WORK.—LAWYERS AT MONTEREY.—WHO CONQUERED
    CALIFORNIA.—RIDE TO A RANCHO.—LEOPALDO.—PARTY OF CALIFORNIANS.—A
    DASH INTO THE FORESTS.—CHASING A DEER.—KILLING A BEAR.—LADIES WITH
    FIREARMS.—A MOTHER AND VOLUNTEER.

FRIDAY, JUNE 18. One of the prisoners, who is an Englishman, ventured a
criticism on the stonework of another prisoner, which revealed the fact
of his being a stonecutter himself. I immediately sat him at work at his
old trade. But he feigned utter ignorance of it, and spoiled several
blocks in making his feint good. I then ordered him into a deep well,
where the water had given out, to drill and blast rocks. He drove his
drills here for several days, and finding that the well was to be sunk
some twenty or thirty feet deeper, concluded it was better for him to
work in the upper air, and requested that he might be permitted to try
his chisel again. Permission was given, and he is now shaping stones fit
to be laid in the walls of a cathedral. He was taken up for disorderly
conduct, and he is now at work on a school-house, where the principles
of good order are the first things to be taught.


SATURDAY, JUNE 19. We have at this time three young lawyers in Monterey,
as full of legal acuteness as the lancet cup of a phlebotomist. All want
clients, and fees, and the privilege of a practice in this court.
Mexican statutes, which prevail here, permit lawyers as counsel, but
preclude their pleas. They may examine witnesses, sift evidence, but not
build arguments. This spoils the whole business, and every effort has
been made to have the impediment removed and the floodgate of eloquence
lifted. I should be glad to gratify their ambition, but it is
impossible. I should never get through with the business pressing on my
hands in every variety of shape which civil and criminal jurisprudence
ever assumed. I tell them after the evidence has been submitted, the
verdict or decision must follow, and then if any in the court-room
desire to hear the arguments, they can adjourn to another apartment, and
plead as long as they like. In this way justice will go ahead, and
eloquence too, and the great globe still turn on its axle.


SATURDAY, JULY 17. Com. Stockton has left us on his return home over the
continent. His measures in California have been bold and vigorous, and
have been followed by decisive results. He found the country in anarchy
and confusion, and the greater part under the Mexican flag, and has left
it in peace and quietness beneath the stars and stripes. His position in
the march of the American forces from San Diego, and in the battle of
San Gabriel, has not been changed by any subsequent information in the
judgment of the candid and impartial. He tendered the command of the
expedition to Gen. Kearny, which that gallant officer deferred to the
commodore, out of regard to his position at the head of the naval forces
upon which the success of the enterprise must depend. The propriety of
this arrangement is seen in the fact that the general had but sixty
dragoons at his command, and those on foot, while the Pacific squadron
poured six hundred seamen and marines upon the field. There was no
confusion of orders or evolutions on the route; every general movement
emanated from Com. Stockton, with the good understanding and harmonious
action of Gen. Kearny.

It is deeply to be regretted that any thing subsequently occurred to
disturb this spirit of mutual deference and generous devotion to the
crisis which pressed upon our arms. It is not my purpose to comment on
this feature in the affairs of California; but it is due to truth that
history should be set right; that facts warped from their true position
should be reinstated on their own pedestals. The army has covered itself
with laurels on the plains of Mexico, and might have won honors here
with an adequate force; but to rely on sixty dragoons in the face of a
thousand Californians, armed with the rifle and lance, and accustomed to
the saddle from their birth, is to trifle with the stern solemnities of
war. It is requiring too much of us, who have lived here through the
war, and are conversant with its history, to claim our assent to the
allegation, that California has been conquered through the achievements
of the army. _That_ unshrinking arm of the nation has done its work well
and fast elsewhere, but only the vibrations of its blows have trembled
across the confines of California. For matter of these the Mexican flag
would still be flying over these hills and valleys. The seamen or the
Pacific squadron, as reliable on land as faithful on the deck, and the
emigrants, who have come here to find a home, have wrenched this land of
wealth and promise from the grasp of Mexico, and unfurled the stars and
stripes, where they will wave evermore. Let the laurel light where it
belongs.


TUESDAY, AUG. 10. An Indian galloped to my door this morning, having in
lead a splendid pied horse, richly caparisoned, and with an invitation
from a ranchero, forty miles distant, that I would come and spend a few
days with him at his country-seat; so I placed the office in the hands
of Don Davido, well competent to its duties, and with my secretary, Mr.
G——, mounted on another noble animal, started for the mansion of my old
friend from the mountains of Spain, now in the winter of age, but with a
heart warm as a sunbeam. The town, with its white dwellings, soon
vanished behind the pine and evergreen oak, which crown the hills, that
throw around it their arms of waving shade. The little lakes, navelled
in the breaks of the forest, flashed on the eye; the water-fowl, in
clouds, took wing; the quail whirled into the bushes; and the deer
bounded off to their woodland retreats. A grizzly bear, with a storm of
darkness in his face, stood his ground, and never even blinked at the
crack of our pistols.

We were now on the bank of the Salinas, through which we dashed,
allowing our horses a taste of its yellow waters, then up the opposite
bank, and away over the broad plain, which stretches in vernal beauty
beyond. Our horses required no spur, were in fine condition, high
spirits, never broke their gallop, and swept ahead, like a fawn to its
covert. Mine belonged to the daughter of the Don, to whose hearth we
were bound, and had often rattled about among these hills beneath his
fair owner, whose equestrian graces and achievements might throw a fresh
enchantment on the chase that had gathered to its rivalries the beauty
and bravery of Old England. Another mountain stream—a dash through its
foaming tide, and away again through a broad ravine, which bent its
ample track to the steep hills, which threw the shadows of their waving
trees over a thousand echoing caverns. Where the forests broke, the wild
oats waved, like golden lakes, and mirrored the passing cloud; while the
swaying pines rolled out their music on the wind, like the dirge of
ocean. And now another luxuriant plain, where cattle, and horses, and
sheep gambolled and grazed by thousands; and on the opposite side the
white mansion of our host, crowning the headland, and glimmering through
the waving shade, like the columns which consecrate Colonna. Here we
alighted without weariness to ourselves or our spirited animals, though
we had swept through the forty miles in three hours and a half. The
señorita, who had sent me her horse, vaulted into the saddle, which I
had just relinquished, and patting the noble fellow, whom she called
Leopaldo, induced him to exhibit a variety of his cunning evolutions. He
knew his rider as well as a Newfoundlander his mistress, or an eagle his
mountain mate.

It was a festive eve at the Don’s; youth and beauty were there; and as
the sable hues of night sunk on silent tree and tower, the harp and
guitar woke into melodious action; the hour was late when the waltz and
song resigned their votaries to the calmer claims of slumber. My
apartment betrayed the rural diversions of some fairy, one whose floral
trophies threw their fragrance from every variety of vase. The air was
loaded with perfume, and could hardly be relieved by the visits of the
night-wind through the lifted window. My dreams ran on tulips and roses.
Morn blazed again in the east; the soaring lark sung from its cloud; the
guests were up, glad voices were heard in the hall; light forms glanced
through the corridors, and a _buenos dios_ rolled in sweet accents from
lips circled with smiles. Coffee and tortillas went round, mingled with
salutations and those first fresh thoughts which spring from the heart
like early birds from the tree, which the sunlight has touched, while
the dew yet sparkles on its leaves. The horses of the Don were now
driven to the door—a sprightly band—vieing in their hues with the
flowers that sprinkled the meadows where they gambolled, and the guests
were invited to make their selection. My choice fell, of course, on
Leopaldo, who had brought me from Monterey; but his fair owner would
want him; no, he was delivered to me, as the señorita took another quite
as full of fire.

The ladies were now tost into their saddles, and the gentlemen, belted
and spurred, vaulted into theirs. We all struck at once into a hand
gallop, and swept over the broad plain which stretches from the
acropolis of the Don, to the broken line of a mountain range. Here we
spurred into a broad shadowy ravine, overhung with toppling crags, and
breaking through the bold ranges of rock, which threw their steep faces
in wild fantastic forms on the eye. “A coyote!” shouted those in the
van, and started in chase; but this prairie-wolf had his den near at
hand, and soon vanished from sight. Another, and a third, but the chasm
yielded its instant refuge. A fourth was started, who gave us a longer
pursuit; but he soon doubled from sight around a bold bluff into a
jungle. Here the horse of señorita S—— dashed ahead of the whole
caballada, with his dilated eye fastened on a noble buck, and swept up
the sloping side of the ravine to gain the ridge, and cut off his escape
in that direction, while the whole troop spurred hot and fast upon his
retreat below. We were now in for a chase, brief though it might be. The
buck seemed confused; and no wonder, with such a shouting bevy at his
heels, and with the señorita streaming along the ridge, and dashing over
chasm and cliff like the storm-swept cloud where “leaps the live
thunder.” But the proud buck was not to be captured in this way; and as
soon as the other side of the ravine began to slope from its steep line,
up its bank he sprung, and bounded along its ridge as if in exulting
rivalry at the rattling chase of the señorita. “Two _deers_,” shouted
one of the caballeros, “and neither of them to be caught.”

We here wheeled into another mountain gorge, which opened into a long
irregular vista of savage wildness. A gallop of two or three miles
brought us to a spot where the rocky barriers retreated on either hand,
shaping out a bowl, in the centre of which stood a cluster of oaks. On
the lower limb of one, which threw its giant arm boldly from the rough
trunk, a dark object was descried, half lost in the leaves. “A bear, a
bear!” shouted our leader, and dashed up to the tree, which was
instantly surrounded by the whole troop, “Give us pistols,” exclaimed
the señoritas, as bravely in for the sport as the rest. Click, crack!
and a storm of balls went through the tree-top. Down came old bruin with
one bound into the midst, full of wrath and revenge. The horses
instinctively wheeled into a circle, and as bruin sprung for a
death-grapple, the lasso of our baccaros, thrown with unerring aim,
brought him up all standing. He now turned upon the horse of his new
assailant; but that sagacious animal evaded each plunge, and seemed to
play in transport about his antagonist. The pistols were out again, and
a fresh volley fell thick as hail around the bear. In the smoke and
confusion no one could tell where his next spring might be; but the
horse of the baccaro knew his duty and kept the lasso taught. Bruin was
wounded, but resolute and undaunted; the fire rolled from his red eyes
like a flash of lightning out of a forked cloud. Foiled in his plunges
at the horse, he seized the lasso in his paws, and in a moment more
would have been at his side, but the horse sprung and tripped him,
rolling him over and over till he lost his desperate hold on the lasso.
The pistols were reloaded, and señoritas and caballeros all dashed up
for another shower of fire and lead. As the smoke cleared, bruin was
found with the lasso slack, a sure evidence that the horse who managed
it knew his antagonist was dead.

This was sport enough for one day; we galloped on through the defile,
which wound round a mountain spur, till it struck a precipitous stream,
which sent into the green nooks the wild echoes of its cascades.
Following the ravine through which it poured its more tranquil tide, we
debouched at length upon the plain, crowned with the hospitable mansion
of our host. The feats of the morning astonished even the old Don, who
offered his favorite roan to the one whose bullet had killed the bear.
The meed was challenged by each and all, but no one could make good and
exclusive claim. The gentlemen relinquished their claim, but that only
made the matter worse, as it narrowed the contest to the circle of the
señoritas. Dinner was announced; then came the siesta, followed by the
soft twilight, with the harp, guitar, and song, which melted away into
sweet sleep. In the morning Mr. G. and myself, with the glorious
Leopaldo, waved our adieu, and returned to Monterey.


MONDAY, SEPT. 6. A mother, who lives with a man out of wedlock, applied
to me this morning to take her two daughters from an aunt, with whom
they were living, and place them in another family. When asked for her
reasons, she stated that this aunt had not a good reputation, and though
bad herself, she did not want to see her daughters so. I told her she
could hardly expect me to make her daughters better than their mother;
that parental example was stronger than law; that if she wanted to keep
her daughters pure, she must be so herself. She shed tears: I said no
more; but ordered her daughters into the family where she desired.


TUESDAY, SEPT. 7. One of the volunteers broke into my coral last night,
with the intention of reaching the hen-roost, but was frightened nearly
to death by a discharge of mustard-seed from an old fowling-piece, with
which my servant had armed himself for the protection of his poultry.
Some of the volunteers, and I hope much the larger portion, are upright,
honest men, but there are others who will steal any thing and every
thing, from a horse to a hen. One of the evils of a soldier’s lot is,
that the good are often confounded with the bad. But every profession
suffers in the same way.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 10. Our bay is full of sardines; an Indian jumped into the
surf and scooped up for me, with his blanket, half a peck in a few
minutes. The pelican follows these small fish, and pounces down upon
them with a savage ferocity. There is something in such a sudden
destruction of life, even in a minnow, which you don’t like. I have
often wished the bird just shot again on the wing.


We are looking every moment for the return of the Cyane, under Commander
Du Pont, from the Sandwich Islands, where she has been on important
service. She is the water-witch of the Pacific—if ceaseless motion can
claim that honor. Her commander enjoys so thoroughly the confidence and
affection of his officers and crew, they go with him through all this
exhausting service without a murmur. It is a happy tact that can
maintain discipline and wield at any moment the whole moral and physical
power of such a ship.




                              CHAPTER XV.

  A CALIFORNIA PIC-NIC.—SEVENTY AND SEVENTEEN IN THE DANCE.—CHILDREN IN
    THE GROVE.—A CALIFORNIA BEAR-HUNT.—THE BEAR AND BULL BATED.—THE
    RUSSIAN’S CABBAGE HEAD.

WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 22. The lovers of rural pastimes were on an early stir
this morning with their pic-nic preparations. Basket after basket,
freighted with ham, poultry, game, pies, and all kinds of pastry, took
their course in the direction of a wood which stands three miles from
town, and shades a sloping cove in the strand of the sea. The sky was
without a cloud, and the brooding fog had lifted its dusky wings from
the face of the bright waters. At every door the impatient steed, gayly
caparisoned, was waiting his rider. Into the saddle youth and age
vaulted together, while the araba rolled forward with its living freight
of laughing childhood. The dogs swept on before, barking in chorus, and
flaring the gay ribbon which some happy child had fastened round the
neck.

This mingled tide of health and social gladness flowed on to the grove
of pine and birch, which threw their branching arms in a verdant canopy
over a plat of green grass, which had been shorn close to the level
earth. Around this arena strayed every variety of twig-inwoven seat,
where matron and maiden, in the flow of the heart, forgot their
disparity of years. The children wreathed each other’s locks with
coronals of flowers, the soft breeze whispered in the pines, and the
little billow murmured its music on the strand. And now the violin, the
harp, and guitar woke the bounding dance. Forth upon the green the man
of seventy, still erect and tall, led the blooming girl of sixteen. Age
had whitened his locks, but the light of an unclouded spirit still
rolled in his eye, and the salient bound of youth still dwelt in his
limbs. His young partner, with her tresses of raven darkness, inwoven
with snow-white flowers,—with a cheek, where the mantling tide of health
was curbed into a blush—and a step light and elastic as that of the
gazelle, seemed as one of Flora’s train, just lighted there to swim in
youth and beauty in the wild woodland merriment. By the side of these,
others, in mingled youth and age, lead down the double files, and
balance and whirl in the mazy measures which roll from the orchestral
band. As these retire, others still spring to the arena, and the dance
goes on, ever changing, and still the same. No faltering step delays its
feathered feet, no glance of envy disturbs its love-lit smiles, no look
of clouded care overshadows its real mirth:

        “The garlands, the rose-odors, and the flowers,
        The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments,
        The white arms and the raven hair, the braids
        And bracelets, swan-like bosoms, the thin robes
        Floating like light clouds ’twixt our gaze and heaven.”

And now they glide to the tables, which stretch away under the
embowering trees, and where the rich larder has emptied its choicest
stores. There the savory venison scents the still air, and the wild
strawberries blush between the green leaves. There the domestic fowl,
the swift-footed hare, and the timid quail have met in strange
brotherhood. There the juice of the native grape, and the cool wave of
the gushing rock, sparkle in the flowing goblet. These were discussed,
and the festive board was relinquished to the children, who were too
full of glee to note if aught more than the fruit and confectionery
remained. The ripe berry sought in vain to add color to their lips, or
rival the bloom which lent its rosy hue to the round cheek. Golden locks
floated around eyes which sparkled with light and love, and the accents
of gladness rung out in joyous peals, like the song of birds when the
storm-cloud has passed.

         “Theirs was the shout! the song! the burst of joy!
           Which sweet from childhood’s rosy lip resoundeth;
         Theirs was the eager spirit naught could cloy,
           And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth.”

The music from the harp and guitar streamed out again, and the green
plat was full of glancing forms, where youth and age, maternal dignity
and maiden charms, led down the merry dance. As these glided to their
seats, childhood crowned with wild-flowers sprung to the arena, with
motions light as the measures through which it whirled its infantile
forms. A sylvan Pan might have fancied his fays had left their
green-wood covert to frolic on the green beneath the soft light of the
dying day. But ere the evening star ascended its watch-tower the merry
groups were on their fleet steeds, bounding over hill and valley to
their homes. The shadows of the moonlit trees fell in softness and
silence where all this mirth had been; only the silver tones of the
streamlets were heard as they murmured their music in the ear of night.
The echoes of our voices will all cease in the places that have known us
as we glide at last to the “dim bourn,” nor will a leaflet tremble long
in the breath of memory. The myriads who people the past are still, the
stir of their existence is over, the great ocean of their being is at
rest. The wandering wind only sighs over their tombless repose.


FRIDAY, OCT. 10. Captain Hull, who has been out here nearly four years
in command of the Warren, left us to-day for the United States. He has
rendered good service to the country during his long exile. May
prosperous breezes waft him safely to his distant home. Lieut. J. B.
Lanman succeeds to the command of the Warren; an officer justly esteemed
for his gentlemanly deportment and professional intelligence. It is this
foreign duty that puts the competency and fidelity of an officer to the
test. It is easy to carry on duty at a navy yard, but duty on board ship
with a heterogeneous crew, is another thing; it calls for the last
resources of the officer, in the maintenance of discipline, harmony, and
efficiency.

For a person who has been but a few months in a man-of-war, and never
been at sea in any other situation, to attempt to enlighten the public
on the discipline of the navy, or any of the duties which belong on
board ship, is an exhibition of impertinent vanity. He has no practical
knowledge of the subjects upon which he is delivering his sage lecture.
He has a certain theory with which he proposes to test the wisdom or
folly, the humanity or cruelty, of every thing in the service; and when
this theory gets snagged, which is often the case, he is for rooting out
the whole concern. He don’t reflect that his land theory is as much out
of its element at sea as a stranded porpoise would be out of his. All
the habits and usages of a man-of-war, are heaven wide of those which
obtain on land. They require rules and regulations suited to their
genius. Reforms must necessarily be of slow growth; they must take root
in the service itself, and not in the novelties of any land theory.


THURSDAY, OCT. 28. The king of all field-sports in California is the
bear-hunt: I determined to witness one, and for this purpose joined a
company of native gentlemen bound out on this wild amusement. All were
well mounted, armed with rifles and pistols, and provided with lassoes.
A ride of fifteen miles among the mountain crags, which frown in stern
wildness over the tranquil beauty of Monterey, brought us to a deserted
shanty, in the midst of a gloomy forest of cypress and oak. In a break
of this swinging gloom lay a natural pasture, isled in the centre by a
copse of willows and birch, and on which the sunlight fell. This, it was
decided, should be the arena of the sport: a wild bullock was now shot,
and the quarters, after being trailed around the copse, to scent the
bear, were deposited in its shade. The party now retired to the shanty,
where our henchman tumbled from his panniers several rolls of bread, a
boiled ham, and a few bottles of London porter. These discussed, and our
horses tethered, each wrapped himself in his blanket, and with his
saddle for his pillow, rolled down for repose.

At about twelve o’clock of the night our watch came into camp and
informed us that a bear had just entered the copse. In an instant each
sprung to his feet and into the saddle. It was a still, cloudless night,
and the moonlight lay in sheets on rivulet, rock, and plain. We
proceeded with a cautious, noiseless step, through the moist grass of
the pasture to the copse in its centre, where each one took his station,
forming a cordon around the little grove. The horse was the first to
discover, through the glimmering shade, the stealthful movements of his
antagonist. His ears were thrown forward, his nostrils distended, his
breathing became heavy and oppressed, and his large eye was fixed
immovably on the dim form of the savage animal. Each rider now uncoiled
his lasso from its loggerhead, and held it ready to spring from his
hand, like a hooped serpent from the brake. The bear soon discovered the
trap that had been laid for him; plunged from the thicket, broke through
the cordon, and was leaping, with giant bounds, over the cleared plot
for the dark covert of the forest beyond. A shout arose—a hot pursuit
followed, and lasso after lasso fell in curving lines around the bear,
till at last one looped him around the neck and brought him to a
momentary stand.

As soon as bruin felt the lasso, he growled his defiant thunder, and
sprung in rage at the horse. Here came in the sagacity of that noble
animal. He knew, as well as his rider, that the safety of both depended
on his keeping the lasso taught, and without the admonitions of rein or
spur, bounded this way and that, to the front or rear, to accomplish his
object, never once taking his eye from the ferocious foe, and ever in an
attitude to foil his assaults. The bear, in desperation, seized the
lasso in his griping paws, and hand over hand drew it into his teeth: a
moment more and he would have been within leaping distance of his
victim; but the horse sprung at the instant, and, with a sudden whirl,
tripped the bear and extricated the lasso. At this crowning feat the
horse fairly danced with delight. A shout went up which seemed to shake
the wild-wood with its echoes. The bear plunged again, when the lasso
slipped from its loggerhead, and bruin was instantly leaping over the
field to reach his jungle. The horse, without spur or rein, dashed after
him. While his rider, throwing himself over his side, and hanging there
like a lamper-eel to a flying sturgeon, recovered his lasso, bruin was
brought up again all standing, more frantic and furious than before;
while the horse pranced and curveted around him like a savage in his
death-dance over his doomed captive. In all this no overpowering torture
was inflicted on old bruin, unless it were through his own rage,—which
sometimes towers so high he drops dead at your feet. He was now lassoed
to a sturdy oak, and wound so closely to its body by riata over riata,
as to leave him no scope for breaking or grinding off his clankless
chain; though his struggles were often terrific as those of Laocoon, in
the resistless folds of the serpent.

This accomplished, the company retired again to the shanty, but in
spirits too high and noisy for sleep. Day glimmered, and four of the
baccaros started off for a wild bull, which they lassoed out of a roving
herd, and in a few hours brought into camp, as full of fury as the bear.
Bruin was now cautiously unwound, and stood front to front with his
horned antagonist. We retreated on our horses to the rim of a large
circle, leaving the arena to the two monarchs of the forest and field.
Conjectures went wildly round on the issue, and the excitement became
momently more intense. They stood motionless, as if lost in wonder and
indignant astonishment at this strange encounter. Neither turned from
the other his blazing eyes; while menace and defiance began to lower in
the looks of each. Gathering their full strength, the terrific rush was
made: the bull missed, when the bear, with one enormous bound, dashed
his teeth into his back to break the spine; the bull fell, but whirled
his huge horn deep into the side of his antagonist. There they lay,
grappled and gored, in their convulsive struggles and death-throes. We
spurred up, and with our rifles and pistols closed the tragedy; and it
was time: this last scene was too full of blind rage and madness even
for the wild sports of a California bear-hunt.


TUESDAY, NOV. 2. Byron says, a hog in a high wind is a poetical object.
Had he lived here, he might have put a mischievous boy on the top of
that grotesque animal, and it would have helped out the poetical image
immensely. The boys here begin their equestrianism on the back of a hog
or bullock, and end it on the saddle, to which they seem to grow like a
muscle to a rock.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 3. A Russian, who carries on a farm at Santa Cruz,
called at my office a few days since, and presented me with a cabbage
head. I was sure from this garden gift, the old Cossack had something in
tow yet out of sight; but it soon came in the shape of a request that I
would summon a debtor of his, and order payment.

The creditor of the Russian proved to be a young Frenchman, who had run
away with the old man’s daughter, married her, and then quartered
himself and wife on her father. I told the Frenchman he must pay board,
or run away again with his wife; but if he came back he must satisfy
arrears: so he concluded to run. This running before the honey-moon is
pleasant enough; but running after that sweet orb has waned, is rather a
dismal business.


Col. Burton, with his command, is in Lower California, where he has
maintained the flag against desperate odds. His officers and men have
acquitted themselves with honor. The powder and ball of the enemy were
smuggled in by an American—a wretch who ought to be shot himself.


MONDAY, NOV. 8. After being six months without rain, the first shower of
the season fell this evening. Its approach had been announced for
several days by a dim atmosphere, which was filled with a soft, thick
vapor, that swung about, like a limitless cloud. The rain itself was
warm, and sunk into the earth like flattery into the heart of a fool.

[Illustration]




                              CHAPTER XVI.

  A CALIFORNIAN JEALOUS OF HIS WIFE.—HOSPITALITY OF THE NATIVES.—HONORS
    TO GUADALUPE.—APPLICATION FROM A LOTHARIO FOR A DIVORCE.—CAPTURE OF
    MAZATLAN.—LARCENY OF CANTON SHAWLS.—AN EMIGRANT’S WIFE CLAIMING TO
    HAVE TAKEN THE COUNTRY.—A WILD BULLOCK IN MAIN-STREET.

SATURDAY, NOV. 20. I was tumbled out of my dreams last night by a
succession of rapid and heavy knocks at my office door. Unbarring it, I
found Giuseppe, a townsman, who stated, under an excitement that almost
choked his voice, that he had just returned from the Salinas; that on
entering his house he had discovered, through the window in the door
leading to his bedroom, by the clear light of the moon, which shone into
the apartment, a man reposing on his pillow by the side of his faithless
spouse, and desired me to come and arrest him. I had understood that the
sposa had not the reputation of the “icicle that hung on Dian’s temple,”
and had no great confidence in Giuseppe’s domestic virtues either; but
that was no valid reason why he should be so unceremoniously ousted of
his domestic claims. I therefore ordered the constable, whom this
midnight noise had now awoke, to go with him and bring the culprit
before me.

Off they started, well armed with batons and revolvers. On reaching the
premises the house was carefully reconnoitred, and every egress from the
building securely bolted. They were now inside, and had conducted their
operations so silently they were unsuspected. The door leading to the
bedroom was at the other end of the hall; they crept over the floor with
steps so low and soft, each heard his heart beat, and the clock seemed
to strike instead of ticking its seconds. Giuseppe’s thoughts ran—

             “I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
             And, on the proof, there is no more but this.”

Through the panes of glass which relieved the panels of the door, they
saw in the faint moonlight, which fell through the opposite window, the
dark locks of the guilty intruder flowing over the husband’s pillow. “I
have a mind,” whispered Giuseppe, “to rush in and plunge my knife at
once to his cursed heart.” “No, no;” returned my faithful constable, “we
are here to execute the orders of the alcalde, and if you are going to
take the law into your own hands I will leave you. Hush! hark! he stirs!
No; it was the shadow of the tree that frecks the moonlight.” All was
still and waveless again. The door was on the jar, and drawing one good
long relieving breath, in they rushed, and seized——what? A muff! The
husband could not believe his own eyes, and mussed the muff up, jerking
it this way and that, as if to ascertain if there was not a man inside
of it. “You return late, Giuseppe,” murmured his wife, scarce yet awake.
“Oh, yes, yes, my dear, late, late,” stammered the husband. “You have a
friend with you,” continued the unsuspecting sposa. “Yes, my darling; a
friend from the Salinas, whom I have invited to take a night’s lodging,”
replied Giuseppe. “Well, you will find a bed for him in the opposite
room, and a candle and matches on the table,” rejoined the sposa. So the
twain went out, and having disturbed the bed assigned the friend
sufficiently to give it the appearance of having been slept in, my
constable slipped out and came home, denouncing all jealous husbands and
ladies’ muffs. This fluster cost me two hours’ sleep, and Giuseppe a fee
of three dollars to the constable. He would have paid forty times that
sum to get free of the joke. Nothing so completely confounds a
Californian as to find himself the dupe of his suspicions. It is more
vexatious than the wrong which his mistaken anger sought to avenge.
Mutual confidence is the basis of all domestic endearment, and the cause
which is allowed to disturb it, should be as weighty as the happiness it
wrecks. So reads my homily.


TUESDAY, DEC. 7. There are no people that I have ever been among who
enjoy life so thoroughly as the Californians. Their habits are simple;
their wants few; nature rolls almost every thing spontaneously into
their lap. Their cattle, horses, and sheep roam at large—not a blade of
grass is cut, and none is required. The harvest waves wherever the
plough and harrow have been; and the grain which the wind scatters this
year, serves as seed for the next. The slight labor required is more a
diversion than a toil; and even this is shared by the Indian. They
attach no value to money, except as it administers to their pleasures. A
fortune, without the facilities of enjoying it, is with them no object
of emulation or envy. Their happiness flows from a fount that has very
little connection with their outward circumstances.

There is hardly a shanty among them which does not contain more true
contentment, more genuine gladness of the heart, than you will meet with
in the most princely palace. Their hospitality knows no bounds; they are
always glad to see you, come when you may; take a pleasure in
entertaining you while you remain; and only regret that your business
calls you away. If you are sick, there is nothing which sympathy and
care can devise or perform which is not done for you. No sister ever
hung over the throbbing brain or fluttering pulse of a brother with more
tenderness and fidelity. This is as true of the lady whose hand has only
figured her embroidery or swept her guitar, as of the cottage-girl
wringing from her laundry the foam of the mountain stream; and all this
from the _heart_! If I must be cast in sickness or destitution on the
care of the stranger, let it be in California; but let it be before
American avarice has hardened the heart and made a god of gold.


MONDAY, DEC. 13. A Californian, who had been absent some two years in
Mexico, where he had led a gay irregular life, finding or fancying on
his return grounds for suspecting the regularity of his wife, applied to
me for a decree of divorce, _a vinculo matrimonii_. I told him that it
was necessary, that on so grave a subject, he should come into court
with clean hands; that if he would swear on the Cross, at the peril of
his soul, that he had been faithful himself during his long absence, I
would then see what could be done with his wife. He wanted to know if
that was United States law; I told him it was the law by which I was
governed—the law of the Bible—and a good law, too—let him that is
without sin cast the first stone. “Then I cannot cast any stone at all,
sir,” was the candid reply. “Then go and live with your wife; she is as
good as you are, and you cannot require her to be any better.” He took
my advice, is now living with his wife, and difficulties seem to have
ceased. Nothing disarms a man like the conscious guilt of the offence
for which he would arraign another.


TUESDAY, DEC. 21. The old church bell has been ringing out all the
morning in honor of Guadalupe, the patron saint of California. Her
festivities commenced last evening in illuminated windows, bonfires, the
flight of rockets, and the loud mirth of children. I wonder if Guadalupe
knows or cares much about these exhibitions of devotional glee. Can the
shout of boyhood around the crackling bonfire reach to her celestial
pavillion? can the flambeau throw its tremulous ray so far? will she
bend her ear from the golden lyres of heaven to catch the sound of a
torpedo vibrating up over the cloud-cataracts which thunder between? If
Guadalupe be in heaven, where I hope she is, she has done with the
crackers and bonfires of earth, and heeds them as little as the
glow-worm that glimmers on her grave. But let the old bell peal on; it
matters but little whether it be for this saint or that; it is only a
metallic hosanna to either. There is more true homage in one silent
prayer, breathed from the depths of a meek confiding heart, than in all
the peals ever rung from cathedral towers. The only worship which
approaches that of a resigned heart is the hymn of the forest, as its
leaves in the fading twilight softly tremble to rest. He who can listen
unmoved to these vesper melodies, can have no sensibility in his soul,
and no God in his creed. When this fevered being shall sink to rest, let
me be laid beneath some green tree, whose vernal leaves shall whisper
their music over my sleep. And yet it would be lonely were there none
beloved in life to linger there in death.

         When the bright sun upon that spot is shining
                   With purest ray,
         And the small shrubs their buds and blossoms twining,
                   Burst through that clay,
         Will there be one still on that spot refining
                   Lost hopes away?


WEDNESDAY, DEC. 22. We are now carrying the war into the enemy’s camp;
the Pacific squadron, under the broad pennant of Com. Shubrick, is in
front of Mazatlan. That important position was captured on the twelfth
ult., and is now garrisoned by three hundred and fifty seamen and
marines. Capt. Lavelette, well qualified by his intelligence, urbanity,
and moral firmness for the post, is governor of the town. The country
around, and all the great avenues leading through it, are in the hands
of the enemy, who can, at any moment, bring two thousand horsemen into
the field. They only want a leader of sufficient resolution, and they
might force our garrison upon the last resource of their courage and
strength. But Gen. Telles is weak and vacillating, and has not the
confidence even of the troops which he commands; while many of the
citizens, who have property at issue, prefer the protection extended to
them under the flag, to the anarchy and confusion into which they might
be thrown by the success of their own arms. It was a bold and decisive
movement on the part of our commodore, and executed with a vigor that
has impressed itself on the apprehensions of Mexico. Our flag now waves
from ocean to ocean, through the plains and mountain fastnesses of that
dismayed country.


FRIDAY, JAN. 7. The captain of a merchant ship complained to me this
morning, that one of his crew had taken a package of rich Canton shawls
on shore, and clandestinely disposed of them. I had the sailor before
me, and wormed out of him the name of every person, as he alleged, with
whom he had communicated; but he omitted the name of one suspicious
character. I took the constable, and went immediately to her house, and
demanded the shawls: she seemed shocked, and denied all knowledge of
them. Her manner half staggered me; but I told the constable to take her
to prison, not intending, however, to put her in without some evidence
of her guilt; but she had not gone many steps from her door before her
resolution, which had been as firm as adamant, broke down, and she told
where the shawls might be found. They were secreted in the mattress of
her bed; and the whole fifteen were recovered. Had the sailor mentioned
her name among the rest, I should have been extremely puzzled. A seeming
frankness is often the deepest disguise.


SATURDAY, JAN. 8. An assistant alcalde, residing at San Juan, in
reporting a case that came before him, states that one of the witnesses,
not having a good reputation for veracity, he thought it best to swear
him pretty strongly; so he swore him on the Bible, on the cross, by the
holy angels, by the blessed Virgin, and on the _twelve_ Evangelists. I
have written him for some information about eight of his evangelists, as
I have no recollection of having met with but four in my biblical
readings.


MONDAY, JAN. 10. A woman, from our western border, who had drifted into
California over the mountains, and looking as if she had well survived
the hardships of the way, walked into my office this morning, and rather
demanded, than invoked, a decree, that her husband might cut timber on
the lands of Señor M——. I asked her if her husband had rented the land.
“No.” If he had any contract or agreement with the owner. “No.” “Why
then, my woman, do you claim the right of cutting the timber?” “Right,
sir!” she exclaimed; “why, have we not taken the country?” I told her it
was true, we had taken the country; but we had not taken the private
land titles with it: she seemed to think that was a distinction without
a difference. This anecdote will furnish a clue to the spirit with which
the patient Californians have had to contend.


TUESDAY, JAN. 18. Main-street was thrown into confusion this morning by
a wild bullock, who had broken the lasso of his keeper. He plunged down
the peopled avenue in foaming fury, clothed with all the terrors of the
Apocalyptic beast: men, women, and children fled in every direction. I
was standing at the moment in the portico of our Navy Agent, and before
I could clear it, he swept through a corner, dashing to the earth a huge
stanchion. His next rencounter was with the high paling which protected
a shade-tree, and which he carried off as Samson the gates of Gaza.
Something attracted his flashing eyes to the door of a small dwelling;
in an instant it flew into fragments before his impetuous strength
fortunately it contained no tenant except the wild monster himself, who
soon issued from the door, and seemed for a moment lost in his phrensy.
A caballero, mounted on a spirited horse, and with his lasso whirling
high in air, now rushed up; I expected for a moment to see a desperate
plunge from the beast at the courser’s side, but the rider and his steed
understood their occupation too well; the lasso fell over his horn, and
in an instant he was tumbling in the sand. He recovered himself, but it
was only to be thrown again, till a second lasso secured his flying
heels, and the knife of the Indian finished the rest. A wave of lava let
loose from its crater, an avalanche that has slipped from its Alpine
steep, and a wild bull that has broken his lasso, are among the most
terrific objects that dash on human vision.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

  RAINS IN CALIFORNIA.—FUNCTIONS OF THE ALCALDE OF MONTEREY.—ORPHANS IN
    CALIFORNIA.—SLIP OF THE GALLOWS ROPE.—MAKING A FATHER WHIP HIS
    BOY.—A CONVICT AS PRISON COOK.—THE KANACKA.—THOM. COLE.—A MAN
    ROBBING HIMSELF.—A BLACKSMITH OUTWITTED.

MONDAY, FEB. 7. The rains in California are mostly confined to the three
winter months—a few showers may come before, or a few occur after, but
the body of the rain falls within that period. The rain is relieved of
nearly all the chilling discomforts of a winter’s storm in other climes;
it falls only when the wind is from a southern quarter, and is
consequently warm and refreshing. It is by no means continuous; it pays
its visits like a judicious lover—with intervals sufficient to keep up
the affection; and like the suitor, brings with it flowers, and leads
the fair one by the side of streamlets never wrinkled with frost, and
into groves where the leaf never withers, and where the songs of birds
ever fill the warbling air.


THURSDAY, FEB. 10. By the laws and usages of the country, the judicial
functions of the Alcalde of Monterey extend to all cases, civil and
criminal, arising within the middle department of California. He is also
the guardian of the public peace, and is charged with the maintenance of
law and order, whenever and wherever threatened, or violated; he must
arrest, fine, imprison, or sentence to the public works, the lawless and
refractory, and he must enforce, through his executive powers, the
decisions and sentences which he has pronounced in his judicial
capacity. His prerogatives and official duties extend over all the
multiplied interests and concerns of his department, and reach to every
grievance and crime, from the jar that trembles around the domestic
hearth, to the guilt which throws its gloom on the gallows and the
grave.


THURSDAY, FEB. 17. There is no need of an Orphan Asylum in California.
The amiable and benevolent spirit of the people hovers like a shield
over the helpless. The question is not, who shall be burdened with the
care of an orphan, but who shall have the privilege of rearing it. Nor
do numbers or circumstances seem to shake this spirit; it is triumphant
over both. A plain, industrious man, of rather limited means, applied to
me to-day for the care of six orphan children. I asked him how many he
had of his own; he said fourteen as yet. “Well, my friend,” I observed,
“are not fourteen enough for one table, and especially with the prospect
of more?” “Ah,” said the Californian, “the hen that has twenty chickens
scratches no harder than the hen that has one.” So I told him I would
inquire into the present condition of the children, and then decide on
his application. His claim lay in the fact that his wife was the
godmother of the orphans.


WEDNESDAY, FEB. 23. One of my Indian prisoners, sentenced to the works
for theft, managed this morning to effect his escape, but was overtaken
by the constable on the Salinas, and brought back. When asked by me what
he ran for, he said the devil put it into his head. I asked him if he
thought a ball and chain would keep the evil one off; he said it might,
but then if he once got at him, he should stand no chance with one of
his legs chained. I told him I should let his leg go for the present,
but if he attempted to run again, I should chain both of them. “And my
hands too,” said the Indian, to assure me of his good conduct.


FRIDAY, MARCH 3. There is an old Mexican law, or usage, here, which has
sometimes exempted from death the murderer who has reached the sanctuary
of the church, or been favored with some accident, in the execution of
the extreme sentence. Two desperadoes, of Mexican and Indian blood, were
brought before me, charged with a wilful, deliberate murder. A jury of
twelve citizens, the largest scope of challenge having been allowed, was
empannelled. The prisoners were convicted and sentenced to be hung. But
by some strange accident, or design, both knots slipped, and down they
came, half imagining themselves still swinging in the air. The priest
who confessed them, and who was present among the great crowd,
immediately declared the penalty paid and the criminals absolved, and
started post-haste to Gen. Mason for his mandate to that effect. The
general told him the prisoners were sentenced to be hung by the neck
till dead, and when this sentence had been executed, the knot-slipping
business might perhaps be considered. This may seem to have been
dictated by a want of humanity, but had the accident or stratagem in
question rescued the criminals, not a noose in California would have
held. The murderers were executed, and the crime for which they suffered
vanished from the future records of the court.


WEDNESDAY, MARCH 15. A lad of fourteen years was brought before me
to-day charged with stealing a horse. The evidence of the larceny was
conclusive; but what punishment to inflict was the question. We have no
house of correction, and to sentence him to the ball and chain on the
public works, among hardened culprits, was to cut off all hope of
amendment, and inflict an indelible stigma on the youth; so I sent for
his father, who had no good reputation himself, and placing a riata in
his hand, directed him to inflict twenty-four lashes on his thieving
boy. He proceeded as far as twelve, when I stopped him; they were
enough. They seemed inflicted by one attempting to atone in this form
for his own transgressions. “Inflict the rest, Soto, on your own evil
example; if you had been upright yourself, you might expect truth and
honesty in your boy; you are more responsible than this lad for his
crimes; you can never chastise him into the right path, and continue
yourself to travel in the wrong.” With these remarks I dismissed the
parties.


SATURDAY, MARCH 18. Horse-stealing has given me more trouble than any
other species of offence in California. It has grown out of a loose
habit of using the horses of other people without their consent, at a
time when they were of very little account; and what was once a venial
trespass has become a crime. It is very difficult to arrest it; much
must be left to time, the higher influences of moral sentiments, and the
administration of more specific laws. Nor are the Americans here a whit
better than the natives; they have a facility of conscience which easily
suits itself to any prevailing vice. Many of them appear to have left
their good principles on the other side of Cape Horn, or over the Rocky
Mountains. They slide into gambling, drinking, and cheating, as easily
as a frog into its native pond. They seem only the worse for the
restraints, which law at home partially exerted. They are like a froward
urchin who retaliates the wholesome visits of the birch by some act of
fresh audacity the moment he is beyond its reach. But they will find a
little law even in California, and this little enforced with some
steadiness of purpose. It is not the law which threatens loudest that
always exerts the greatest restraint. Thunder, with all its uproar,
don’t strike; it is the lightning that cleaves the gnarled oak.


THURSDAY, MARCH 23. A clergyman, who had just arrived in California,
called on me to-day, with letters of introduction from several of the
first rectors in New York. They spoke of him in high terms of
commendation, and invited that confidence and regard which might secure
him success in his foreign adventure; while they knew him to be a
loquacious shallow booby. They had probably been so much annoyed by him
in one shape and another, that they had taken this method of getting rid
of him, thinking that the afflictions of Providence, like his blessings,
should be more equally distributed.


SATURDAY, MARCH 25. To-day I remitted the sentence of my prison cook. He
is a Mulatto, a native of San Domingo; had drifted into California; was
attached, in a subordinate capacity, to Col. Fremont’s battalion; and
while the troops were quartered in town, had robbed the drawer of a
liquor shop of two hundred dollars. For this offence, I had sentenced
him to two years on the public works. Discovering early some reliable
traits about the fellow, I began to confide in him, soon made him cook
to the rest of the prisoners, and allowed him the privileges of the
town, so far as his duties in that capacity required. He has never
betrayed my trust, and has always been the first to communicate to me
any stratagem on the part of the prisoners to effect their escape. I
have trusted him with money to purchase provisions, and he has
faithfully accounted for every shilling. He has always been kind and
attentive to the sick. For these faithful services, I have remitted the
remainder of his sentence, which would have confined him nine months
longer, and have put him on a pay of thirty dollars per month as cook.
There is a string in every man’s breast, which, if you can rightly
touch, will “discourse music.”


THURSDAY, APRIL 6. I met a little California boy to-day in tattered
garments, and without hat or shoes. He had a small fish in his hand,
which he had just hooked up from the end of the wharf. I offered him
half a dollar for it; he said no, he wanted it himself. I offered him a
dollar; he still said no, he was going to make a dinner on it. The
result would probably have been the same had I offered him five dollars.
No one here is going to catch fish for you or any one else while he
wants them himself.


SATURDAY, APRIL 15. I made another pounce this evening on the gamblers,
and captured their bank; but most of the players had slipped their money
into their pockets before I could reach the table. No one rescued a
dollar after my cane, with its alcalde insignia, had been laid on the
boards. The authority of that baton they always respect. How comfortable
it is for one to carry his moral power on the top of his cane. It almost
justifies the Roman Catholic exegesis—and Jacob worshipped the top of
his staff.


MONDAY, APRIL 17. I had sent one of my constables to the Salinas river,
and the other to San Juan, and retired to rest; but about midnight was
startled from my dreams, by a loud rap at my office door. Throwing my
cloak around me, I unbolted the portal, and there stood, in the clear
moonlight, a tall Kanacka, who reverently lifted his hat, and observed,
“The town, sir, is perfectly quiet.” I thanked him for the information,
and closed the door. The fellow had been drinking, and in the importance
which liquor sometimes imparts, had imagined himself at the head of the
police.


THURSDAY, APRIL 27. Thom. Cole, whose moral vision could never yet
discover any difference between possession and ownership, where a horse
was concerned, was brought before me this morning, mounted on a fleet
steed belonging to a citizen of the town. He had removed the brand of
the rightful owner and substituted his own; but the disguise was easily
penetrated, and the horse identified. Thom. averred the horse was found
on his rancho; but he was ordered to deliver him to his proper owner,
who stood by to receive him. At this moment Thom. sprung into his saddle
and was off, horse and all, in the twinkling of an eye. I applied to
Gen. Mason for a file of soldiers; they were promptly ordered, and
stationed on the three streets, through one of which Thom. must make his
egress from town. He soon came sweeping on at the top of his speed, when
he suddenly found three muskets levelled at him, with an order to
dismount. There was no discharge in that war, and down he jumped, and
was soon delivered over to me. How changed! a moment before setting the
whole world at defiance; and now praying to be saved from the fleas of
the prison. As the flea could only punish him without benefiting the
town, I determined to reach him through another channel, by which both
purposes should be answered; and fined him fifty dollars for contempt of
court. So Thom. lost his horse and fifty dollars, and got a lesson of
humiliation which quelled his spirit like a wet blanket thrown on a
flaxen flame.


TUESDAY, MAY 2. I was roused from my sleep last night by a loud, hurried
knocking at my door, and a voice exclaiming, “Alcalde, alcalde!” On
reaching the door I found there a young Mexican, the clerk of a store
near by, without hat or shoes, and only a blanket wrapped around him. He
told me the volunteers had broken into his store, and were robbing the
money-chest. By this time my constable was up, and, throwing on our
clothes, we hastened with the clerk to his store; but not a human being
was to be seen. He showed us the bolt that had been forced, the chest
that had been broken, the pistol that he had snapped, and the wound that
he had received on the head. I sent the constable to the captain of the
volunteers, who immediately searched his quarters, where he found every
man in his berth, except those on guard. With these unsatisfactory
results I returned to my office and bed, and directed the constable to
keep an eye on the clerk.


WEDNESDAY, MAY 3. This morning I examined into all the circumstances
connected with the robbery. The wound of the clerk, which he says he
received from a cudgel, is a slight cut, apparently made by some sharp
instrument. The chisel, with which the chest was forced, corresponds in
width to one for sale on the shelf. Of the thousand dollars locked up in
the chest and drawers, not one, it seems, escaped; not a quarter or fip
fell to the floor; all went into the sack of the robbers, though they
worked in the dark. And then, as he alleges, the robbers were volunteers
without their uniform, and with their faces blacked. If so thoroughly
disguised, how could he know they were volunteers? From these
circumstances I have no doubt the rogue robbed himself, and raised the
hue and cry to cover the transaction. But we shall see; the thing will
out yet.


SUNDAY, MAY 9. This is my birth-day. I am on the shaded side of that
hill which swells midway between the extremities of life. The past seems
but a dream, and the future will soon be so. To what has been and to
what may be, I seem to myself almost indifferent. I know the vanities in
which human hopes end; I know that life itself is only a bubble that has
caught the hues of some falling star. And yet this airy phantom is not
all such as it would seem; there is something besides shadow in its
evanescent form. Our visions of happiness may prove an illusion, but our
sorrows are real. It is no fancied knell that shakes the bier; no
imaginary pall that wraps the loved and the lost. The grave is invested
with the awful majesty of the real.


MONDAY, MAY 10. I had directed the constable to get a pair of iron
hinges made for one of the doors of the prison. He gave the order to a
blacksmith, a crabbed old fellow, who charged eight dollars for his
coarse work. As the charge was an imposition, I told the constable not
to take the hinges; when up came the blacksmith with them to the office,
and, in a fit of passion, hurled them at my feet, as I stood in the
piazza. I handed the constable eight dollars, and told him to call on
the blacksmith, pay him for the hinges, take his receipt, and then bring
him before me. All which was done, and before me stood the smith, with
his choler yet up. I told him that his violence and indignity would not
be passed over; that I should fine him ten dollars for the benefit of
the town, which he might pay or go to prison. After a few moments’
hesitation, he laid the ten dollars on the table, and took his departure
without uttering a word. When clear of the office he grumbled out to the
constable, “For once in my life I have been outwitted; that Yankee
alcalde has not only got my hinges for nothing, but two dollars besides.
I don’t wonder he can swing his prison doors at that rate; I would have
tried the calaboose but for the infernal fleas.” The constable told him
the next time he made hinges he must charge what they were worth, and
curb his towering temper.


WEDNESDAY, MAY 17. The ire of a Californian of hidalgo extraction
flashes from his dark eyes like heat-lightning on a July cloud—you see
the blaze, but hear no thunder; while the wit of a California lady
glances here and there like the sun-rays through the fluttering leaves
of a wind-stirred forest. We have several ladies here celebrated for
their brilliant sallies, but Donna Jimeno carries off the palm. A friend
showed her this morning a picture of the Israelites gathering manna.
“Ah! they are the Californians,” said the Donna, “they pick up what
heaven rains down.” He showed her Moses smiting the rock. “And there,”
said the Donna, “is a Yankee; he can bring water out of a rock.” But
humor and wit are not the highest characteristics of this lady. She
possesses a refinement and intelligence that might grace any court in
Europe; and withal, a benevolence that never wearies in reaching and
relieving the sick. Her care of Lieut. Miner, one of the officers
attached to this post, will long live in grateful remembrance. She
hovered over him till his spirit fled, and wept as she thought of his
mother.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

  FIRST DISCOVERY OF GOLD.—PRISON GUARD.—INCREDULITY ABOUT THE
    GOLD.—SANTIAGO GETTING MARRIED.—ANOTHER LUMP OF GOLD.—EFFECTS OF THE
    GOLD FEVER.—THE COURT OF AN ALCALDE.—MOSQUITOES AS CONSTABLES.—BOB
    AND HIS BAG OF GOLD.—RETURN OF CITIZENS FROM THE MINES.—A MAN WITH
    THE GOLD-CHOLIC.—THE MINES ON INDIVIDUAL CREDIT.

MONDAY, MAY 29. Our town was startled out of its quiet dreams to-day, by
the announcement that gold had been discovered on the American Fork. The
men wondered and talked, and the women too; but neither believed. The
sibyls were less skeptical; they said the moon had, for several nights,
appeared not more than a cable’s length from the earth; that a white
raven had been seen playing with an infant; and that an owl had rung the
church bells.


SATURDAY, JUNE 3. The most faithful and reliable guard that I have ever
had over the prisoners, is himself a prisoner. He had been a lieutenant
in the Mexican army, and was sentenced, for a flagrant breach of the
peace, to the public works for the term of one year. Being hard up for
funds, I determined to make an experiment with this lieutenant; had him
brought before me; ordered the ball and chain to be taken from his leg,
and placed a double-barrelled gun, loaded and primed, in his hands.
“Take that musket, and proceed with the prisoners to the stone quarry;
return them to their cells before sunset, and report to me.” “Your
order, Señor Alcalde, shall be faithfully obeyed,” was the reply. I then
ordered one of the constables, well mounted and armed, to reconnoitre
the quarry, and, unseen by the prisoners or guard, ascertain how things
went on. He returned, and reported well of their regularity. At sunset,
the lieutenant entered the office, and reported the prisoners in their
cells, and all safe. “Very well, José; now make yourself safe, and that
will do.” He accordingly returned to his prison, and from that day to
this, has been my most faithful and reliable guard.


MONDAY, JUNE 5. Another report reached us this morning from the American
Fork. The rumor ran, that several workmen, while excavating for a
mill-race, had thrown up little shining scales of a yellow ore, that
proved to be gold; that an old Sonoranian, who had spent his life in
gold mines, pronounced it the genuine thing. Still the public
incredulity remained, save here and there a glimmer of faith, like the
flash of a fire-fly at night. One good old lady, however, declared that
she had been dreaming of gold every night for several weeks, and that it
had so frustrated her simple household economy, that she had relieved
her conscience, by confessing to her priest—

              “Absolve me, father, of that sinful dream.”


TUESDAY, JUNE 6. Being troubled with the golden dream almost as much as
the good lady, I determined to put an end to the suspense, and
dispatched a messenger this morning to the American Fork. He will have
to ride, going and returning, some four hundred miles, but his report
will be reliable. We shall then know whether this gold is a fact or a
fiction—a tangible reality on the earth, or a fanciful treasure at the
base of some rainbow, retreating over hill and waterfall, to lure
pursuit and disappoint hope.


SATURDAY, JUNE 10. My boy Santiago has taken it into his head to get
married; and being a Protestant, finds it extremely difficult to get
through the ecclesiastical hopper. Were the person whom he wishes to wed
of the same faith with himself, there would be but little impediment;
but as she is a Roman Catholic, it is necessary that he should become
one too. He has been to the presiding priest to see if he could not get
his permission to retain a few articles of his own religion, just enough
to save his conscience. But his reverence told him he must give it up in
toto, renounce it as a heresy, and come without a scruple into the
mother church. Iago is not much of a theologian, but has sense enough to
know that conscientious scruples are not things of which a man can free
himself at will. His love, none the less deep and sincere for his humble
condition, urges him to a compliance with the canonical requirement, but
these very scruples hold him back. How he will extricate himself I know
not. He will probably compound the matter with his conscience by some
mental reservations, as Galileo did when awed into the indignant
confession that the earth was flat. Verily, if a man cannot marry in
this world without becoming a hypocrite or apostate from the faith of
his fathers, the sooner Miller’s conflagrating dream becomes a reality
the better. Perhaps some shape of flame might emerge from its drifting
embers, that would dare glimmer towards heaven without the leave of a
pragmatic priest. I wonder if Adam asked Eve if she were a Roman
Catholic before they celebrated their nuptials. This is an important
question, and ought to be looked into, though now rather late in the
day. I commend it to my venerable friend, the Bishop of New York, who
has recently issued an edict that no Protestant shall marry a Roman
Catholic without first passing his children, prospectively, through his
baptismal font.


MONDAY, JUNE 12. A straggler came in to-day from the American Fork,
bringing a piece of yellow ore weighing an ounce. The young dashed the
dirt from their eyes, and the old from their spectacles. One brought a
spyglass, another an iron ladle; some wanted to melt it, others to
hammer it, and a few were satisfied with smelling it. All were full of
tests; and many, who could not be gratified in making their experiments,
declared it a humbug. One lady sent me a huge gold ring, in the hope of
reaching the truth by comparison; while a gentleman placed the specimen
on the top of his gold-headed cane and held it up, challenging the
sharpest eyes to detect a difference. But doubts still hovered on the
minds of the great mass. They could not conceive that such a treasure
could have lain there so long undiscovered. The idea seemed to convict
them of stupidity. There is nothing of which a man is more tenacious
than his claims to sagacity. He sticks to them like an old bachelor to
the idea of his personal attractions, or a toper to the strength of his
temperance ability, whenever he shall wish to call it into play.


THURSDAY, JUNE 15. Found an Indian to-day perfectly sober, who is
generally drunk, and questioned him of the cause of his sobriety. He
stated that he wished to marry an Indian girl, and she would not have
him unless he would keep sober a month; that this was but his third day,
and he should never be able to stand it unless I would put him beyond
the reach of liquor. So I sentenced him to the public works for a month;
this will pay off old scores, and help him to a wife, who may perhaps
keep him sober, though I fear there is little hope of that.


TUESDAY, JUNE 20. My messenger sent to the mines, has returned with
specimens of the gold; he dismounted in a sea of upturned faces. As he
drew forth the yellow lumps from his pockets, and passed them around
among the eager crowd, the doubts, which had lingered till now, fled.
All admitted they were gold, except one old man, who still persisted
they were some Yankee invention, got up to reconcile the people to the
change of flag. The excitement produced was intense; and many were soon
busy in their hasty preparations for a departure to the mines. The
family who had kept house for me caught the moving infection. Husband
and wife were both packing up; the blacksmith dropped his hammer, the
carpenter his plane, the mason his trowel, the farmer his sickle, the
baker his loaf, and the tapster his bottle. All were off for the mines,
some on horses, some on carts, and some on crutches, and one went in a
litter. An American woman, who had recently established a boarding-house
here, pulled up stakes, and was off before her lodgers had even time to
pay their bills. Debtors ran, of course. I have only a community of
women left, and a gang of prisoners, with here and there a soldier, who
will give his captain the slip at the first chance. I don’t blame the
fellow a whit; seven dollars a month, while others are making two or
three hundred a day! that is too much for human nature to stand.


SATURDAY, JULY 15. The gold fever has reached every servant in Monterey;
none are to be trusted in their engagement beyond a week, and as for
compulsion, it is like attempting to drive fish into a net with the
ocean before them. Gen. Mason, Lieut. Lanman, and myself, form a mess;
we have a house, and all the table furniture and culinary apparatus
requisite; but our servants have run, one after another, till we are
almost in despair: even Sambo, who we thought would stick by from
laziness, if no other cause, ran last night; and this morning, for the
fortieth time, we had to take to the kitchen, and cook our own
breakfast. A general of the United States Army, the commander of a
man-of-war, and the Alcalde of Monterey, in a smoking kitchen, grinding
coffee, toasting a herring, and peeling onions! These gold mines are
going to upset all the domestic arrangements of society, turning the
head to the tail, and the tail to the head. Well, it is an ill wind that
blows nobody any good: the nabobs have had their time, and now comes
that of the “niggers.” We shall all live just as long, and be quite as
fit to die.


TUESDAY, JULY 18. Another bag of gold from the mines, and another spasm
in the community. It was brought down by a sailor from Yuba river, and
contains a hundred and thirty-six ounces. It is the most beautiful gold
that has appeared in the market; it looks like the yellow scales of the
dolphin, passing through his rainbow hues at death. My carpenters, at
work on the school-house, on seeing it, threw down their saws and
planes, shouldered their picks, and are off for the Yuba. Three seamen
ran from the Warren, forfeiting their four years’ pay; and a whole
platoon of soldiers from the fort left only their colors behind. One old
woman declared she would never again break an egg or kill a chicken,
without examining yolk and gizzard.


SATURDAY, JULY 22. The laws by which an alcalde here is governed, in the
administration of justice, are the Mexican code as compiled in Frebrero
and Alverez—works of remarkable comprehensiveness, clearness, and
facility of application. They embody all the leading principles of the
civil law, derived from the institutes of Justinian. The common law of
England is hardly known here, though its rules and maxims have more or
less influenced local legislation. But with all these legal provisions a
vast many questions arise which have to be determined _ex cathedra_. In
minor matters the alcalde is often himself the law; and the records of
his court might reveal some very exquisite specimens of judicial
prerogative; such as shaving a rogue’s head—_lex talionis_—who had
shaved the tail of his neighbor’s horse; or making a busybody, who had
slandered a worthy citizen, promenade the streets with a gag in his
mouth; or obliging a man who had recklessly caused a premature birth, to
compensate the bereaved father for the loss of that happiness which he
might have derived from his embryo hope, had it budded into life. This
last has rather too many contingencies about it; but the principle,
which reaches it and meets the offender, does very well out here in
California, and would not be misapplied in some of those pill-shops
which slope the path to crime in the United States.


THURSDAY, JULY 27. I never knew mosquitoes turned to any good account
save in California; and here it seems they are sometimes ministers of
justice. A rogue had stolen a bag of gold from a digger in the mines,
and hid it. Neither threats nor persuasions could induce him to reveal
the place of its concealment. He was at last sentenced to a hundred
lashes, and then informed that he would be let off with thirty, provided
he would tell what he had done with the gold; but he refused. The thirty
lashes were inflicted, but he was still stubborn as a mule.

He was then stripped naked and tied to a tree. The mosquitoes with their
long bills went at him, and in less than three hours he was covered with
blood. Writhing and trembling from head to foot with exquisite torture,
he exclaimed, “Untie me, untie me, and I will tell where it is.” “Tell
first,” was the reply. So he told where it might be found. Some of the
party then, with wisps, kept off the still hungry mosquitoes, while
others went where the culprit had directed, and recovered the bag of
gold. He was then untied, washed with cold water, and helped to his
clothes, while he muttered, as if talking to himself, “I couldn’t stand
that anyhow.”


FRIDAY, JULY 28. A little laughing girl tripped into the office to-day,
and handed me a bunch of flowers, which she said her mother sent me.
“And who is your mother, my sweet one?” I inquired. She told me, and I
then remembered that I had recovered for her a silver cup, which an
Indian had stolen; and these flowers had now come as a memento.

           “Fee me with flowers, they hold no sordid bribe.”


SATURDAY, AUG. 12. My man Bob, who is of Irish extraction, and who had
been in the mines about two months, returned to Monterey four weeks
since, bringing with him over two thousand dollars, as the proceeds of
his labor. Bob, while in my employ, required me to pay him every
Saturday night, in gold, which he put into a little leather bag and
sewed into the lining of his coat, after taking out just twelve and a
half cents, his weekly allowance for tobacco. But now he took rooms and
began to branch out; he had the best horses, the richest viands, and the
choicest wines in the place. He never drank himself, but it filled him
with delight to brim the sparkling goblet for others. I met Bob to-day,
and asked him how he got on. “Oh, very well,” he replied, “but I am off
again for the mines.” “How is that, Bob? you brought down with you over
two thousand dollars; I hope you have not spent all that: you used to be
very saving; twelve and a half cents a week for tobacco, and the rest
you sewed into the lining of your coat.” “Oh, yes,” replied Bob, “and I
have got _that_ money yet; I worked hard for it; and the diel can’t get
it away; but the two thousand dollars came asily by good luck, and has
gone as asily as it came.” Now Bob’s story is only one of a thousand
like it in California, and has a deeper philosophy in it than meets the
eye. Multitudes here are none the richer for the mines. He who can shake
chestnuts from an exhaustless tree, won’t stickle about the quantity he
roasts.


THURSDAY, AUG. 16. Four citizens of Monterey are just in from the gold
mines on Feather River, where they worked in company with three others.
They employed about thirty wild Indians, who are attached to the rancho
owned by one of the party. They worked precisely seven weeks and three
days, and have divided seventy-six thousand eight hundred and forty-four
dollars,—nearly eleven thousand dollars to each. Make a dot there, and
let me introduce a man, well known to me, who has worked on the Yuba
river sixty-four days, and brought back, as the result of his individual
labor, five thousand three hundred and fifty-six dollars. Make a dot
there, and let me introduce another townsman, who has worked on the
North Fork fifty-seven days, and brought back four thousand five hundred
and thirty-four dollars. Make a dot there, and let me introduce a boy,
fourteen years of age, who has worked on the Mokelumne fifty-four days,
and brought back three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven dollars.
Make another dot there, and let me introduce a woman, of Sonoranian
birth, who has worked in the dry diggings forty-six days, and brought
back two thousand one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Is not this
enough to make a man throw down his leger and shoulder a pick? But the
deposits which yielded these harvests were now opened for the first
time; they were the accumulation of ages; only the footprints of the elk
and wild savage had passed over them. Their slumber was broken for the
first time by the sturdy arms of the American emigrant.


TUESDAY, AUG. 28. The gold mines have upset all social and domestic
arrangements in Monterey; the master has become his own servant, and the
servant his own lord. The millionaire is obliged to groom his own horse,
and roll his wheelbarrow; and the hidalgo—in whose veins flows the blood
of all the Cortes—to clean his own boots! Here is lady L——, who has
lived here seventeen years, the pride and ornament of the place, with a
broomstick in her jewelled hand! And here is lady B—— with her
daughter—all the way from “old Virginia,” where they graced society with
their varied accomplishments—now floating between the parlor and
kitchen, and as much at home in the one as the other! And here is lady
S——, whose cattle are on a thousand hills, lifting, like Rachel of old,
her bucket of water from the deep well! And here is lady M. L——, whose
honey-moon is still full of soft seraphic light, unhouseling a potatoe,
and hunting the hen that laid the last egg. And here am I, who have been
a man of some note in my day, loafing on the hospitality of the good
citizens, and grateful for a meal, though in an Indian’s wigwam. Why, is
not this enough to make one wish the gold mines were in the earth’s
flaming centre, from which they sprung? Out on this yellow dust! it is
worse than the cinders which buried Pompeii, for there, high and low
shared the same fate!


SATURDAY, SEPT. 9. I met a Scotchman this morning bent half double, and
evidently in pain. On inquiring the cause, he informed me that he had
just seen a lump of gold from the Mokelumne as big as his double fist,
and it had given him the cholic. The diagnosis of the complaint struck
me as a new feature in human maladies, and one for which it would be
difficult to find a suitable medicament in the therapeutics known to the
profession; especially in the allopathic practice, which has stood still
for three thousand years, except in the discovery of quinine for ague,
and sulphur for itch. The gentlemen of this embalmed school must wake
up; their antediluvian owl may do on an Egyptian obelisk, but we must
have a more wide-awake bird in these days of progress. Here is a man
bent double with a new and strange disease, taken from looking at gold:
your bleeding, blistering, and purging won’t free him of it. What is to
be done? shall he be left to die, or be delivered over to the
homœopathies? They have a medicament that acts as a specific, on the
principle that the hair of the dog is good for the bite. If you burn
your hand, what do you do—clasp a piece of ice?—no, seize a warm poker;
if you freeze your foot, do you put it to the fire?—no, dash it into the
snow; and so if you take the gold-cholic, the remedy is, _aurum—similia
similibus curantur_.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 16. The gold mines are producing one good result; every
creditor who has gone there is paying his debts. Claims not deemed worth
a farthing are now cashed on presentation at nature’s great bank. This
has rendered the credit of every man here good for almost any amount.
Orders for merchandise are honored which six months ago would have been
thrown into the fire. There is none so poor, who has two stout arms and
a pickaxe left, but he can empty any store in Monterey. Nor has the
first instance yet occurred, in which the creditor has suffered. All
distinctions indicative of means have vanished; the only capital
required is muscle and an honest purpose. I met a man to-day from the
mines in patched buckskins, rough as a badger from his hole, who had
fifteen thousand dollars in yellow dust, swung at his back. Talk to him
of brooches, gold-headed canes, and Carpenter’s coats! Why he can unpack
a lump of gold that would throw all Chesnut-street into spasms. And
there is more where this came from. _His_ rights in the great domain are
equal to yours, and his prospects of getting it out vastly better. With
these advantages, he bends the knee to no man, but strides along in his
buckskins, a lord of earth by a higher prescriptive privilege than what
emanates from the partiality of kings. His patent is medallioned with
rivers which roll over golden sands, and embossed with mountains which
have lifted for ages their golden coronets to heaven. Clear out of the
way with your crests, and crowns, and pedigree trees, and let this
democrat pass. Every drop of blood in his veins tells that it flows from
a great heart, which God has made and which man shall never enslave.
Such are the genuine sons of California; such may they live and die.

             “They will not be the tyrant’s slaves,
             While heaven has light, or earth has graves.”

[Illustration: Burt, sc.]




                              CHAPTER XIX.

  TOUR TO THE GOLD MINES.—LOSS OF HORSES.—FIRST NIGHT IN THE
    WOODS.—ARRIVAL AT SAN JUAN.—UNDER WAY.—CAMPING OUT.—BARK OF THE
    WOLVES.—WATCH-FIRES.—SAN JOSÉ.—A FRESH START.—CAMPING ON THE SLOPE
    OF A HILL.—WILD FEATURES OF THE COUNTRY.—VALLEY OF THE SAN
    JOAQUIN.—BAND OF WILD HORSES.

WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 20. A servant of James McKinley, Esq., led to my door
this morning a beautiful saddle-horse, with a message from his master,
desiring me to accept the animal as a token of his regard. The gift was
most opportune, as I was on the eve of a trip to the gold mines. To
guard against contingencies I purchased another, and, to prevent their
being stolen, placed them both in the government corral, where a watch
is posted night and day. My companions on the trip were to be Capt.
Marcy, son of the late secretary of war, Mr. Botts, naval storekeeper,
and Mr. Wilkinson, son of our ex-minister to Russia.

Having procured a suitable wagon, we freighted it lightly with
provisions, articles of Indian traffic, tools for working in the mines,
cooking utensils, and blankets to sleep in. To this we attached four
mules, but little used to the harness, and of no great power, but they
were the best that could be got at the time. The whole was put under the
charge of a man who was half sailor and half teamster, and not much of
either. Thus accoutred, the team was sent ahead, and we were to follow
the next day.


THURSDAY, SEPT. 21. The hour for starting having arrived, I sent my man
to the government coral for my horses. He returned in a few moments with
the intelligence that a party of the volunteers had broken into the
coral during the night, and carried off ten horses, and among them both
of mine! There was no time now for ferreting out thieves, or hunting
stolen animals. Our wagon was on the way, and my companions were mounted
and waiting. I hurried to Mr. S——, who I knew had a fine horse in his
yard, and offered him two hundred dollars for the animal, but he
declined parting with him. My only resource now was with Mr. T——, who
had three horses in his coral, but they were off a long journey the
night before. I struck a bargain at a hundred dollars for one of them,
and throwing on my saddle, was under way in a few minutes.

My horse held out pretty well for twenty miles, and then suddenly broke
down. We were on the plain of the Salinas, and there was but little
prospect of my being able to procure a substitute. But just at this
crisis the mail rider hove in sight, with a horse in lead. I arranged
with him for the spare animal, transferred my saddle to him, and with a
farewell to my wearied steed, started again. We had directed our wagoner
to proceed to San Juan, and expected to overtake him at that place
before dark. But night set in while we were eight or ten miles distant,
and it was a night of Egyptian darkness. We lost our way, and brought up
in the woods. To proceed was impossible; so we dismounted, tied our
horses together, felt for some dry leaves, and fired them with a lucifer
which had been given us by a traveller an hour before.

With brush and bits of bark we managed to sustain our fire, but our
prospect for the night was rather gloomy—without a drop of water,
without any food, without an overcoat or blanket to cover us, with heavy
thunder over head, and the wolves barking around. But we divided
ourselves into four watches; one was to keep up the fire while the other
three slept, and each take his turn in feeding the flame. My watch came
first, and it was the longest two hours I ever experienced. Every old
snag I drew to the fire seemed to exhaust the little strength that
remained. My eyelids would fall, and it seemed impossible to lift them.
I heard the wolves bark, but it was like a noise in one’s dream. But my
relief came at last, and throwing myself down close to the fire, I slept
too sound even for the thunder. It was the cold dim gray of advancing
morn when I awoke. A ride of an hour brought us to San Juan, where we
found our baggage-wagon at a stream, the mules tethered, and whistling a
piteous welcome to our steeds, and the driver blowing into a bundle of
reeds and straw, from which a slender thread of smoke was rising into
the chill atmosphere.

San Juan is thirty-four miles from Monterey; the only buildings are a
gigantic church and the contiguous dwelling—once occupied by the priests
and their Indian neophytes. The sanctuary remains; but the priests are
gone, and the Indians are on the four winds, save those over whom the
pine sings its requiem. We broke our long fast on hard bread, broiled
pork, and coffee without milk. The sun was high when our mules were
harnessed, and the crack of the driver’s whip told that we were on the
way. A few miles brought us to the foot of a hill; when half-way up our
mules balked, and the wagon began to travel backward. We blocked the
wheels, and tried to cheer and force them on; but a mule has that
peculiar virtue which is insensible alike to flatteries and frowns.
Still we coaxed, and whipped, and cheered, but in vain—there stuck our
old wagon, fast as a thunder-cloud on a mountain’s bluff. We had to turn
lighters, and carry the greater part of the load, by hand, to the top of
the hill. One of the mules whistled out in seeming derision; while his
fellow looked sorry, as if smitten with compunction. This delay consumed
several hours, and the sun was far down his western slope when we
reached a few shanties on a plain covered in spots with the surviving
verdure of the year: here we camped for the night. One tethered the
animals; two brought wood and water; and one turned cook. We made our
supper by the light of our watch-fire, smoked our cigars, and turned
down upon the earth, with our saddles for our pillows. A blanket served
to protect each from the dews and the night air. How little man wants
here! His palace seems to tower in idle grandeur, between a cradle and a
coffin.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 22. Day glimmered over the hills and we were up; the
gathered brands of our watch-fire kindled again under our camp-kettle.
Our breakfast was soon dispatched, our mules in harness, our blankets
stowed, and we were on the way. Ten miles farther, and my third horse,
which I had procured at San Juan, began to give out, and I was thrown
upon my feet, till relieved by the opportune arrival of a gentleman with
a spare horse, which I purchased at his own price, leaving my own to
shift for himself. When on my feet, my thoughts ran bitterly back to the
two fine horses with which I had expected to leave Monterey. We are the
least forgiving when we feel most the need of that of which we have been
robbed.

Our road lay through a level plain, into which the spur of a mountain
range had thrown its bold terminus. Doubling this, we wound into a deep
cove, where wild oats waved, and a copious spring gushed from a cleft of
the rock. It was yet two hours to sunset; but the next stream lay ten
miles ahead, and we decided to camp where we were. Our horses and mules
were turned into the ample cove untethered; and in half an hour we had
gathered sufficient wood for a strong fire through the night. We were
near the rancho of Mr. Murphy, and the kind old gentleman called, and
invited us to his house; but we deemed it more prudent to stay by our
animals. Our supper of hard bread, broiled pork, and coffee was quickly
prepared, and as quickly disposed of. The shadows of eve fell fast; we
arranged our watches for the night; and each, in his blanket wound,
composed himself to sleep. Mine was the mid-watch: I found the camp-fire
bright, and the cliffs around lit with its rays. I numbered the animals
to see that none had strayed, and then sat down to watch the motions of
a wolf, who was reconnoitering our camp, with step as soft and low—

                “As that of man on guilty errand bent.”


SATURDAY, SEPT. 23. We broke camp, were up and away while the dew was
yet fresh on the grass. Ten miles brought us to Fisher’s rancho, where
we procured soft bread and fresh milk. But our animals fared hard; the
grasshoppers had been there before them. We had yet three hours of sun
when we reached the lagoon near San José, but camped there on account of
the grass. A shanty stood near by, where we procured a few potatoes and
onions, and a piece of fresh meat, with which we made a stew—quite a
luxury on a California road. The owner of the shanty invited me to a
night’s lodging, which I accepted, but found my host much more
hospitable than his fleas, for I was driven back to my camp before
midnight. A California flea is not to be trifled with; his nippers drive
you into spasms.


SUNDAY, SEPT. 24. This is the Sabbath, and we are in San José, in the
house of Dr. Stokes, to whose hospitality we are indebted for a good
table and quiet apartments. I must here relate a domestic incident in
the doctor’s family, which fell under my eye while he resided at
Monterey, and which pictured itself strongly on my mind. It was evening,
and the hour for rest with the children, when six little boys and girls
knelt around the chair of their father, repeating the Lord’s prayer, and
closing with the invocation—“God bless our dear parents, and brothers,
and sisters, and grant that we meet in heaven at last.” Then came the
good-night, and the cheerful footsteps to the chamber of soft sleep.
What are gold mines to this? A glow-worm’s light beneath a star that
shall never set!


MONDAY, SEPT. 25. San José is sixty-five miles from Monterey, and stands
in the centre of a spacious valley which opens on the great bay of San
Francisco. It is cultivated only in spots, but the immense yield in
these is sufficient evidence of what the valley is capable. A plough and
harrow, at which a New England crow would laugh, are followed by fields
of waving grain. Within this valley lie the rich lands of Com. Stockton,
and they will yet feel the force of his vivifying enterprise. The
mission buildings of Santa Clara lift their huge proportions on the eye.
The bells that swing in their towers are silent, but they will yet find
a tongue and fill the cliffs with their glad echoes. The Anglo-Saxon
blood will yet roll here as if in its first leap.

Such are the representations of the roads between this and the mines,
that we have concluded to part with our wagon and pack our mules. Mr.
Botts, one of our companions, has received intelligence which requires
his return to Monterey. We must proceed without his agreeable society.
Wm. Stewart, Esq., secretary of Com. Jones, and Lieut. Simmons, of the
Ohio, have just arrived, on their way to the mines. Two of our mules
were now packed, the third mounted by our wagoner, and the fourth
driven, to guard against contingencies. Thus equipped, we started again
for the mines; but we had hardly cleared the town when one of our mules
took fright, plunged over the plain, burst his girth, and scattered on
the winds the contents of his pack. Capt. Marcy and Mr. Wilkinson, with
the mules and their driver, returned into town to repack, and I
proceeded on in the company of Mr. Stewart and Lieut. Simmons.

We passed the mission of San José, which stands three leagues from the
town. The massive proportions of the church lay in shadow, but the
crowning cross was lit with the rays of the descending sun. No hum of
busy streets or jocund voice of childhood saluted the ear. No eye
regarded us but that of the owl gazing in wise wonder from his ivy
tower. He seemed to marvel at the vanity that had brought us here; and
as we hurried past on our gold destination, sent after us an ominous
hoot! The purple twilight was settling fast when we reached a stream
singing along between the slopes of two hills. Here we camped for the
night. The grass was scanty and the ground uneven, but it was now too
late to look for other spots. The dry willows, which skirted the stream,
furnished us with fuel. The lid of our coffee kettle was soon trembling
over the steam, while the fresh steaks, curling on the coals, scented
the evening air. Our supper over, we talked of friends far away, and
spread our blankets for the night. The ground was so descending I put a
stone at my feet to keep from slipping down, but must have rolled from
my pedestal, for on awaking at daybreak, I found myself at the foot of
the slope, and close on the verge of the bubbling stream. My
ground-blanket remained where it had been spread, though it seemed
higher up the hill, as I clambered back to it from my somnambulic roll.


TUESDAY, SEPT. 26. My companions, who had returned to San José to repack
the mules, arrived at our camp about mid-day, accompanied by W. R.
Garner, so long my secretary in the office of alcalde. Our own horses
were soon saddled, and we were off, all the more light-hearted for this
accession to our numbers. Our road lay through a rolling country covered
with live-oak and pine, and through small prairies, cradled in emerald
repose among the hills. It was quite dark when we reached the small
farm-house of Mr. Livermore. Here we camped. A snag-fence supplied us
with fuel, and Mr. L. furnished us with a sheep ready dressed. Our large
camp-fire sent up its waving flame, which threw its red light over a
group gathered around in every attitude which hunger and culinary care
could assume. What was the howl of the wolves on the hills to us,
engaged in picking the bones of that sheep? A camp-life teaches you the
value of three things—meat, salt, and fire: with these you can travel
the globe round.


WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 27. The night had been dark, the wind bleak, and the
rack was driving on the sky, when the first rays of the sun kindled the
soaring cliffs. We had the great Tulare plain to pass, and lost no time
in finishing our breakfast and effecting an early start. Crossing the
plain attached to the rancho, which we had left, our road lay among
steep conical hills feathered with pine, and pyramids of rock piled in
naked majesty. From these we opened on the great plain of the San
Joaquin, stretching away like a Sahara, and without an object on which
the eye could rest. The sun was hot, and not a breath of wind crept over
the cheerless expanse. A column of cloud, soaring on the distant
horizon, showed where the fearful flame was at work.

We were now in the midst of the plain, when a moving object, dim and
distant, rapidly advanced into more distinct vision. It was a band of
wild horses, rushing down the plain like a foaming torrent to the sea.

                 “With flowing tail and flying mane,
                 With nostrils never stretched by pain,
                 Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein;
                 And feet that iron never shod,
                 And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,
                 A thousand horse—the wild, the free—
                 Like waves that follow o’er the sea—
                   Came thickly thundering on.”

We instantly seized the halters of our pack-mules, and not knowing
whether to advance or retreat, waited the issue where we stood. They
swept past us but a short distance ahead, heeding us as little as the
Niagara the reeds that tremble on its bank. The very ground shook with
the thunder of their hoofs. Their arching necks and flowing mane, their
glossy flanks and sinewy bound made you begrudge them their freedom. You
thought what a flight you might make on them into the mines. It seemed a
pity that so much celerity and strength should be thrown away upon a
stampede.

As we advanced the line of the horizon began to lift itself into
irregular shapes, like a broken coast at sea. These emerging forms
proved to be the broad tops of a belt of trees, which seemed not more
than half a league distant, but which retreated as we advanced, like the
bow which childhood pursues. It was a weary ride before we reached them,
but the tedium of the way was relieved by several adventures among the
wild geese, which hovered near our path in immense flocks. Mr. Stewart,
who is an excellent shot, brought several to the ground: with these
trophies we camped for the night. Some watered and tethered the animals,
others gathered wood, and others ground the coffee and picked the geese.
Having in our panniers a few onions and potatoes, with a piece of pork,
we prepared for a stew. But our geese must have been the goslings of
those that went into the ark, for neither fire nor steam could make an
impression on their sinewy forms. We tried them with the puncture of our
long knives; found them tough as ever, and then swung off the pot. There
was enough, with bread and coffee, without the geese, and as we threw
the legs and wings this way and that, an owl watched the flying
fragments, as much as to say, it is an ill wind that blows nobody any
good.




                              CHAPTER XX.

  THE GRAVE OF A GOLD-HUNTER.—MOUNTAIN SPURS.—A COMPANY OF
    SONORANIANS.—A NIGHT ALARM.—FIRST VIEW OF THE MINES.—CHARACTER OF
    THE DEPOSITS.—A WOMAN AND HER PAN.—REMOVAL TO OTHER MINES.—WILD
    INDIANS AND THEIR WEAPONS.—COST OF PROVISIONS.—A PLUNGE INTO A GOLD
    RIVER.—MACHINES USED BY THE GOLD-DIGGERS.

THURSDAY, SEPT. 28. We slept soundly last night. The sun had been up an
hour before we finished our coffee and vaulted into our saddles. A short
ride brought us to the San Joaquin river, which we crossed in the
primitive way. We threw our saddles and packs into a boat, and then
getting in ourselves, rowed off, leading at the stern one of our little
mules, called Nina. The horses being driven in, followed in her wake and
swam to the opposite bank. The moment they reached the shore, every one
lay down and rolled, covering himself with a layer of sand. My own for
once seemed to have caught the mine fever, and without waiting for the
saddle, much less his rider, went snorting up the bank.

A mile or two further on, and we passed the grave of one whom I had
known well in Monterey. He was a young man of many amiable and excellent
qualities; was on his way to the mines; but in crossing a gulch, now
entirely dry, but through which a freshet then swept, became entangled
with the gearing of his horses, and was drowned. An evergreen tree
throws its perpetual shadows on the mound where he rests, and the wild
birds sing his requiem. His widowed mother, who dwells by the rushing
tide of the Missouri, will long look for his return, and still doubt in
her grief the story of his death. But never will her eyes again rest on
his. Till the heavens be no more he shall not awake, nor be raised out
of his sleep.

Our road for ten miles lay through a level plain corresponding in its
cheerless aspect to that we had passed on the other side of the San
Joaquin. We encountered a drove of wild elk with their forest of
branching horns, but they kept beyond the range of our rifles, and our
horses were too tired to be put on the pursuit. We had only the
satisfaction of venting, in words, our spleen on their speed, but little
cared they for that. They run away at times, as it would seem, from
their own horns, for our road was strewn with these cast-off coronets.

Leaving the plain we ascended into a rolling country lightly timbered
with oak, pine, and birch. We wound rapidly forward, till we encountered
a stream, and a plot of green grass which had escaped the fire that had
been straggling about among the hills. We were without a guide, and on a
trail which at times became rather faint and difficult, and no one knew
where we might next meet with water, so we tethered, collected our wood
for the night, and lit our camp-fire. We had no more potatoes or onions
for a stew, and made our supper on broiled pork, hard bread, and coffee.
We had our saddles for our pillows, the green earth for our couch, and
the bright stars to light us to our rest.


FRIDAY, SEPT. 29. One of our company discovered near our camp this
morning a little lake, with fish darting about in its lucid waters. Our
twine was soon out and hooked, the alder supplied us with poles, and we
answered exactly to Dr. Johnson’s definition of angling—“Line and rod,
with a worm at one end and a fool at the other,” for not a fish would
bite; they were not to be caught with a poor wriggling worm, when golden
flies were floating about. They were fish of a better taste; and we had
to breakfast as we had done before, on broiled pork, hard bread, and
coffee. A famished crow, as if in sympathy with our wants, rattled his
bones near by on a dry limb.


The trail which we were following accommodated itself to the wild
country through which it lay. The bold bluff and deep chasm bent it into
a constant succession of quick circles and sharp angles. The head of our
train was never in sight of those who occupied the rear, except when we
wound over those more gradual slopes which here and there relieved the
ruggedness of the landscape. We met a company of Californians about
mid-day, on their return from the mines, and a more forlorn looking
group never knocked at the gate of a pauper asylum. They were most of
them dismounted, with rags fastened round their blistered feet, and with
clubs in their hands, with which they were trying to force on their
skeleton animals. They inquired for bread and meat: we had but little of
either, but shared it with them. They took from one of their packs a
large bag of gold, and began to shell out a pound or two in payment. We
told them they were welcome; still they seemed anxious to pay, and we
were obliged to be positive in our refusal. This company, as I
afterwards ascertained, had with them over a hundred thousand dollars in
grain gold. One of them had the largest lump that had yet been found; it
weighed over twenty pounds; and he seemed almost ready to part with it
for a mess of pottage. What is gold where there is nothing to eat?—the
gilded fly of the angler in a troutless stream.


SATURDAY, SEPT. 30. We camped last night in a forest, where a small
opening let in the sun’s rays upon a plot of green grass and a sparkling
spring. Our slumbers were broken in the night by the discharge of a
pistol by one of our company, who saw, or thought he saw, a wolf
snuffling about his blanket. We seized our arms, thinking the wild
Indians were upon us, but found no enemy. It was probably the phantom of
a disturbed dream. We scolded the young man soundly who gave the alarm,
and turned down on the earth again to finish our night’s repose.

The scenery, as we advanced, became more wild and picturesque. The hills
lost their gentle slopes, and took the form of steep and rugged cones:
the mountain ranges were broken by dark and rugged gorges; over crags
that toppled high in air, the soaring pine threw its wild music on the
wind; while merry streams dashed down the precipitous rocks, as if in
haste to greet the green vale below. A short distance beyond us lay the
richest gold mines that had yet been discovered; and nature, as if to
guard her treasures, had thrown around them a steep mountain barrier.
This frowning wall seemed as if riven in some great convulsion. The
broad chasm, like a break in a huge Roman aqueduct, dropped to the level
plain; while the bold bluffs of the severed barrier gazed at each other
in savage grandeur. Beyond this gateway, a valley wandered for some
distance, and then expanded into a plain, in the midst of which stood a
beautiful grove of oak and pine. Crossing this, we wound over a rough,
rocky elevation, and turned suddenly into a ravine, up which we
discovered a line of tents glittering in the sun’s rays. We were in the
gold mines! I jumped from my horse, took a pick, and in five minutes
found a piece of gold large enough to make a signet-ring.

We had the unexpected pleasure of meeting here Gov. Mason and Capt.
Sherman, who had arrived the evening before in their tour of
observation; and Dr. Ord, recently of the army, and Mr. Taylor, of
Monterey. They invited us to their camp and a supper which we enjoyed
with a keen relish. If you want to know what it is to have an appetite,
which scruples at nothing and enjoys every thing, travel on horseback
and sleep in the open air. Railroads and hotels are the graves of
invalids. But I forgot our horses: we could find no grass; there was a
poor pasture several miles distant; but it was now near sunset; we
gathered acorns for them, which a horse will eat when pinched with
hunger. Our camp-fire was kindled, and we rolled down for the night.


SUNDAY, OCT. 1. Another Sabbath, and our first in the mines. But here
and there a digger has resumed his work. With most it is a day of rest,
not so much perhaps from religious scruples, as a conviction that the
system requires and must have repose. He is a blind philosopher, as well
as a stupid Christian, who cannot see, even in the physical benefits of
the Sabbath, motives sufficient to sanctify its observance. He must be a
callous soul, who, with the hope of heaven in his dreams, can wantonly
profane its spirit.


MONDAY, OCT. 2. I went among the gold-diggers; found half a dozen at the
bottom of the ravine, tearing up the bogs, and up to their knees in mud.
Beneath these bogs lay a bed of clay, sprinkled in spots with gold.
These deposits, and the earth mixed with them, were shovelled into
bowls, taken to a pool near by, and washed out. The bowl, in working, is
held in both hands, whirled violently back and forth through half a
circle, and pitched this way and that sufficiently to throw off the
earth and water, while the gold settles to the bottom. The process is
extremely laborious, and taxes the entire muscles of the frame. In its
effect it is more like swinging a scythe than any work I ever attempted.

Not having much relish for the bogs and mud, I procured a light crowbar
and went to splitting the slate-rocks which project into the ravine. I
found between the layers, which were not perfectly closed, particles of
gold, resembling in shape the small and delicate scales of a fish. These
were easily scraped from the slate by a hunter’s knife, and readily
separated in the wash-bowl from all foreign substances. The layers in
which they were found generally inclined from a vertical or horizontal
position, and formed an acute angle with the bank of the ravine, in the
direction of the current. In the reverse of this position, and where the
inclination was with the current, they rarely contained any gold. The
inference would seem to be, that these deposits are made by the currents
when swelled by the winter rains, and poured in a rushing tide down
these channels. It is only the most rapid stream that can carry this
treasure, and even that must soon resign it to some eddy, or the rock
that paves its footsteps.

There are about seventy persons at work in this ravine, and all within a
few yards of each other. They average about one ounce per diem each.
They who get less are discontented, and they who get more are not
satisfied. Every day brings in some fresh report of richer discoveries
in some quarter not far remote, and the diggers are consequently kept in
a state of feverish excitement. One woman, a Sonoranian, who was washing
here, finding at the bottom of her bowl only the amount of half a dollar
or so, hurled it back again into the water, and straightening herself up
to her full height, strode off with the indignant air of one who feels
himself insulted. Poor woman! how little thou knowest of those patient
females, who in our large cities make a shirt or vest for ten cents!
Were an ounce of diamonds to fall into one of our hands every day, we
should hold out the other just as eager and impatient as if its fellow
were empty. Such is human nature; and a miserable thing it is, too,
especially when touched with the gold fever.


TUESDAY, OCT. 3. We parted to-day with the society of Mr. Stewart and
Mr. Simmons: they were on a tour of observation; were bound to Sutter’s
Fort, and availed themselves of the company of Gov. Mason and Capt.
Sherman, who were going in the same direction; may they have an
agreeable journey, and each find a lump of gold as big as Vulcan’s
anvil. We ordered up our own horses, packed our mules, and started for a
ravine some seven miles distant. Our path lay over the spur of a
mountain, so rugged and steep that we were obliged to dismount. The
soaring masses were piled around us in the wildest sublimity, presenting
those thunder-scarred fronts which the volcano in its terrific energy
throws into the eye of the sun. You had a dim persuasion that some
fearful charm, some unseen treasure lurked in the sunless recesses of
these stupendous piles; and so it seemed, for out walked a grizzly bear
from a mountain gorge, and fixed his burning eyes steadfastly on us. Not
being certain of our rifles, as we had not used them for several days,
we deemed prudence the better part of valor, and gave the old monarch of
the woods a pretty wide berth.

We examined several spots on our route for gold, but found none, either
on the table-rock, or in the channels of the mountain streams. If it
ever existed there, it had been swept below, or remained in the veins of
the rock beyond the reach of pickaxe and spade. On the plain we fell in
with the camp of Mr. Murphy, who invited us into his tent, and set
before us refreshments that would have graced a scene less wild than
this. His tent is pitched in the midst of a small tribe of wild Indians
who gather gold for him, and receive in return provisions and blankets.
He knocks down two bullocks a day to furnish them with meat. Though
never before within the wake of civilization, they respect his person
and property. This, however, is to be ascribed in part to the fact that
he has married the daughter of the chief—a young woman of many personal
attractions, and full of that warm wild love which makes her the Haide
of the woods. She is the queen of the tribe, and walks among them with
the air of one on whom authority sets as a native grace,—a charm which
all feel, and of which she seems the least conscious.

The men and boys were busy with their bows and arrows. A difficulty had
arisen between this tribe and one not far remote, and they were
expecting an attack. Though the less powerful tribe of the two, they
seemed not the least dismayed. The old men looked stern and grave, but
the boys were full of glee as if mustering for a deer-hunt. The mothers
with Spartan coolness were engaged in pointing arrows with flint stones,
so shaped that they easily penetrate and break off in the effort to
extract them, and always leave an ugly wound. They project these arrows
from their bows with incredible force, often burying them to the feather
in the luckless elk; the deer gives his last life-bound and falls, while
the unsuspecting foe drops unwarned from his saddle. I saw no signs of
intoxication among these Indians, and was told by Mr. Murphy that he
allowed no liquors in the camp. He said a trader brought there a few
days since a barrel of rum, and that he gave him exactly five minutes in
which to decide whether he would quit the grounds, or have the head of
the barrel knocked in. He of course took his fire-curse to some other
place.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 4. Our camping-ground is in a broad ravine through which
a rivulet wanders, and which is dotted with the frequent tents of
gold-diggers. The sounds of the crowbar and pick, as they shake or
shiver the rock, are echoed from a thousand cliffs; while the hum of
human voices rolls off on the breeze to mingle with the barking of
wolves, who regard with no friendly eyes this intrusion into their
solitude. They resemble their great progenitrix, trembling in stone, as
the Vandals broke into Rome. But little care the gold-diggers about the
wolves, it is enough for them to know that this ravine contains gold;
and it must be dug out, though an earthquake may slumber beneath. If you
want to find men prepared to storm the burning threshold of the infernal
prison, go among gold-diggers.

The provisions with which we left San José are gone, and we have been
obliged to supply ourselves here. We pay at the rate of four hundred
dollars a barrel for flour; four dollars a pound for poor brown sugar,
and four dollars a pound for indifferent coffee. And as for meat, there
is none to be got except jerked-beef, which is the flesh of the bullock
cut into strings and hung up in the sun to dry, and which has about as
much juice in it as a strip of bark dangling in the wind from a dead
tree. Still, when moistened and toasted, it will do something towards
sustaining life; so also will the sole of your shoe. And yet I have seen
men set and grind it as if it were nutritious and sweetly flavored. Oh
ye who lose your temper because your sirloin has rolled once too much on
the spit, come to the mines of California and eat jerked-beef!


THURSDAY, OCT. 5. The rivulet, which waters the ravine, collects here
and there into deep pools. Over one of these a low limb had thrown
itself, upon which I ventured out with an apparatus for scooping up the
sand at the bottom. But just as I had lowered my dipper the limb broke,
and down I went to the chin in water. It was some minutes before I could
extricate myself, and when I did there was not a dry thread on my body.
The chill of the stream reduced the gold fever in me very considerably.
I had brought no outward garments but those in which I stood; I wrung
out the water and hung them up in the sun to dry, and wound myself, like
an Indian, in my blanket. But I was not more savage in my aspect than in
my feelings. This, however, soon passed off, and I could laugh with
others at the gold plunge. But nothing is a novelty here for more than a
minute; were a man to cast his skin or lose his head, no one would stop
to inquire if he had recovered either, unless they suspected foul play,
and then they would arraign and execute the culprit before one of our
lawyers could pen an indictment.


FRIDAY, OCT. 6. The most efficient gold-washer here is the cradle, which
resembles in shape that appendage of the nursery, from which it takes
its name. It is nine or ten feet long, open at one end and closed at the
other. At the end which is closed, a sheet-iron pan, four inches deep,
and sixteen over, and perforated in the bottom with holes, is let in
even with the sides of the cradle. The earth is thrown into the pan,
water turned on it, and the cradle, which is on an inclined plane, set
in motion. The earth and water pass through the pan, and then down the
cradle, while the gold, owing to its specific gravity, is caught by
cleets fastened across the bottom. Very little escapes; it generally
lodges before it reaches the last cleet. It requires four or five men to
supply the earth and water to work such a machine to advantage. The
quantity of gold washed out must depend on the relative proportion of
gold in the earth. The one worked in this ravine yields a hundred
dollars a day; but this is considered a slender result. Most of the
diggers use the bowl or pan; its lightness never embarrasses their
roving habits; and it can be put in motion wherever they may find a
stream or spring. It can be purchased now in the mines for five or six
dollars; a few months since it cost an ounce—sixteen dollars for a
wooden bowl! But I have seen twenty-four dollars paid for a box of
seidlitz-powders, and forty dollars for as many drops of laudanum.




                              CHAPTER XXI.

  LUMP OF GOLD LOST.—INDIANS AT THEIR GAME OF ARROWS.—CAMP OF THE
    GOLD-HUNTERS.—A SONORANIAN GOLD-DIGGER.—SABBATH IN THE MINES.—THE
    GIANT WELCHMAN.—NATURE OF GOLD DEPOSITS.—AVERAGE PER MAN.—NEW
    DISCOVERIES.

SATURDAY, OCT. 7. I had come to the mines without a pick, but this
morning fell in with a trader who had one for sale: his price was ten
dollars in specie, or eighteen in gold dust. I gave him the specie; the
pick weighed about four pounds, was of rude manufacture, and without a
handle; but this appendage was readily supplied from the limb of an ash.
Thus accoutred I strode down the ravine, not doubting but what I should,
before night, strike upon some deposit which would fill my pockets.
Passing groups who were engaged in digging into this bank and that, I
fell in with a sailor, whom I recognized as one of the men who had been
honorably discharged from the Savannah. He was groping about as if in
quest of something he had lost. “What is the matter, Jones?” I inquired;
he sprung to his feet, gave me his rough hand, and pointed to a cliff
which overhung the glen. “There, on that crag,” said he, “I have been at
work ever since the peep of day, and got out several bits of gold, and
one good-sized lump: I put them in my tin cup, when, striking away
again, my pick glanced, struck the cup, and knocked it, gold and all,
half-way across this ravine; and I might as well hunt a clam in the
Pacific as that gold, though it was a jewel of a piece—the biggest I
have seen here.” So I laid down my pick, ascended the cliff,
ascertained, as near as possible, the direction in which the cup flew,
and commenced the search. Every bunch of leaves, every hole and gulley
were examined, and the cup recovered, but the gold was not in it.

Fatigued, I threw myself into the shade of a scrub-oak, and went to
sleep; but the gold of poor Jones glanced through my dreams. I saw, in
that fantastic realm, a small birch-tree, a bubbling spring at its root,
and in its fount a piece of gold. I seemed to know at the time it was
only a dream; still the picture remained in my mind so clear, so
distinct, that on awaking I identified at a glance the birch, and
springing to its root found the little fount, and with a hoe fetched up
the piece of gold!—the same that had been lost, for none other could
answer so exactly to the description which had been given. It weighed
about three ounces, but did not seem larger than the sparkling eye of
the sailor as I placed it in his hand. They may laugh who will at
dreams, but now and then some Sibyl leaf floats through them. I tried to
dream again where gold might be found; saw plenty of birch-trees and
fountains, but never discovered an ingot in either.


MONDAY, OCT. 9. On returning to our camping-tree this afternoon, I found
three wild Indians quietly squatted in its shade. They had been
attracted there by a red belt, which hung from one of the limbs. They
could speak only their native dialect, not a word of which could I
understand. We had to make ourselves intelligible by signs. They wanted
to purchase the belt, and each laid down a piece of gold, which were
worth in the aggregate some two hundred dollars. I took one of the
pieces, and gave the Indian to whom it belonged the belt. They made
signs for a piece of coin; I offered them an eagle, but it was not what
they wanted,—a Spanish mill dollar, but they wanted something smaller,—a
fifty-cent piece, and they signified it would do. Taking the coin they
fastened it in the end of a stick, so as to expose nearly the entire
circle, and set it up about forty yards distant. They then cast lots by
a bone, which they threw into the air, for the order in which they
should discharge their arrows. The one who had the first shot, drew his
long sinewy bow and missed; the second, he missed; the third, and he
missed,—though the arrow of each flew so near the coin it would have
killed a deer at that distance. The second now shot first and grazed the
coin; then the third, who broke his string and shot with the bow of the
second, but missed; and now the first took his turn, and struck the
coin, whirling it off at a great distance. The other two gave him the
belt, which he tied around his head instead of his blanket, and away
they started over the hills, full of wild life and glee, leaving the
coin, as a thing of no importance, in the bushes where it had been
whirled.


TUESDAY, OCT. 10. My companions, who have been out on a gold-hunt for
several hours, have just returned, bringing with them about an ounce of
gold each. They are so thoroughly fatigued they prefer sleep to a
dinner, connected with the trouble of preparing it. And there is no
other way here; every man is obliged to be his own cook. We have our
henchman, it is true, but he is in a ravine some four miles distant, in
charge of our horses and mules. If he will keep them from straying, or
being stolen by the wild Indians, we shall be content to wait on
ourselves. Several of the persons at work in the ravine turned their
horses adrift on their arrival, which they might safely do, for the poor
things have not got strength enough to climb its steep sides. They
subsist on the acorns which they gather, and a few tufts of grass as dry
and scorched as the clover over which the flames of Sodom rolled. But
what think men of the hunger or thirst of dumb animals, when the gold
fever is throwing its circle of fire around the soul.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 11. It is near sunset, and the gold-diggers are
returning from their labors, each one bearing on his head a brush-heap,
with which he will kindle his evening fire. Their wild halloos, as they
come in, fill the cliffs with their echoes. All are merry, whatever may
have been the fortunes of the day with them. Not one among the whole can
anticipate a more luxurious supper than a cake baked in the ashes, with
a cup of coffee and a bit of jerked-beef, except in the case of a
new-comer, who has brought with him a few pounds of buckwheat flour; he
can have a pancake, that is if he has any thing with which to grease his
pan, which is extremely doubtful. There is not a bottle of liquor in the
ravine, and every one must, per force, turn in sober. Every streamlet
preaches temperance, and the wind-stirred pine sings its soft eulogy on
the charmed air.


THURSDAY, OCT. 12. I found near our camp this morning a boulder of trap
and quartz which had evidently travelled some distance, as nothing of
the kind existed in the ravine. I had no means of demolishing the mass,
and could with my pick only dislodge a few of the quartz: these I found
veined with gold. But it is the only specimen of this combination with
which I have met. Where the fellow came from, I know not; but had he
tumbled into New York or Philadelphia, instead of this cañada, the whole
community would have been filled with prattling wonders. How much the
marvellous depends on circumstances!


FRIDAY, OCT. 13. I passed a few days since a Sonoranian at work against
a steep bank of decomposed granite and clay, which was so firm that he
could hardly make an impression upon it with a heavy sharp-pointed
crowbar. “And what, my friend,” I inquired, “are you going to get out
there?” to which he replied, “A pocket of gold, sir, as soon as I can
reach it.” “And what makes you think,” I continued, “that you will find
a deposit there?” to which he responded, “Do you see that blow-hole on
the other side of the ravine, where the slate rock stands out so rough,
with a savage mouth in the centre? Well, sir, _that_ was the devil’s
blow-hole, and he blowed the gold straight across the ravine into this
bank, where I will find it, if I work long enough.” I thought him some
half-crazy fellow, and passed on. He dug away all that day without
reaching his pocket; but on the following day took out two pounds of
gold, in small pieces, resembling in shape the seeds of the watermelon.
As soon as this was known, four of the New York volunteers struck in
each side of the Sonoranian, and dug him out; and the old man very
quietly retired. The intruders dug away through the remainder of the
day, but found no gold, and then quit the spot, concluding that the
Sonoranian had got out the only pocket which existed there. The next
morning, however, the Sonoranian renewed his attack on the bank, and
with his sharp-pointed crowbar and pick, penetrated beyond the layer
where the volunteers had knocked off. Before night he struck another
pocket, and took out a pound and a half of gold of the same shape and
size as the other. The volunteers were now roused, and returned to the
spot, determined to dig down the whole bank; but one day of hard work,
unrewarded by a single particle of gold, was enough. They quitted the
bank in disgust. The old Sonoranian told me it contained no more
pockets. His theory about the blow-hole is by no means confined to his
own wild imagination; a man by the name of Black, who is one of the most
successful gold-hunters in the ravine, is guided, in his researches, by
the same seemingly absurd theory. It is possible that these blow-holes,
as they are called, were the vents of volcanoes, performing the same
functions as those found beneath the shaking cone of Etna.


SATURDAY, OCT. 14. A party of seven Americans are just in from the
higher slopes of the Sierra, where they have been prospecting for gold.
They penetrated to the snow, tearing up roots, overturning rocks and
draining fountains, but discovering no gold. It is the foot range of the
Sierra that contains the deposits; this has been cut into segments by
rapid streams, rising higher up, and which have sunk their channels into
deep gorges. The larger portion of the gold, subjected to the action of
these torrents, has been swept out upon the plain, or buried deep in
some nearer undulation, where it will remain undisturbed till the
deposits nearer the surface have been exhausted. These deeper treasures,
like the inhumed remains of a Herculaneum, will then be brought to
light.


SUNDAY, OCT. 15. A quiet day among the gold-diggers; but few are at work
with pick or pan; small parties have gone over the hills “prospecting,”
but the masses are beneath the oak and pines, which shadow the cañadas.
Missionaries might find a field here in this rolling population; the
waving grain, as well as the still, falls before the sickle of the
reaper. There is something inspiring in wild-wood worship; you are with
nature and nature’s God: every thing around you trembles in the breath
of the Almighty: the glad rivulet whispers his name, and the pine-grove
pours its sweeping anthem; your spirit soars on lighter wings, and
religion becomes, as another has beautifully expressed it, the play of
the soul in the sunbeams of God.


MONDAY, OCT. 16. I encountered this morning, in the person of a
Welchman, a pretty marked specimen of the gold-digger. He stood some six
feet eight in his shoes, with giant limbs and frame. A leather strap
fastened his coarse trowsers above his hips, and confined the flowing
bunt of his flannel shirt. A broad-rimmed hat sheltered his browny
features, while his unshorn beard and hair flowed in tangled confusion
to his waist. To his back was lashed a blanket and bag of provisions; on
one shoulder rested a huge crowbar, to which were hung a gold-washer and
skillet; on the other rested a rifle, a spade, and pick, from which
dangled a cup and pair of heavy shoes. He recognized me as the
magistrate who had once arrested him for a breach of the peace. “Well,
Señor Alcalde,” said he, “I am glad to see you in these diggings. You
had some trouble with me in Monterey; I was on a burster; you did your
duty, and I respect you for it; and now let me settle the difference
between us with a bit of gold: it shall be the first I strike under this
bog.” I told him there was no difference between us; that I knew at the
time it was rum which had raised the rumpus. But before I had finished
my disclaiming speech, his traps were on the ground, and his heavy pick
was tearing up bog after bog from the marl in which it had struck its
tangling roots. These removed, he struck a layer of clay: “Here she
comes!” he ejaculated, and turned out a piece of gold that would weigh
an ounce or more. “There,” said he, “Señor Alcalde, accept that; and
when you reach home, where I hope you will find all well, have a
bracelet made of it for your good lady.”

He continued to dig around the same place, but during the hour I
remained with him found no other piece of gold—not a particle. This is
no uncommon thing; I have seen a piece weighing six ounces taken from
some little curve in a bank undulating in its bed, while not another of
any size, after the most laborious search, could be found in its
vicinity. This holds true of the larger pieces, but rarely of the scale
gold. Where you find half an ounce of that, you may be pretty sure there
is more near by. The same law which deposited that, has carried its
results much further; and you will find a clue to them in the curves of
the channel, or the character and position of the rocks which project
into it. If the projection is smooth, or forms an obtuse angle with the
current, there is no gold there, and you must look to the eddy directly
below it. This eddy, or its deposit, can be examined only when the water
has subsided. During the rainy season, and when the snows are melting on
the Sierra, no such investigations can be successfully prosecuted. Of
all metals the most difficult to reach and secure under water is gold.
It has a thousand modes of eluding your search, and escaping your
scooping implements.


TUESDAY, OCT. 17. A German this morning, picking a hole in the ground,
near our camping-tree, for a tent-pole, struck a piece of gold, weighing
about three ounces. As soon as it was known, some forty picks were
flying into the earth all around the spot. You would have thought the
ground had suddenly caved over some human being, who must be instantly
disinhumed or die. But the fellow sought was not the companion of the
digger, but the mate of the yellow boy accidentally found by the German.
But no such mate was discovered; the one found had slumbered thus alone
like Adam before the birth of Eve. How solitary that couch, though in
Paradise! Think of that, ye devotees of celibacy, who people your dreams
with fairies, and imagine a bliss amid the wrecks of the fall, which was
not the portion of man even before that moral catastrophe.

But I forget the piece of gold; no fellow was found for it here; but in
a ravine, seven miles distant, a little girl this morning picked up what
she thought a curious stone, and brought it to her mother, who, on
removing the extraneous matter, found it a lump of pure gold, weighing
between six and seven pounds. The news of this discovery silenced all
the picks here for half an hour, and set as many tongues going in their
places. Twenty or thirty started at once to explore the wonders of this
new locality. Gold among hunters, like a magnet in the midst of
ferruginous bodies, attracts every thing to itself.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 18. We are camped in the centre of the gold mines, in
the heart of the richest deposits which have been found, and where there
are many hundred at work. I have taken some pains to ascertain the
average per man that is got out; it must be less than half an ounce per
day. It might be more were there any stability among the diggers; but
half their time is consumed in what they call prospecting; that is,
looking up new deposits. An idle rumor, or mere surmise, will carry them
off in this direction or that, when perhaps they gathered nothing for
their weariness and toil. A locality where an ounce a day can be
obtained by patient labor is constantly left for another, which rumor
has enriched with more generous deposits. They who decry this
instability in others, may hold out for a time, but yield at last to the
same phrensied fickleness. I have never met with one who had the
strength of purpose to resist these roving temptations. He will not
swing a pick for an ounce a day, with the rumor of pounds ringing in his
ears. He shoulders his implements to chase this phantom of hope.


THURSDAY, OCT. 19. All the gold-diggers through the entire encampment,
were shaken out of their slumbers this morning by a report that a solid
pocket of gold had been discovered in a bend of the Stanislaus. In half
an hour a motley multitude, covered with crowbars, pickaxes, spades,
rifles, and wash-bowls, went streaming over the hills in the direction
of the new deposits. You would have thought some fortress was to be
stormed, or some citadel sapped. I had seen too much of these rumored
banks of gold to be moved from my propriety, and remained under my old
camping-tree. Near this I pecked out from a small crevice of slate rock,
a piece weighing about half an ounce. It had evidently travelled some
distance, and taken refuge from the propulsive storms of ages in this
little hiding-place, as a good man from the persecutions of the world
glides down at last to his sainted repose. But I have no compunction for
having disturbed this piece of gold; it may yet be shaped into an
ear-drop, and kiss the envied cheek of beauty; or it may be studded with
diamonds, and swell on a billow that seems to blush at the flash of its
ray; or it may be shaped into the marriage-ring, and set its seal on the
purest bliss that greets the visits of angels; or it may be stamped into
a coin, and as it drops into the hands of the widow or orphan, prove
that—

                 “The secret pleasure of a generous act
                 Is the great mind’s great bribe.”

But evening is returning, and with it the gold-diggers from their
pursuit of the new deposit. Their jokes, as they clatter down the slopes
of the ravine, are sufficient evidence that they have been on a
wild-goose chase. Disappointment will make a single man sober, but when
it falls on a multitude, is often converted into a source of railery and
fun. There is something extremely consoling in having the company of
others, when we have been duped through our vanity or exaggerated hopes.
This comfort was deeply felt by the diggers this evening. All had lost a
day, and with it the most enchanting visions of wealth. All had returned
hungry as a wolf on a desert; or a recluse listening in his last penance
to the sound of his cross-bones, shaken by the wind.




                             CHAPTER XXII.

  VISIT TO THE SONORANIAN CAMP.—FESTIVITIES AND GAMBLING.—THE DOCTOR AND
    TEAMSTER.—AN ALCALDE TURNED COOK.—THE MINER’S TATTOO.—THE LITTLE
    DUTCHMAN.—NEW DEPOSITS DISCOVERED.—A WOMAN KEEPING A MONTÉ TABLE.—UP
    TO THE KNEE AND NINE-PENCE.—THE VOLCANOES AND GOLD.—ARRIVAL OF A
    BARREL OF RUM.

FRIDAY, OCT. 20. I threw myself into my saddle at an early hour this
morning, and started for a cañada, about ten miles distant. The
foot-trail which I followed, lay over several sharp ridges to the quick
waves of the Stanislaus, and then up a steep mountain spur. I was
obliged to dismount, draw myself up by the bushes, and trust to the
fidelity of my horse to follow. At last we gained the summit, but it was
only to gaze down a wild precipitous descent, where the cliffs hung in
toppling terror. A vein of white quartz runs along the ridge, like a
line of unmelted snow, with here and there spangles of gold glittering
in the sun. I had no implement with me but my hunting-knife, and vainly
broke the point of that. I tried one of my pistols; the bullet knocked
out the gold-drop, but jewel and lead went over the steep verge
together. I let myself down by the bushes, blessing every lythe limb and
steadfast root, while my horse, more sagacious, fetched a circuit, and
reached the plain before me.

Ascending another ridge, the ravine, which had induced this adventure,
lay in jagged wildness beneath. It was in uproarious life; an elk had
been shot; and the miners were feasting on its fat ribs. The repast was
hardly over, when the monté table, with its piles of gold, glimmered in
the shade. It was the great camp of the Sonoranians, and hundreds were
crowding around to reach the bank, and deposit their treasures on the
turn of a card. They seemed to play for the excitement, and often
doubled their stakes whether they won or lost. They apparently connect
no moral obliquity with the game; one of them, who sleeps near my
camping-tree, will kneel by the half hour on the sharp rock in his Ave
Marias, while the keen night-wind cuts his scarce clad frame, then rise
and stake his last dollar at monté. At the break of day he is on his
knees again, and his prayer trembles up with the first trill of the
waking birds. It was in this ravine that a few weeks since the largest
lump of gold found in California was discovered. It weighs twenty-three
pounds, is nearly pure, and cubic in its form. Its discovery shook the
whole mines; the shout of the _eureka_ swelled on the wind like the
cheer of seamen when the pharos breaks through a stormy night. I waved
my adieu to the miners, and fetching a bold circuit to the east, reached
at night-fall my camping-tree.


SATURDAY, OCT. 21. Extravagant charges here are often made as offsets. A
doctor of my acquaintance, wishing to remove to another cañada a few
miles off, tost his machine into an empty wagon, bound in that
direction, and on arriving, asked the teamster what he was to pay; the
reply was a hundred dollars! which was planked down without a word. Soon
after this the teamster had a grip of the cholic, from which he sought
relief in two or three of the doctor’s pills. The relieved patient now
asked what _he_ was to pay; the doctor, after a few moment’s
abstraction, in which he seemed to be rummaging his memory more than his
medicines, replied, “The charge is exactly one hundred dollars!” “Ah,”
said the wagoner, “I knew that cradle would yet rock thunder at me.” But
he paid the fee, and squared the account.

I have been out for several hours this morning scouring a conical hill
crowned with quartz. I took with me the sailor, who knocked his cup of
gold out of sight by an accidental glance of his pick. We searched the
hill from top to bottom, shivered the quartz on its summit, and rummaged
among the fragments of the same, which the storms of ages had swept to
its base, but we found no gold. Following one of the slopes which
terminated in a glen, overhung with willows, and where a current had
flowed, we struck into a confined basin, where we found, among the
pebbles, a deposit of gold, and gathered, in the course of the day,
about two ounces; with beautiful trophies we returned to camp.


MONDAY, OCT. 23. It was now near noon, and my day to cook the dinner; so
I hastened back to our camping-tree, and piling up the half-extinguished
brands, soon raised a fire. Then taking a tin pan, which served
alternately as a gold-washer and a bread-tray, I turned into it a few
pounds of flour, a small solution of saleratus, and a few quarts of
water, and then went to work in it with my hands, mixing it up and
adding flour till I got it to the right consistency; then shaping it
into a loaf, raked open the embers, and rolled it in, covering it with
the live coals. While this baking was going on, I placed in a stew-pan,
after pounding it pretty well between two stones, a string of
jerked-beef, with a small quantity of water, and lodged it on the fire.
Then taking some coffee, which had been burnt the evening before, I tied
it in the end of a napkin, and hammering it to pieces between two
stones, turned it into a coffee-pot filled with water, and placed that,
too, on the fire. In half an hour or so my bread was baked, my jerk-beef
stewed, and my coffee boiled. I settled the latter by turning on it a
pint of cold water. The bread was well done; a little burnt on one side,
and somewhat puffed up, like the expectations of the gold-digger in the
morning, or the vanity of a stump-orator just after a cheer. My
companions returned, and seating ourselves on the ground, each with a
tin cup of coffee, a junk of bread, and a piece of the stewed jerky, our
dinner was soon dispatched, and with a relish which the epicure never
yet felt or fancied. The water here is slightly impregnated with iron
and sulphur; the one acting as a tonic, the other as an aperient. And
then this fine mountain air, some eight hundred feet above the level of
the sea, all conduce to health and buoyancy of spirits. Among the
hundred gold-diggers around, not one hypochondriac throws on rock or
rill the shadow of a long countenance. Even they who hardly get out gold
enough to pay their way, laugh at their bad luck, and hope for better
success to-morrow. They have yet plenty of tickets in the lottery, and
some of them may turn out prizes. At any rate, they are not going to
despond while these glens contain an undisturbed bar, or these hills
lift their cones of white rock in the sun.


TUESDAY, OCT. 24. The ravine in which we are camped runs nearly north
and south, and is walled by lofty ranges of precipitous rock. It is near
ten o’clock of the day before the rays of the sun strike its depths; but
when they do reach you, it is with a power that drives you at once into
the shade. It is twilight in the glen, while the cliffs above still
blaze in the radiance of the descending orb. As darkness comes on, the
camp-fires of the diggers, kindled along the ravine, throw their light
into every recess, where forms are seen, gathered in groups, or glancing
about, while every now and then some merry tale or apt joke explodes in
a roar of laughter. At eight o’clock every tin pan and brass kettle is
put in requisition, and the thumpers beat a tattoo, which is concluded
with the simultaneous discharge of several muskets. The jargon is enough
to frighten the wolf out of his cavern; and yet no harmony that ever
rolled from theatrical orchestra or cathedral choir, can charm you half
as much. It is the music of the heart reeling itself off through tin
pans in melodious numbers. But the musicians are now all sound asleep;
their camp-fires wane, and there is only heard the dirge of the pines,
murmuring in the night-wind. Thousands who lie on beds of down, under
canopies of silk, might envy the sleepers on these rocks their quiet
repose. The stars gaze on no groups where slumber shakes from its wings
such a refreshing dew.


WEDNESDAY, OCT. 25. A little Dutchman came to me this morning, and
informed me, in whispers, that he and his companion had, unbeknown to
the rest, stolen off to a glen about three miles distant, where they had
found a rich deposit, and then invited me to come and share it with
them. He took my pan, which had served as a bread-tray, and we wound
over the hills to his glen. Here we found his red-haired companion,
knee-deep in mud, which he was shovelling out to reach the bed of clay
beneath. On this bed lay the gold in grains about the size of
wheat-kernels. Every now and then the water, which was as cold as ice,
would gather in the hole, and required to be bailed out or drained off.
The chill of the water was enough for me; I had tried that once before,
and felt no disposition to repeat the experiment. The mud I could stand,
for I was already dirty as a pig just rolling out of his _siesta_. So I
told my young friends to go to work, and I would poke about the edges.
They urged me to jump in; and truly the temptation was strong, and
required some share of prudence to resist it, but I contented myself
with working where I could keep my feet dry. But they several times
called for my pan, and filled it with earth, scraped from the clay bed,
which I washed out, and then found at the bottom fifteen or twenty
dollars in gold. They obtained, as the result of their joint labors
through the day, about a thousand dollars. Night was advancing, and I
returned over the hills to our camping-tree.


THURSDAY, OCT. 26. Where is the little Dutchman and the red-haired
Paddy? ran in excited inquiry through the ravine this morning, for they
had now been missed from the camp twenty-four hours, and no doubt
existed on the minds of many that they had found a rich deposit
somewhere, and were secretly working it out. I knew well where they
were, but no one thought of questioning me on the subject, for I was
looked upon as a sort of amateur gold-hunter, very much given to
splitting rocks and digging in unproductive places; and, indeed, this
was not far from the truth, for my main object was information, and a
specimen of wild mountain life.

But to return to the little Dutchman. All knew him to be a shrewd
gold-hunter, and determined to find him before he should exhaust his
discovery. No child lost in the woods ever awakened half the concern:
some started in this direction, others in that, till all the cardinal
points in the heaven, and all the glens between, had men travelling
towards them. The most curious feature in this business is, that out of
a regiment of gold-hunters, where the utmost apparent confusion
prevails, the absence of two men should be noticed. But the motions of
every man are watched. Even when he gathers up his traps, takes formal
leave, and is professedly bound home, he is tracked for leagues. No
disguise can avail him; the most successful war-stratagem would fail
here.


FRIDAY, OCT. 27. I have just returned from another ravine, five miles
distant, where there are eighty or a hundred gold-diggers. They are
mostly Sonoranians, and, like all their countrymen, passionately devoted
to gambling. They were playing at monté; the keeper of the bank was a
woman, and herself a Sonoranian. There was no coin on the table; the
bank consisted of a pile of gold, weighing, perhaps, a hundred pounds;
and each of the players laid down his ounce or pound, as his means or
courage permitted. The woman, on the whole, appeared to be the winner,
though one man, in the course of half an hour, took ten pounds from her
yellow pile. But such a loss was felt only for the moment, and only had
the effect to stimulate others to lose what little they had left. A
Sonoranian digs out gold simply and solely that he may have the
wherewithal for gambling. This is the rallying thought which wakes with
him in the morning, which accompanies him through the day, and which
floats through his dreams at night. For this he labors, and cheerfully
denies himself every comfort. All this is the result of habit. A
Mussulman looks upon gambling as a species of larceny,—as a crime which
deserves the bastinado. I saw a Turkish cadi at Smyrna sentence a man to
thirty-nine lashes for having, as he termed it, _swindled_ another out
of fifty dollars at faro. Give me a Turk where there is a rogue to be
caught or a crime punished. The flashings of the sword of justice follow
the crime as light the shark in a phosphoric sea.


SATURDAY, OCT. 28. A portion of the party that went in quest of the
little Dutchman have found him, and helped him to dig out his new
deposit—a sort of assistance for which he can feel no very profound
obligation. It was much like that rendered by Prince Hal in the division
of the spoils secured by the knight of sack at Gad’s hill. A successful
gold-hunter is like the leader of hounds in the chase—the whole pack
comes sweeping after, and are sure to be in at the death. No doubling
hill, or covert, or stream throws them upon a false scent. I advise all
fox-hunters to come here and train their hounds, and throw away their
horns. Even his Grace of Wellington, who is still so hotly keen in the
chase, that the snows of eighty winters fall from his locks unperceived,
might catch some valuable hints in the gold mines of California.


MONDAY, OCT. 30. I encountered to-day, in a ravine some three miles
distant, among the gold-washers, a woman from San José. She was at work
with a large wooden bowl, by the side of a stream. I asked her how long
she had been there, and how much gold she averaged a day. She replied,
“Three weeks and an ounce.” Her reply reminded me of an anecdote of the
late Judge B——, who met a girl returning from market, and asked her,
“How deep did you find the stream? what did you get for your butter?”
“Up to the knee and nine-pence,” was the reply. Ah! said the judge to
himself; she is the girl for me—no words lost there: turned back,
proposed, was accepted, and married the next week; and a more happy
couple the conjugal bonds never united: the nuptial lamp never waned;
its ray was steady and clear to the last. Ye, who paddle off and on for
seven years, and are at last perhaps capsized, take a lesson of the
judge. That “up to the knee and nine-pence” is worth all the rose
letters and melancholy rhymes ever penned. But I am wandering; I did
intend to write this journal without an episode, but they will keep
forcing themselves in, like the curiosity of the crowd in a family jar,
or remembrances of wrong upon a guilty conscience. I know the interest
of a journal depends much on the continuity of its thread; but it is the
easiest thing in the world to be continuously stupid, and _that_ is my
apology for these episodical breaks. If the reader don’t like this
reason, then let him look up a better; while I plunge into that
o’ershadowed glen, and see if it contains any gold.


TUESDAY, OCT. 31. I have collected, since my arrival in the mines,
several singular and beautiful specimens of the gold. One of the pieces
resembles a pendulous ear-drop, and must have assumed that shape when
the metal was in a state of fusion. That all the gold here has once been
in that state is sufficiently evident from the forms in which it is
found. I have a specimen, weighing several ounces, in which the
characteristics of the slate rock are as palpable as if they had been
engraved. I have another specimen, in which a clear crystal of quartz is
set, with a finish of execution which no jeweller can rival. I have
another specimen still, where the gold gleams up, in the shape of
buck-shot, from a basis of sandstone; and another still, where it has
taken the form of a paper-folder, and may be used to cut the leaves of a
book, which have escaped the knife of the binder. A most interesting
cabinet of curiosities might be gathered from the variety of
combinations and forms which the gold in these mines has assumed. Nature
never indulged in fancies more elegant and whimsical. If these are the
works of the volcano, then jewellers, instead of looking to the
laboratories of Paris, or Amsterdam, for models, should come and seat
themselves by the side of these craters. Here are laboratories, which no
human power has constructed, and models, which no human skill can rival.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 1. There are several persons among the gold-diggers here
who rarely use any implement but their wooden bowls. Into these they
scrape the dirt left by others, which they stir and whirl till the gold
gradually works its way to the bottom. The earth, as these heavier
particles descend, is thrown off by the hands, and the gold remains.
This process is what they call dry washing: it is resorted to where
there is no water in the vicinity, and will answer pretty well where the
gold is found in coarse grains; but the finer particles, of course,
escape. The Sonoranians obviate this difficulty to some extent by
calling their lungs into requisition. They rub the earth into their
bowls, through their hands, detaching and throwing away all the pebbles,
and then blow off the sand and dust, leaving the gold at the bottom. But
on some of the streams, particularly the Yuba, the gold is too fine even
for this process. It is amusing to see a group of Sonoranians, seated
around a deposit, blowing the earth out of their bowls. But for the dust
they raise, you would think they were cooling hasty-pudding. Their
cheeks swell out, like the chops of a squirrel, carrying half the
beech-nuts on a tree to his hole. A more provident fellow he than his
two-legged superior! He lays in his stores against the inclemency of
winter; while the Sonoranian squanders his at the gambling-table. There
is more practical wisdom in an ant-hill than is often found in a city.
But I am digressing again—a propensity which I shall never get over.


THURSDAY, NOV. 2. Quite a sensation was produced among the gold-diggers
this morning by the arrival of a wagon from Stockton, freighted with
provisions and a barrel of liquor. The former had been getting scarce,
and the latter had long since entirely given out. The prices of the
first importation were—flour, two dollars a pound; sugar and coffee,
four dollars; and the liquor, which was nothing more nor less than New
England rum, was twenty dollars the quart. But few had bottles: every
species of retainer was resorted to; some took their quart cups, some
their coffee-pots, and others their sauce-pans; while one fellow, who
had neither, offered ten dollars to let him suck with a straw from the
bung. All were soon in every variety of excitement, from prattling
exhilaration, to roaring inebriety. Some shouted, some danced, and some
wrestled: a son of Erin poured out his soul on the beauties of the
Emerald isle; a German sung the songs of his father-land; a Yankee
apostrophized the mines, which swelled in the hills around; an
Englishman challenged all the bears in the mountain glens to mortal
combat; and a Spaniard, posted aloft on a beetling crag, addressed the
universe. The multitudinous voices which rang from every chasm and cove
of the ravine, rivalled the roar that went up around the tower of Babel.
But night has come; the camp-fires burn dim; and the revellers are at
rest, save here and there one who strides about in his delirium,
commanding silence among the wolves who bark from the hills. What
exciting, elevating, and expanding powers there are in a barrel of New
England rum! It makes one to-day monarch of peopled realms, and their
riches; but leaves him to-morrow in rags, and with only ground enough in
which to sink his pauper grave.

            “Thou sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl!
              Though lips of bards thy brim may press,
            And eyes of beauty o’er thee roll,
              And song and dance thy power confess—
            I will not touch thee; for there clings
            A scorpion to thy side that stings.”
                                                  PIERPONT.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

  NATURAL AMPHITHEATRE.—NO SCIENTIFIC CLUE TO THE DEPOSITS OF GOLD.—SOIL
    OF THE MINES.—LIFE AMONG THE GOLD-DIGGERS.—LOSS OF OUR
    CABALLADA.—THE OLD MAN AND ROCK.—DEPARTURE FROM THE
    MINES.—TRAVELLING AMONG GORGES AND PINNACLES.—INSTINCTS OF THE
    MULE.—A MOUNTAIN CABIN.

FRIDAY, NOV. 3. At the head of the ravine, where our camping-trees wave,
stands an amphitheatre reared by nature, and unrivalled in the grandeur
of its proportions, and the stateliness and strength of its
architecture. It unrolls its wild magnificence on the eye with a more
majestic power than even Rome’s great wonder. From its ample arena,
circling ranges of crags soar one over the other to the lofty sweep of
the architrave, where sentinel-trees toss their branches against the
sky. Had nature reared this theatre on the banks of the Tiber, the
beauty and bravery of Rome would have flashed over the arena’s
gladiatorial tumult. But it was here in California, where even the Roman
eagle, in its earth-embracing circuit, flew not.

A new deposit was discovered this morning near the falls of the
Stanislaus, and in the crevices of the rocks over which the river pours
its foaming sheet. An Irishman had gone there to bathe, and in throwing
off his clothes, had dropped his jack-knife, which slipped into a
crevice, where he first discovered the gold. He was soon tracked, and in
less than an hour a storm of picks and crowbars were shivering the
rocks. The accessible pockets were readily exhausted, but beyond these
only the drill and blast of the practical miner can extend. And this is
true of all the rock-gold in California; the present harvest glows near
the surface; but there are under-crops, which the sunlight has never
visited. Deep mining here, as elsewhere, will be attended with uncertain
results; but a fount so capacious on its rim, must have its replenishing
depths. The largest fish are taken with the longest line.


SATURDAY, NOV. 4. The deposits here baffle all the pretensions of
science. The volcanoes did their work by no uniform geological law; they
burst out at random, and scattered their gold in wanton caprice. Were
not those old Vulcans dead, they would laugh at the blundering vanity
exhibited around them. The old landmarks are the quartz; these are
general indications, but too vague when applied to alluvial deposits,
and frequently serve only to bewilder and betray. We have a young
geologist here who can unroll the whole earth, layer by layer, from
surface to centre, and tell the properties of each, and how it came to
be deposited there, who unsuspectingly walked over a bank of gold, which
a poor Indian afterwards stirred out with a stick. I have seen this
_savan_ camp down and snore soundly through the night, with a half-pound
piece of gold within a few inches of his nose; and then rise at peep of
day to push his learned theory into some ledge of rocks, where not a
particle of the yellow ore ever existed. I have seen a digger take from
a bank of decomposed granite, in a space not larger than a man’s hat,
between three and four pounds of gold, while his only clue to it was a
blast on the opposite side of the glen, through which he believed the
deil had blown the gold into the bank, where he was at work. What a
burlesque on all geological laws as applied to gold deposits! There is
only one of these laws, in reference to alluvial deposits, worth a pin,
and that is the simple fact that a heavy body will tumble down hill
faster than a lighter one, or that a nut shaken from a tree will drop
through the fog to the ground.


SUNDAY, NOV. 5. I rose this morning with the intention of proposing to
the diggers a religious service. But mid-day came, and only here and
there one broke from slumbers doubly deep from the overpowering fatigues
of the week. In a shaded recess of the hills three of us found a little
sanctuary: neither of the two with me was a professor of religion, but
each retained in vivid remembrance the religious instructions of his
childhood and youth. Time and distance had not effaced these
impressions; each lettered trace remained as legible as the footprints
of the primeval bird in the fossil rock. Such is the inscription of
parental fidelity on the heart of a child: the wave may wear away the
mound which it laves, and the marble dissolve under the touch of time,
but _that_ inscription remains.


MONDAY, NOV. 6. Vein-gold in these rocks is as uncertain and capricious
as lightning; it straggles where you least expect it, and leaves only a
stain where its quick volume seemed directed. It threads its way in a
rock without crevice or crack, and where its continuity becomes at times
too subtle for the naked eye, and then suddenly bulges out like a lank
snake that has swallowed a terrapin. The great Hebrew proverbialist says
there are three things about which there is no certainty,—the way of an
eagle in the air, the way of a serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship in
the midst of the sea; and he might have added—the way of a thread of
gold in a vein of California quartz; but probably California, with its
treasures, had not then been discovered, though some of our wiseacres
are trying to make out that this _el dorado_ was the Ophir of the Old
Testament: if so, the men of Joppa must have been pretty good seamen,
especially as they had no compass. It may be, but I somewhat doubt it,
that the Hottentots or Patagonians are the descendants of some
shipwrecked men bound in a wherry from Tarsus to California. The
adventurers, even in that case, would have been quite as sober in their
calculations as some who put to sea on a gold-hunt in these days.


TUESDAY, NOV. 7. The price of provisions here is no criterion of their
market value on the seaboard, or even at the embarcaderos nearest the
mines. The cost of a hundred pounds of flour at Stockton, only sixty
miles distant, is twenty dollars; but here it is two hundred dollars.
This vast disparity is owing to the difficulty of transportation and the
absence of competition. But few can be persuaded to leave the
expectations of the pick for the certainties of the pack—the promises of
the cradle for the fulfilments of the freighted wagon. All live on
drafts upon the future, and though disappointed a hundred times, still
believe the results of to-morrow will more than redeem the broken
pledges of to-day. Though all else may end in failure, hope is not
bankrupt here.

The soil in the mines is evidently volcanic; it resembles in places the
ashes which cover Pompeii. You can walk through it when dry, though
every footstep stirs a little cloud; but when saturated with the winter
rain you slump to the middle. No horse can force his way forward; every
struggle but sinks him the deeper, and the miner himself retires to his
cabin, as thoroughly cut off from the peopled districts of the coast, as
a sailor wrecked on some rock at sea. Years must elapse before human
enterprise can bridge a path to these mines, or render communication
practicable in the rainy season; nor at any period can heavy machinery
be transported here without an immense outlay of capital. The quartz
rock has yet some time to roll back the sunlight before it crumbles
under the steam-stamper.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 8. Some fifty thousand persons are drifting up and down
these slopes of the great Sierra, of every hue, language, and clime,
tumultuous and confused as a flock of wild geese taking wing at the
crack of a gun, or autumnal leaves strown on the atmospheric tides by
the breath of the whirlwind. All are in quest of gold; and, with eyes
dilated to the circle of the moon, rush this way and that, as some new
discovery, or fictitious tale of success may suggest. Some are with
tents, and some without; some have provisions, and some are on their
last ration; some are carrying crowbars; some pickaxes and spades; some
wash-bowls and cradles; some hammers and drills, and powder enough to
blow up the rock of Gibraltar—if they can but get under it, as the
monkeys do, when they make their transit, through a sort of Thames
tunnel, from the golden but barren sands of Africa to the green hills of
Europe. Wise fellows they, notwithstanding the length of their
tails—they won’t stay on the Congo side of the strait, to gather gold,
when, by crossing, they can gather grapes. Wisdom is justified of her
children.

But I was speaking of the gold-hunters here on the slopes of the Sierra.
Such a mixed and motley crowd—such a restless, roving, rummaging, ragged
multitude, never before roared in the rookeries of man. As for mutual
aid and sympathy—Samson’s foxes had as much of it, turned tail to, with
firebrands tied between. Each great camping-ground is denoted by the
ruins of shovels and shanties, the bleaching bones of the dead,
disinhumed by the wolf, and the skeleton of the culprit, still swinging
in the wind, from the limb of a tree, overshadowed by the raven. From
the deep glen, the caverned cliff, the plaintive rivulet, the croaking
raven, and the wind-toned skeleton come voices of reproachful
interrogation—

                  “Slave of the dark and dirty mine!
                  What vanity has brought thee here?”


THURSDAY, NOV. 9. Our baccaro came in this morning, and startled us with
the intelligence that last night, while he was on the watch—sound
asleep, of course—the wild Indians came, and stole all our horses and
mules, save one, little Nina, whom he had tethered close to his post.
Rather an awkward predicament for us, in the California mountains, three
hundred miles from home, and our horses and mules in the hands of wild
Indians, driving them off into some unknown fastness, to be killed for
food! But I was on the trail of a small piece of gold, and followed it
up with that sort of listless equanimity with which a man will sometimes
pick up a curious shell on the rocks where his vessel floats in
fragments. If you would acquire those habits which no disaster can
disturb, come to California. One year here will do more for your
philosophy than a life elsewhere. I have seen a man sit, and quietly
smoke his cigar, while his dwelling went heavenward in a column of
flame. It seemed as if it were enough for him that his wife and children
were safe, and that the green earth, with its bright-eyed flowers and
laughing rills, remained; so let the old tenement pass off in smoke to
pall some mountain peak, or throw its dusky shadow where—

                   “The owlet builds his ivy tower.”


FRIDAY, NOV. 10. The Sonoranian, who has been one of the most successful
diggers in the ravine, besieged me to-day to sell him my pistols. They
are an elegant pair, silver mounted and rifle bore, and good for duck or
duelist—no matter which—for twenty or thirty paces. He offered me a
pound of gold; so I determined to try the non-resistant principle, and
let him have them. As he belted them about his waist, and strode off,
you would have advised even a California bear to get out of his way. How
well prepared for a last extremity is a man with a new weapon at his
side, or a new patent pill in his pocket! The only difference is, that
with the former he may chance to kill some one else, and with the latter
he is pretty sure to kill himself. But I promised to make no more
remarks; my apology must be the loss of our horses, the probable
necessity of being obliged to pick our way home on foot, and the refuge
which even an irrelevant thought affords from such a dismal prospect.
Men have betrayed flashes of humor on the block—an evanescent ray on the
verge of endless night! Then why should not my poor pill have place in
the pedestrian prospect of three hundred miles, and that, too, through a
region marked only by the footprints which linger dimly in the trail of
the wild Indian?


SATURDAY, NOV. 11. I encountered an old man to-day, sitting listlessly
on a rock under the broken shade of a decayed oak. A few gray hairs
strayed from under his camping-cap, and his face was deeply wrinkled;
but his eye flashed, at intervals, with the fires of an unquenched
spirit. He had not, as he told me, obtained an ounce of gold in this
ravine, and was about trying some other locality. I advised him to roll
over the rock on which he was sitting; he said he would do it to please
me; but as for gold, he might as well look for a weasel in a watchman’s
rattle. The rock was easily rolled from its inclined position; beneath
it was found a layer of moss, and beneath this, in the crevices of
another rock, a deposit of gold, in the shape of pumpkin-seeds, bright
as if fresh from the mint, and weighing over half a pound. The eyes of
the old man sparkled; but he was thinking of his home and those left
behind.


SUNDAY, NOV. 12. Could the parents of the youth in these glens cast a
glance at their children, what a tide of affection and concern would
rush through their hearts! No treasured ship at sea was ever environed
by deeper perils; storms lower in thick darkness above, and breakers
thunder below, and no pharos throws its friendly ray from the shrouded
cliff. The only light they have to guide them is in their own
tempest-tost bark, and the lamp in the binnacle is dim. The merchant who
should send his ship to sea without compass or rudder, would not be more
frantic and foolish than the parent who sends his son out upon the world
without any religion in his soul. These youths in these glens are to
shape the destinies of California; under their hands her political,
social, and moral institutions are to be reared. Unless religion lie at
the foundations, these structures, though columned with gold, will fall.
It was frailty and rottenness at the base that has left all the proud
fabrics of the Old World a storied mass of ruins.


MONDAY, NOV. 13. A mounted company of gold-diggers arrived on our
camping premises last evening, and we struck in for four horses, which
we purchased at their own prices. Mine is an Indian pony from Oregon,
full of heart and hardihood; but as for ease of motion, you might as
well ride a trip-hammer. But an extremity makes the most indifferent
gift of nature a blessed boon.

We reduced our effects to the fewest articles possible, and packing
these, with provisions for three or four days, upon little Nina, were
ready for a start. Two Oregonian trappers joined us, and before the
sun’s rays struck the depths of the ravine, we were off, with three
hearty cheers from the diggers. An hour brought us to the summit of an
elevation, beneath which lay, in panoramic life, the ravines, rivulets,
rambling paths, and roving groups of the gold-hunters. I have walked on
the roaring verge of Niagara, through the grumbling parks of London, on
the laughing boulevards of Paris, among the majestic ruins of Rome, in
the torch-lit galleries of Herculaneum, around the flaming crater of
Vesuvius, through the wave-reflected palaces of Venice, among the
monumental remains of Athens, and beneath the barbaric splendors of
Constantinople: but none of these, nor all combined, have left in my
memory a page graven with more significant and indelible characters than
the gold _diggins_ of California.

Our route lay for several miles through a succession of narrow ravines,
above which soared the stupendous steeps of a mountain range, through
which some convulsion of nature had sunk these shadowy chasms. Here and
there some giant bluff had plunged into the winding abyss, as if to shut
out the profane intruder from its silent sanctuaries. These granite
gates became at last so frequent, that we determined to try the ridge,
the table-rock, or less precipitous slope. We wound up the steep sides
of the pass one by one, as a weary bird at sea scales the tempest-cloud;
and at last emerged upon a lofty range of trap, feathered by the fir and
low pine, and where the eagle had made himself a home. A wide sea of
chasms and cones lay around us. These were evidently the bleak monuments
of volcanoes, which ages since had rested from their labors. The sun
threw its level rays along their summits, while the abysses lay in
perpetual shadow. No path threw its trail on the eye. Rounding a
pinnacle, which stood as a fortress at the abrupt termination of one of
the ranges, we discovered a slope which slanted off less steeply than
the rest. Here, dismounting, we let ourselves down for several hundred
yards by the bushes; Nina, sure of foot as a fox, followed first; my
Indian pony next; and then the rest, as the docility or courage of each
induced. All our horses had been trained by mountaineers, and well knew,
if left behind, what must be their fate. What a strange affection for
such an animal springs up at such an hour as this! As he comes down to
join you, selecting you out as his rider, snuffing about you, and
inviting you to mount again, you involuntarily throw your arms about his
neck, and try to make him understand the kindness you feel for him.


We discovered in the last flashes of twilight a gush of waters from the
rocks, which beetled over a cañada, where the grass was fresh from the
showering spray. We had struck this spot through no sagacity of our own;
Nina, snuffing the water long before it flashed upon us, had turned into
the ravine, and dashed ahead upon the gallop. Here we camped for the
night. The dried willows supplied us with fuel, the cascade with water,
and our panniers with a piece of pork, and a few pounds of flour, which
the kneading-tray and embers soon converted into bread. The stones were
made to grind our coffee, and we were soon seated to a supper from which
the epicure might perhaps turn away, but which these rough mountains
made a luxury. And then the repose, though on the earth with your saddle
for a pillow, yet how refreshing and profound! Nor bark of wolf, nor
murmur of cascade, nor rustle of the bear disturbed my dreams that
night.


TUESDAY, NOV. 14. We were up, had taken our coffee, and were ready for a
start, while as yet only the whispering trees on the higher cliffs had
been greeted by the sun. Our course, which was determined by a
pocket-compass, now lay among mountain spurs, till we reached the
rollers, which ridge the plain of the San Joaquin. In a copse of birch,
which shadows one of these, we discovered a spring, where we lunched and
rested for an hour, while our animals refreshed themselves on the grass,
still green on the marge of the fount. We were now off for a hard ride
of several hours. My little Indian hammered into it with a resolution
that paid but little heed to the discomfort of his rider. Our object was
to reach before night-fall the cabin of an old friend, who had nested
himself out here among these wild mountain crags. We dashed around this
steep, and over that, like hunters in the chase; while Nina, without
rein or rider, led the way. We had no trail to guide us,—only the
instinct of our animals, and that sagacity which a mountain life
converts into a sort of prophetic knowledge. The day was dying fast, and
no gleam of the cabin cheered the eye. The night would render all search
hopeless. At last we struck the stream on which we knew the cabin stood,
but whether up or down its current, we could not decide; but Nina, after
pausing a moment, led quick and resolutely up the stream, and we struck
in after. The step of a weasel may turn the balanced rock.

Three miles of fast riding brought us to a grove of oak, now wrapped in
the purple twilight. Along this we streamed till reaching a bold bend,
which circled up into its shadows, when the fagot flame of the cottage
struck the eye. Our horses bounded forward on the gallop, knowing as
well as we that the weary day was now over. Here we found my friend, Dr.
Isabell and his good lady, who gave us a hearty welcome. True, their
cabin had but one room in it; but what of that?—hearts make a home in
the wilderness. Our first care was for our animals, which were soon
watered and turned into a rich meadow, with a faithful Indian to watch
them through the night. Our busy hostess soon announced
supper—beefsteak, omelet, hot rolls, and coffee, with sugar and cream!
If you want to know how that supper relished, come and live a month in
the mines of California. We run over our adventures since leaving
Monterey, and they chimed in well with those of our host in his
wild-wood home. Kindred and friends far away came sweeping down on the
stream of memory, and gathered life-like and warm at our sides. We lived
over again all our school-days, our rustic sports, our husking-bees, our
youthful loves, and those stolen kisses, which the sterner rules of
refinement have interdicted only to give place to Polkas, in which
modesty is too much bewildered to blush. Our hospitable friends welcomed
us to all the sleeping comforts which their cabin afforded; but we
camped under the trees, and were soon afloat in the realm of dreams,
amid its visioned forms.

                  “Alas! that dreams are only dreams!
                    That fancy cannot give
                  A lasting beauty to those forms,
                    Which scarce a moment live.”




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

  A LADY IN THE MOUNTAINS.—TOWN OF STOCKTON.—CROSSING THE VALLEY OF THE
    SAN JOAQUIN.—THE ROBBED FATHER AND BOY.—RIDE TO SAN JOSÉ.—RUM IN
    CALIFORNIA.—HIGHWAYMEN.—WOODLAND LIFE.—RACHEL AT THE WELL.—FAREWELL
    TO MY CAMPING-TREE.

WEDNESDAY, NOV. 15. Another day had dawned fresh and brilliant; we
breakfasted with our friends, who ordered up their horses, and started
with us for Stockton, twelve miles distant. Our lady hostess and myself
led off; she had crossed the Rocky Mountains on horseback into
California, and was, of course, at home in the saddle. She was mounted
on a spirited animal, and my little Indian almost blew the wind out of
him to keep up. My companion, though accomplished in all the refinements
of metropolitan life, was yet in love with the wild scenes in which her
lot had been cast. The rose of health blushed in her cheek, and the
light of a salient soul revelled in her eye. “I would not exchange,” she
said, “my cabin for any palace in Christendom. I have all that I want
here, and what more could I have elsewhere? I have tried luxury without
health, and a wild mountain life with it. Give me the latter, with the
free air, the dashing streams, the swinging woods, the laughing flowers,
and the exulting birds; and

              “Let him who crawls enamored of decay,
              Cling to his couch, and sicken years away.”

We were now at Stockton, the nucleus of a town at the head waters of a
narrow arm of the San Joaquin. The site is well chosen; its central
position to the gold mines, the broad fertile plain which spreads around
it, and the water communication which connects it with the commerce of
the Sacramento and San Francisco, will lift it into a town of the first
importance. Charles Weber, a gentleman much esteemed for his liberality
and enterprise, is the owner of the land now occupied by the town, and
many leagues adjacent. He has given spacious lots to all who would erect
buildings. His policy is marked with wisdom; he will find his advantage
in the results. His ample store is well filled with provisions,
groceries, and ready-made clothing. The amount of business is immense,
and the profits would phrensy our Philadelphia merchants.

We found Stockton without a hotel, the private houses unfinished; and,
caring but little for either, camped under the trees. We took supper
with Mr. Weber, and, at a late hour, wound ourselves in our blankets for
repose. The dew fell heavy, but we slept through it without the least
harm. A hydropathist might have exchanged his sheet for a twist in one
of our wet blankets. But we had no rheumatic joints to be relaxed, and
no bone-burrowed mercury to be douched. What an envied lot, that of the
pearl-diver! He gets not only his bath, but a pearl besides. And what a
happy fellow is a fish! He is always head and tail in the hydropathic
process. I wonder if it is not this that gives the shark such an
appetite, and lends wings to the flying-fish. Even the bullfrog comes up
only to twang his joy, and the whale to blow off his excess of pleasure,
while the mermaid, lost in transport, sings in her coral hall till the
listening naiads feel

            “Their souls dissolve in her melodious breath.”


THURSDAY, NOV. 16. Replenishing our panniers with hard bread, and a few
pounds of dried venison and coffee, we bade adieu to our Oregonian
friends and the hospitable proprietor of Stockton, and were off for our
distant home. Our trail for sixteen miles lay through an arid plain,
when we brought up on the bold bank of the San Joaquin. Our saddles,
bridles, packs, and persons were thrown into a boat, our horses driven
into the stream, and over we dashed to the opposite bank, where we paid
two dollars each for our ferriage, and mounted for a fresh start. It was
near sunset when we reached the line of trees which belt, with their
thick umbrage, the great valley which stretches in barrenness beyond.
Here we camped for the night, and soon found, to our pleasurable
surprise, our friends Lieut. Bonnycastle and Lieut. Morehead, of the
army, in a camp not more than an arrow’s flight distant. They were on
their way to the mines, and if excellent qualities of head and heart can
secure success, must return with fortunes. Night deepened apace, and our
simple repast finished, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and were
soon in sound sleep.

FRIDAY, NOV. 17. The day glimmered over the hill-tops: a cup of coffee,
a cake of hard bread, and a scrap of dried venison, and we were under
way again. Our trail lay for fifteen miles over the prairie of the San
Joaquin. Though now in November, yet the heat was oppressive. We
encountered groups of disbanded volunteers, on their way to the mines.
The soldiers’ improvidence had left but very few the means of procuring
horses, and they were generally on foot, and crippled with blisters.
Going _to_ the mines is one thing; returning _from_ them is another. A
dream of victory animates the soldier, and visions of gold stimulate the
digger. It is only the result under which the heart droops and the
muscles give way.

It was mid-day when we struck the hills which roll their low forests to
the verge of the prairie. In a glen, where sparkled a spring and the
pine threw its shadows, we encountered an elderly man and his little
boy. The parent was silent, downcast, and abstracted, and his boy was
evidently trying to cheer him. The father, in reply to our inquiries,
informed us that they had been in the mines, where, by great industry
and good fortune, they had got out twenty pounds of gold; that on their
return they had camped for the night near Stockton; that leaving their
camping-tree for a few hours to renew their stock of provisions, they
had buried their bag of gold under the tree; but on their return their
gold could not be found! that the most diligent search had led to no
results; that he had been robbed! that the loss was less for him, but
that he had eight motherless children, dependent on him for a support.
Who could listen to such a tale as this and not feel his blood tingle at
the callous wretch who could thus ruin another? Even the forgiving Uncle
Toby would deliver him over to the avenging angel, to be driven down
under double-bolted thunder: nothing could rescue him, unless the
Universalists catch him in their creed, which saves a man in spite of
the Evil One, and in spite of himself, too.

We invited the father and son to join our company; and when on the way,
the little boy, who was mounted on a pony at my side, told me a
subscription had been started at Stockton for his father, and that Mr.
Weber and Dr. Isabell had subscribed a pound of gold each. Blessings on
those liberal men! such a charity will throw a circle of light around
misfortune, should it ever be _their_ lot. The sun was far down his
western dip when we reached the hospitable hearth of our friend Mr.
Livermore; but finding that he had no grain for our horses, and that the
grass around had utterly perished under the summer’s drought, we
determined to push on; and, crossing a plain of eight miles, reached the
mountain rollers, where we struck into a ravine, through which a
streamlet murmured, and where a plot of grass still preserved some
portion of its freshness. Here we tethered and camped. The brief
twilight that remained had passed into night’s bosom before we had
gathered sufficient wood for our camp-fire: and we needed a large pile;
for the air was chill and penetrating. We made our supper on hard bread,
dried venison, and coffee; while clouds, the sure precursors of the
winter rains, drifted above in sluggish masses. Our camp-fire threw its
column of waving flame on the beetling crags; not a sound from cavern or
cliff disturbed the silence; we gazed into the fire, lost in pensive
musing; and a more melancholy group seldom gathers over that face—

         “Where life’s last parting pulse has ceased to play,”

when an owl perched near, gave a deep hoot! Each broke into an
involuntary laugh. The philosophy of that transition I leave to those
whose metaphysical acumen can split the shadow which falls between
melancholy and mirth.


SATURDAY, NOV. 18. Another morn full of rosy charms comes blushing over
the hills; at the glance of her eye the shadows flee away, and the birds
awaken into song. The stir of preparation rustles the leaves under our
camping-tree, and while the dew yet gems the grass, we are up and away.
What salient freshness and force are in the heart which takes its pulses
from the waving wild-wood and the dashing stream! The exhilaration in
its fullest tide never ebbs; it bears you on with sympathies and
enjoyments still expanding, till all nature, with her intense life and
rapture, is yours.

Our path, which lay through a mountain gorge, bent its line to a winding
rivulet, laughing and singing through the solitude. Little cared _that_
for marble fount or sculptured dolphin; it was happy in its own free
life, and the kisses of the enamored pebbles, which danced in its limpid
wave. And now the white walls of the old church, where the mission of
San José reared its altars, glimmered into vision. Fast and far the
separating interval was left behind, when we dashed up to its welcome
portal. Here we found an Irish restaurant, and set its culinary
functions in motion—

             “Nothing’s more sure at moments to take hold
               Of the best feelings of mankind, which grow
             More tender, as we every day behold,
               Than that all-softening, overpowering knell,
               The tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell!”


SUNDAY, NOV. 19. My companions pushed on last evening to San
José—fifteen miles distant. My old Russian friend, who occupies one of
the mission buildings, invited me to spend the Sabbath with him; an
invitation which I gladly accepted, as it afforded a refuge from the
restaurant, with the roar of its revelry and rum. The United States have
sent out enough of this fire here to burn up a continent. The
conflagration, kindled by the battle-brand or bolt of the electric
cloud, may sweep a forest, or lay a city in ashes; but from the
smouldering ruins new structures will rise, and a new generation of
plants spring; but where the spirit of rum hath spread its flame a
desolation follows, which the skill of man and the reviving dews of
heaven can never reach. It is barren and verdureless as the sulphurous
marl which paves

                       “The deep track of hell.”


MONDAY, NOV. 20. For a moment this morning I regretted having parted
with my pistols, and thrown myself on the non-resistant principle. I was
alone, and on my way to San José, when two horsemen suddenly broke from
the covert of the woods on my left, and swept down upon the line of my
path. They were well mounted, and had the dare-devil air of the brigand.
It was near this spot, too, that a young friend of mine had been
recently murdered. To attempt flight on my Indian pony from the
lightning hoof of my pursuers, would have given to consternation itself
a hue of the ludicrous. I determined to die decently, if die I must. My
supposed assailants dashed close to my side, and then, without uttering
a word, spurred back to the forest, from which they had debouched. They
were foreigners, disguised as Californians; for a native always salutes
you, and would, were his hand on the trigger of his pistol. They went as
they came, and the secret of their impetuous visit is in their own
keeping. I was quite willing to part with their company, and ascribe
their intrusion to a violent curiosity, or any other motive untouched by
crime, so that they would let me pass in peace to the Pueblo of San
José.


TUESDAY, NOV. 21. Arriving at the Pueblo, I found my companions had
hired four horses, accustomed to the harness, attached them to the
wagon, which we had left here, on our way to the mines, and were ready
to start for Monterey. I threw my saddle, bridle, and blanket into the
wagon, and parted with my Indian pony: he had done me good service, and
got me out of a bad fix in the mines; he had pounded me some, it is
true; but that was no fault of his; nature never intended him to tread
on flowers without bending their stems. May his new owner treat him
kindly; and when age has withered his strength, not turn him out on a
public common to die! Had we as little mercy shown us as we extend to
the noblest animal committed to our care, we should never get to heaven.

The sun was far down his western slope when we reached the rancho of Mr.
Murphy, and camped for the night under the evergreen oaks, which throw
the soft shade of their undying verdure over a streamlet that murmurs
near his door. The old gentleman invited us in to share his restricted
apartments, but we had so long slept under trees, that we preferred the
free air, the maternal earth, and the stars to light us to our slumber.
Truly I never slept so soundly on the garnished couch, and never found
in sleep such a renovating refreshment. I can now comprehend why it is
the hunter clings to his wild life, and prefers the precarious
subsistence of his rifle to teeming stalls. He lives out of himself; his
sympathies are with nature; his sensations roll through boundless space.
It is for _his_ eye the violet blooms, and the early cloud catches the
blush of morn; it is for _his_ ear the bird sings from its green covert,
and the torrent shouts from its cliff; it is to cheer _his_ footsteps
that the twilight lingers, and the star blazes in the coronet of night:
all the changes of the varied year are for _him_; and around his
wild-wood home the seasons lead the hours in perpetual dance; and when
his being shall resign its trust, the dirge of the deep wood will sing
his requiem, and the wings of the wind, filled with the fragrance of
flowers, bear his spirit to its bright abode.


WEDNESDAY, NOV. 22. We broke camp at sunrise, took our coffee, harnessed
up, and began to lumber ahead. Our driver, who owned the dull steeds
which he reined, was a native of New England, and betrayed his origin in
the perpetual hum of a low plaintive tune, which spun on for hours in
the same unconscious monotony. Even the crack of his whip, which came in
frequently, had only the effect to give some note a slight emphasis,
while the low dirge still murmured on, true to its unbroken flow as the
tick of the death-watch to its admonitory errand. Thus the hours of the
day, their tender requiem being sung, stole silently into the past.

But now occurred a wayfaring incident which could not thus be charmed to
rest. Our team, about half-way up the long hill of San Juan, balked, and
the wagon began to roll back to its base. We jumped out and clogged the
wheels, for we had no idea of returning again to the mines. Having
breathed a moment, we made another attempt, but without success; we now
put our shoulders to the wheels, while the lash fell fast on the flanks
of our horses. But no pushing, coaxing, or whipping availed; our journey
for the day was done, and abruptly too as that of a migratory goose
struck by a rifle ball. The shadows of the mountain pines were
lengthening fast, and we retired into a glen at a short distance, and
camped. It was my duty to procure water for coffee; the spring where the
horses drank was too full of impurities; I followed up the unseen vein
marked by the green willows, till its flowing wave murmured on the ear
from the depths of a shadowy chasm. But the method of reaching it
puzzled me as much as the faithful proxy of the Patriarch would have
been, but for the pitcher and line of the gentle Rachel. How free of
affectation and false alarm that daughter of Israel, as her snow-white
arms drew the limpid tide to quench the stranger’s thirst! How free of a
distrustful spirit, or disdaining pride, when told that one whom her
father loved, sued for her bridal hand! The wave which swelled in her
milk-white bosom may have trembled a moment, like the leaf stirred in
the rosy twilight, and the dream of her pillowed slumber may have
flushed through the snow-curl of her cheek, but with the early lark, she
was up and away—happy in her own youth and innocence, and in the thought
that these were inwoven with the happiness of another. How hollow the
pretexts of protracted delay, when touched by the light which glimmers
down through ages from the example of this primitive maiden! But where
am I?—in the infant world instead of these chasmed rocks, which frown
through the wrinkles of its decrepitude and age. How thought annihilates
time and space! The flower that first bloomed on the verge of the globe,
as it emerged from chaos, and the cinder that will fade last in the
embers of its final conflagration, lie side by side in the domain of
thought; and the star that hailed its birth, and the planet that will
guard its tomb, are twin-born in the eternity of time. But I am off
again in a philosophic revery, and must come back to my coffee-pot and
chasm! With the aid of a long riata, my bucket was lowered sufficiently
to dip the unseen stream; but drawing it up I discovered in its wave, as
the surface became tranquil, what might well startle any one whose
nerves were not of steel. It was a human face of bronze hue, half
covered with tangled locks, and a beard of hermit growth, and so like
that bent above, there was a relief in the ripple that destroyed the
resemblance. But my camping companions will never, at this rate, get
their coffee.


THURSDAY, NOV. 23. We escaped this morning another balk of our animals
by a circling road which in the dusk of the last eve we had missed. It
was mid-day when we rumbled from the hills of San Juan upon the plain of
the Salinas, and near sunset when we reached the river, which rolls its
yellow wave fifteen miles from Monterey. We might have pushed through,
but why be impatient over a night’s delay? I had no one there watching a
husband’s return, or waiting a father’s kiss. These objects of
endearment were in other lands, and oceans rolled between. More than
three long years had worn away since I waved my adieu, and weary moons
must set before my return. I may find the eyes that beamed so kindly,
closed forever; the bud of infant being, on which their last light fell,
withered.

We were roused in the night by screams from the river; an ox-cart, with
three women in it, had tumbled down the opposite bank. The cattle seemed
as much frightened as their passengers, and fared better, as they had
struck a shallower bottom. We plunged in and reached the cart. Our first
impulse was to take the women out and _tote_ them ashore, but their
great size and weight forbade. We wished to carry the thing through as
gallantly as it had been begun; but after casting about—the cold stream
all the while lowering the thermometer of our enthusiasm—we concluded to
drive the team out, and scramble out ourselves.


FRIDAY, NOV. 24. We broke camp at an early hour, and were off for
Monterey. I left my camping-tree as one parts with a tried friend. It
was the last of a vernal band, that had thrown over me, at burning noon
and through the chilly night, their protecting shade. While our driver
hummed his low monotonous stave to his steeds, my neglected reed
murmured in the counter—

TO MY CAMPING-TREE.

              Farewell to thee, my camping-tree,
                The last to shade this breast,
              Where twilight weaves, with tender leaves,
                Her couch of rosy rest.

              Thy trembling leaf seemed shook with grief,
                As on it gleamed the dew;
              As woke the bird, by night-winds stirred,
                The stars came dancing through.

              In lucid dreams I caught the gleams—
                Through chasmed rocks unrolled—
              Of gems, where blaze the diamond’s rays
                And massive bars of gold.

              I saw a ship her anchor trip,
                All stowed with gold below,
              Depart this bay for Joppa’s quay,
                Three thousand years ago!

              A star-lit dome, of amber foam,
                Loomed in the liquid blue,
              Where reigned of old, on thrones of gold,
                The Incas of Peru.

              The midnight moans, and phrensied groans,
                Of miners near their last,
              In tones that cursed the gold they nursed
                Came trembling on the blast.

              While one apart, with gentler heart,
                His still tears dashed aside,
              That he might trace a pictured face,
                At which he gazed, and died.

              On steep and vale, in calm and gale,
                Like music on the sea—
              Sweet slumber stole, within my soul,
                Beneath the camping-tree.

              A low-voiced tone, the wind hath thrown
                Upon my dreaming ear,
              Of ONE, whose smiles, and gentle wiles,
                Are still remembered here:—

              Of one, whose tears—where each endears
                The more the heart that wept—
              From swimming lid in silence slid,
                And on her bosom slept.

              A blue-eyed child, with glee half wild,
                In infant beauty’s beams,
              And lock that rolled, in waving gold,
               Came glancing through my dreams.

              Farewell to thee, my camping-tree;
                Till life’s last visions gleam,
              Thy leaves and limbs, and vesper hymns,
                Shall float in memory’s dream.




                              CHAPTER XXV.

  CAUSE OF SICKNESS IN THE MINES.—THE QUICKSILVER MINES.—HEAT AND COLD
    IN THE MINES.—TRAITS IN THE SPANISH CHARACTER.—HEALTH OF CALIFORNIA
    LADIES.—A WORD TO MOTHERS.—THE PINGRASS AND BLACKBIRD.—THE
    REDWOOD-TREE.—BATTLE OF THE EGGS.

SATURDAY, DEC. 2. I found Monterey, on my return from the mines, under
the same quiet air in which her green hills had soared since I first
beheld their waving shade. Many had predicted my precipitate return,
from the hardships and baffled attempt of the tour; but I persevered,
taking it rough and tumble from the first, and have returned with
improved health. I met with but very few cases of sickness in the mines,
and these obviously resulting from excessive imprudence. What but
maladies could be expected, where the miner stands by the hour in a cold
mountain stream, with a broiling sun overhead, and then, perhaps,
drinking every day a pint of New England rum? Why, the rum itself would
shatter any constitution not lightning-proof. I wish those who send this
fire-curse here were wrapped in its flames till the wave of repentance
should baptize them into a better life.

I have missed but two things, since my return, from my goods and
chattels—my walking-cane and my Bible; both have been carried off during
my absence I hope the latter will do the person who has taken it much
good: I forgive the burglary for the sake of the benefit. Prometheus was
chained to the Caucasian rock for having filched fire from heaven; but
no such fearful retribution awaits him who has stolen my Bible, flooded
though it be with a higher light than ever dawned on the eyes of the
guilty Titan. May its spirit reach the offender’s soul, and quicken
thoughts that shall wander without rest till they light on the Cross,
where hang the hopes of the world.


TUESDAY, DEC. 12. The quicksilver mines of California constitute one of
the most important elements in her mineral wealth. Only one vein has as
yet been fully developed; this lies a few miles from San José, and is
owned by Hon. Alexander Forbes, British consul at Typé, in Mexico—a
gentleman of vast means and enterprise—and who has a heart as full of
generous impulses as his mine is of wealth. Many of our countrymen, in
misfortune, have shared his munificent liberality. His mine, in the
absence of suitable machinery, has been worked to great disadvantage;
and yet, with two whaling-kettles for furnaces, he has driven off a
hundred and fifty pounds a day of the pure metal. If this can be done
with an apparatus intended only for trying blubber, a ton may be rolled
from a capacious retort constructed for the purpose. The title of Mr.
Forbes to this mine has excited some inquiry, but it will be found among
the soundest in California.

Instead of attempting to shake this title, a more wise and profitable
course will be to open a fresh vein. They lie in the contiguous spurs of
the same mountain range, and only require a small outlay of labor and
capital to develop their untold wealth. The metal need not travel from
California to find a market; vast quantities will be required in the
gold mines: the cradle and bowl must give place to more complicated
machinery; the sands of the river pass through a more delicate process;
and the quartz of the steep rock, crumbled under the stamper, surrender
its gold to the embrace of quicksilver. This stupendous issue is close
at hand; and they who anticipate it, will find the fruits of their
sagacity and enterprise in sudden fortunes.


MONDAY, DEC. 25. The multitudes who are in the mines, suffer in health
and constitution from the extreme changes of temperature which follow
day and night. In some of the ravines in which we camped, these
variations vibrated through thirty and forty degrees. In mid-day we were
driven into the shade to keep cool, and in the night into two or three
blankets to keep warm. The heat is ascribable in part to the nature of
the soil, its naked sandy features, its power of radiation, and the
absence of circulation in the glens. But the cold comes with the visits
of the night-wind from the frosty slopes of the Sierra Nevada.

These extreme variations follow the miner through the whole region in
which his tempting scenes of labor lie, and require a degree of prudence
seldom met with in that wild woodland life. The consequence is, a group
of maladies under which the strongest constitution at length breaks
down. But I am convinced from personal experience, that with proper
precaution and suitable food, many, and most of these evils may be
obviated. The southern mines are in elevations which exempt them from
the maladies incident to the low lands which fringe the streams farther
north. There are no stagnant waters, no decomposition of vegetable
matter, no miasma drifting about in the fog, to shake and burn you with
alternate chill and fever. I never enjoyed better health and spirits;
and never encountered in a great moving mass, notwithstanding their
irregularities, so few instances of disease traceable to local causes. I
have seen more groaners and grunters in one metropolitan household, than
in any swarming ravine in the southern mines.


SUNDAY, JAN. 7. Lapses from virtue are not unfrequently associated, in
the character of the Spanish female, with singular exhibitions of
charity and self-denial. She is often at the couch of disease,
unshrinkingly exposed to contagion, or in the hovel of destitution,
administering to human necessity. She pities where others reproach, and
succors where others forsake. The motive which prompts this unwearied
charity, is a secret within her own soul. It may be as a poor expiation
for conscious error, or the impulse of those kindly sentiments not yet
extinct, or gratitude for that humanity which foregoes merited
reprehension. Be the cause what it may, it justly retains her within the
pale of Christian charity, and entitles her to that sympathy in her own
misfortunes which she so largely bestows on the sorrows of others.

Denunciation never yet protected the innocent, confirmed the wavering,
or recovered the fallen. That spirit of ferocity which breaks the
bruised reed, partakes more of relentless pride than virtuous
disapprobation. Many sever themselves from all sympathy with the erring,
from the mistaken apprehension that the wider the chasm, the more
advantageous the light in which _they_ will appear. But that chasm which
seems so wide to them, narrows to a faint line in the eye of
Omniscience. Forgiveness is our duty; not that forgiveness which scorns
and forsakes the object on which it is bestowed, but which seeks to
reclaim the erring, and reinstate the fallen in merited confidence and
esteem. When repentant guilt trembled and blushed in the presence of Him
whose divine example is our guide, no frown darkened His brow, no
malediction fell from His lips; His absolving injunction was—_go, and
sin no more_. The brightest stars are they which have emerged from a
horizon of darkness.


TUESDAY, JAN. 16. The climate on the seaboard is remarkably equable; it
varies at Monterey, the year round, but little from sixty. You never lay
aside your woollen apparel, and always feel ready for a bear-hunt, or
any other field-sport that may tempt your taste or skill. Till the
Americans came here there was hardly a house in the town which contained
a fireplace; even the cooking was done in a detached apartment,
seemingly to avoid the straggling rays of its grate. The children ran
about in the winter months without a shoe, and in their little cotton
slips, the perfect pictures of health. The girl of seventeen, the mother
of forty, and the venerable lady, who had reached her threescore and
ten, were never seen hovering around a fire: they were at their
household affairs, in apartments where a coal had never been kindled; or
in their gardens, where the last rain had revived their drooping plants;
or out in the woods at pic-nics, where the very birds sung out in
rivalry of their jocund mirth. Health spread its rose in the cheek, and
elastic life thrilled in the bounding limb. The birth of a child was
only a momentary pause in this scene of pleasurable activity, and more
than compensated for its brief encroachment in a new bud of being, to be
clustered among the rest—now blooming in fragrant life around the parent
tree.

Think of this, ye mothers who cloister your daughters in air-tight
parlors, with furnaces blowing in hot steam from below. It is no wonder
they wither from their cradles, and that their bridal couch is often
ashes. Your mistaken tenderness, vanity, and pride have supplied death
with trophies long enough. Look here to California; among all these
mothers and daughters, there is not one where the cankerworm of that
disease is at work which has spread sorrow and dismay around your
hearths. The insidious disguises and sapping advances of the consumption
are not known here; I have not yet met with the first instance where
this disease, contracted here, has found a victim. It is your in-door
habits, hot parlors, prunellas, and twisting corsets, that clothe this
generation with weeds, and bequeath to the next constitutions that fall
like grass under the scythe of death. If your daughters won’t take
out-door exercise from persuasion, then drive them forth as the guardian
angel of Eden your erring progenitrix. It may have been that the
development of her physical forces, as well as retributive justice,
induced her expulsion from the luxurious roses, the balmy airs, and
lulling streams of her first abode. But your Eves will come back again,
and sparkling eyes, and buoyant spirits, and a vigorous pulse will
commend your maternal wisdom; and when a man, worthy of your confidence
and the affections of your daughters, wants a wife, his choice will not
lie in a group of valetudinarians. He carries off a bird that floats a
strong wing, and that can sing in concert with him as they build the
nest out of which other harmonies are to charm the warbling grove; and
then, too, the young fledglings will come back to you, all bright and
beautiful, and touched with the spirit of gladness in which their breezy
cradle swung. Why, is not this enough to make a mother’s soul leap to
her laughing eyes!


WEDNESDAY, JAN. 24. Nature never leaves any portion of her troubled
domain without a compensation. Here, where the hills and plains, under
the long summer’s drought, become so parched and dry that the
grasshoppers cease to sing, she presents a pingrass, on which the cattle
still thrive; and when this fails, it has already dropped a seed even
more nutritious than the stem which sustained its bulbous cradle. For
this, a California horse will leave the best bin of oats that ever waved
in the harvest-moon. The first copious shower, which usually occurs in
November, destroys it, but around its ruins another grass springs, to
throw its green velvet, inwrought with millions of flowers, on the
charmed eye. It is no wonder the birds here sing through the year, and
forego those migrations to which they are subjected in other climes. The
lay of the robin, the whistle of the quail, and the tender notes of the
curlew, are always piping in the grove, or filling with melody the
garden-tree.

Were the blackbird to migrate, and never come back, no farmer would
regret his absence; for he is a mischievous bird, who has no respect for
the rights of property. He squats by millions where he likes and would
rob a wheat-field of its last kernel with a thousand thunders rattling
overhead. His legions darken the heaven where they fly, and drown all
other harmonies in the jargon of their obstreperous chatter. They are
said to be good for a pot-pie; and there are enough of them here to
plump a pie around which nations might sit and carve at will: and how
much better to be carving a common pie than carving into each other’s
lands,—to be popping at blackbirds than shooting each other. There is
not a blackbird but what laughs under his glossy wing when he sees a man
levelling his gun at another, which the sable rogue knows ought to be
levelled at him; and when the smoke-clouds loom up from the field of
battle, he chatters in very glee, and even the eyes of the sedate raven
are filled with unwonted light. Man makes himself a mournful tragedy and
ludicrous comedy in the great creation of God.


WEDNESDAY, FEB. 7. There is one tree in California that is worthy of
note, which is peculiar to the country, and as deserving a place on her
coat-of-arms as her grizzly bear, and much more so, unless her people
intend to overawe their neighbors with the terrors of their insignia.
This tree is called the redwood, and closely resembles, in its texture,
size, and antiseptic qualities, the giant cedars which have pinnacled,
through the storms of a thousand years, the steeps of Lebanon. It is
found on the table-lands between the coast range and the sea, and grows
in distinct forests, like the savage tribes which once slumbered in its
shadows. Its shaft rises straight and free of limbs, till high over the
wave of other trees it can spread its emerald sails to the wind, compact
as the royals of a ship of the line. The wood is of a pale red hue, and
easily yields to any shape under the implements of the carpenter, but is
not sufficiently firm for the severer tests of cabinet work. It resists
decay, whatever may be its exposure, and in the ground or on the roof is
true to its trust. The same shingle which shook the rain from your
grandsire, wards it from you; and the same board which pannelled his
coffin, echoes to the rumbling sounds of yours as you go down to join
him. In a grove of these trees, only a short ride from Monterey, stands
one measuring sixty feet in circumference! Of its height I am not
certain, as I had no means of measuring it—say three hundred feet—or at
least as high as the steeple of that church, a warden of which, who had
caught the spirit of its elevation, is reported to have said in reply to
a proposition for the introduction of lamps and an evening service,
“this line goes through by daylight.” Let those versed in moral
mensuration determine the elevation of that warden’s spiritual pride,
and they will have the height of my tree exactly.


FRIDAY, FEB. 16. Mr. Larkin has closed the amusements of the carnival
with a splendid entertainment, graced with all the beauty and bravery of
Monterey. As no egg could be broken after midnight, without trenching on
the solemnities of Lent, each went equipped with these weapons, ready
for an early contest. Several small volleys opened the engagement
between some of the parties; while the fandango engrossed the attention
of others. In this oval war the ladies are always the antagonists of the
gentlemen, and, generally, through their dexterity, and larger supply of
ammunition, bear off the palm. They will sometimes carry two or three
dozen rounds each, and as snugly stowed away as cartridges in the box of
a new recruit. Still both parties will fight it out—

            “With blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
            Where one will not retreat, nor t’other flinch.”

But there were two shot in the company, in the shape of goose eggs, well
filled with cologne, to which an unusual interest attached. One of them
had been brought by Gen. M——, the other by Donna J——, and each was only
watching an opportunity for a crash on the head of the other. Both were
endowed with physical force, dexterity, and firmness, and a heart in
which pity relaxed none of these energies. Neither turned an eye but for
a moment from the other; but in that moment the donna dashed to the side
of the general, and would have crashed her egg on his head, had not the
blow been instantly parried. The assailed now became the assailant, and
both were in for the last tests of skill—

                 “While none who saw them could divine
                 To which side conquest would incline.”

The donna changed her tactics, stood on the defensive and parried, and
in one of these dexterous foils dashed her egg on the head of her
antagonist, who, in the same instant, brought his down plump on hers.
Both were drenched in cologne; both victors in defeat: a shout followed,
which shook the rafters of the old tenement. The engagement now became
general; each had his antagonist, and must “do or die;” the battle
swayed this way and that—sometimes in single combat, and at others in
vollied platoons; and then along the whole blazing line: each recoil was
recovered by a more vigorous assault; each retreat in rallied thunder,
more than redeemed; while first and foremost, where wavered or withstood
the foe—

                    “The _donna_ cheered her band.”

But, in this most critical crisis of the field, the fire began to
slacken along the line of the men; their ammunition was giving out; only
a few rounds here and there remained; the heroines perceived this, and
opened with double round and grape on their foes—

               “Who form—unite—charge—waver—all is lost!”

The bell tolled the hour of midnight, and Lent came in with her ashes to
bury the dead! They may trifle who will with this field; but there was
more in it worthy of a good man’s remembrance than half the fields
fought from Homer’s day to this. If this be treason to the bullet and
blood chivalry—make the most of it.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE PUBLIC DOMAIN.—SCENERY AROUND MONTEREY.—VINEYARDS OF LOS
    ANGELES.—BEAUTY OF SAN DIEGO.—THE CULPRIT HALL.—THE RUSH FOR
    GOLD.—LAND TITLES.—THE INDIAN DOCTRESS.—TUFTED PARTRIDGE.—DEATH OF
    COM. BIDDLE.

SATURDAY, FEB. 24. All the land grants in California are blindly
defined; a mountain bluff, lagoon, river, or ravine serve as boundaries;
and these not unfrequently comprehend double the leagues or acres
contemplated in the instrument. No accurate surveys have been made; and
the only legal restrictions falling within these vague limits, is in the
shape of a provision that the excess shall revert to the public domain.
This provision, which is inserted in most of the grants, will throw into
the market, under an accurate survey, some of the best tracts in
California. These will be seized upon by capitalists and speculators,
and held at prices beyond the means of emigrants, unless some
legislative provision shall extend peculiar privileges to actual
settlers.

The lands which lie through the gold region are uninvaded by any private
grants, except one on the Mariposa, owned by Col. Fremont; one on the
Cosumes, owned by W. E. P. Hartnell, and the limited claims of Johnson
on Bear river, and Capt. Sutter on the Americano. All the other lands
stretching from Feather river on the north, to the river Reys on the
south, covering five hundred miles along the slopes of the Sierra
Nevada, belonging to the public domain, and should never become private
property so long as it is for the interests of the United States to
encourage mining in California. Any system of private proprietorship
will result in monopoly and bloodshed. Let companies lease their
sections, and private individuals pay their license; and let every
regulation look more to the encouragement it extends, than the revenue
it exacts.


TUESDAY, FEB. 27. At an early hour this morning a huge floating mass,
with her steep sides dark as night, was seen winding into the bay
without sail, wind, or tide. Such a wizard phenomenon was never seen
before on this coast, and might well alarm the natives, especially when
the great guns of the fort rolled their thunder at her: and still she
neared! heaving the still waters into cataracts at her side, and sending
up her steep column of smoke, as if a young Etna were at work within.
They who had witnessed such things in other parts of the world, shouted
“The steamer! the steamer!” and instantly the echo came back with
redoubled force from a hundred crowded balconies. The whole community
was thrown into excitement, wonder, and gratulation; cheers and shouts
of welcome rent the air; all liquors were free to brim the bumpers; and
basket after basket of champagne went gratuitously into the streets,
till their flying corks rose like musket-shot in a general feu de joie.
The last distrust of good faith in the government vanished; and all saw
the dawn of a higher destiny breaking over California. The enterprise of
a Howland and Aspinwall blazed in this new aurora, and filled the whole
horizon with light. The golden promise which had floated in doubt and
earnest hope had been redeemed and the union of California with the
glorious confederacy achieved. What now were oceans and an isthmus!—only
a few waves and a narrow line of earth, unfelt under the conquering
powers of steam. Such was the tumult of transport which hailed the first
steamer; such her welcome to the _el dorado_ of the West. No gold mine
sprung in the Sierra ever roused half the wonder, hope, and general joy.


MONDAY, MARCH 5. The scenery around Monterey and the _locale_ of the
town, arrest the first glance of the stranger. The wild waving
background of forest-feathered cliffs, the green slopes, and the
glimmering walls of the white dwellings, and the dash of the billows on
the sparkling sands of the bay, fix and charm the eye. Nor does the
enchantment fade by being familiarly approached; avenues of almost
endless variety lead off through the circling steeps, and winding
through long shadowy ravines, lose themselves in the vine-clad recesses
of the distant hills. It is no wonder that California centred her taste,
pride, and wealth here, till the Vandal irruption of gold-hunters broke
into her peaceful domain. Now all eyes are turned to San Francisco, with
her mud bottoms, her sand-hills, and her chill winds, which cut the
stranger like hail driven through the summer solstice. Avarice may erect
its shanty there, but contentment, and a love of the wild and beautiful,
will construct its tabernacle among the flowers, the waving shades, and
fragrant airs of Monterey. And even they who now drive the spade and
drill in the mines, when their yellow pile shall fill the measure of
their purposes, will come here to sprinkle these hills with the mansions
and cottages of ease and refinement. Among these soaring crags the step
of youth will still spring, and beauty garland her tresses with
wild-flowers in the mirror of the mountain stream. Alas! that eyes so
bright should be closed so soon, and that a step so light and free
should lead but to that narrow house which holds no communion with the
pulses which will still roll through nature’s great heart!


WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7. Emigrants, when the phrensy of the mines has passed,
will be strongly attracted to los Angeles, the capital of the southern
department. It stands inland from San Pedro about eight leagues, in the
bosom of a broad fertile plain, and has a population of two thousand
souls. The San Gabriel pours its sparkling tide through its green
borders. The most delicious fruits of the tropical zone may flourish
here. As yet, only the grape and fig have secured the attention of the
cultivator; but the capacities of the soil and aptitudes of the climate
are attested in the twenty thousand vines, which reel in one orchard,
and which send through California a wine that need not blush in the
presence of any rival from the hills of France or the sunny slopes of
Italy. To these plains the more quiet emigrants will ere long gather,
and convert their drills into pruning-hooks, and we shall have wines,
figs, dates, almonds, olives, and raisins from California. The gold may
give out, but these are secure while nature remains.

San Diego is another spot to which the tide of immigration must turn. It
stands on the border line of Alta California, and opens on a land-locked
bay of surpassing beauty. The climate is soft and mild the year round;
the sky brilliant, and the atmosphere free of those mists which the cold
currents throw on the northern sections of the coast. The sea-breeze
cools the heat of summer, and the great ocean herself modulates into the
same temperature the rough airs of winter. The seasons roll round,
varied only by the fresh fruits and flowers that follow in their train.
I would rather have a willow-wove hut at San Diego, with ground enough
for a garden, than the whole peninsula of San Francisco, if I must live
there. The one is a Vallambrosa, where only the zephyr stirs her light
wing; the other a tempest-swept cave of Æolus, where the demons of storm
shake their shivering victims. The lust of gold will people the one, but
all that is lovely in the human heart spread its charm over the other.
Before the eyes that fall on these pages are under death’s shadow, San
Diego will have become the queen of the south in California encircled
with vineyards and fields of golden grain and gathering into her bosom
the flowing commerce of the Colorado and Gila.


THURSDAY, MARCH 8. The town-hall, on which I have been at work for more
than a year, is at last finished. It is built of a white stone, quarried
from a neighboring hill, and which easily takes the shape you desire.
The lower apartments are for schools; the hall over them—seventy feet by
thirty—is for public assemblies. The front is ornamented with a portico,
which you enter from the hall. It is not an edifice that would attract
any attention among public buildings in the United States; but in
California it is without a rival. It has been erected out of the slender
proceeds of town lots, the labor of the convicts, taxes on liquor shops,
and fines on gamblers. The scheme was regarded with incredulity by many;
but the building is finished, and the citizens have assembled in it, and
christened it after my name, which will now go down to posterity with
the odor of gamblers, convicts, and tipplers. I leave it as an humble
evidence of what may be accomplished by rigidly adhering to one purpose,
and shrinking from no personal efforts necessary to its achievement. A
prison has also been built, and mainly through the labor of the
convicts. Many a joke the rogues have cracked while constructing their
own cage; but they have worked so diligently I shall feel constrained to
pardon out the less incorrigible. It is difficult here to discriminate
between offences which flow from moral hardihood, and those which
result, in a measure, from untoward circumstances. There is a wide
difference in the turpitude of the two; and an alcalde under the Mexican
law, has a large scope in which to exercise his sense of moral justice.
Better to err a furlong with mercy than a fathom with cruelty. Unmerited
punishment never yet reformed its subject; to suppose it, is a libel on
the human soul.


FRIDAY, MARCH 9. There is one event in the recent history of California,
which has carried with it decisive moral results. Till the intelligence
of peace reached here, a bewildering expectation had been entertained by
many, that Mexico would never consent to part with this portion of her
domain. This idea, vague and groundless as it was, interfered with all
permanent plans of action affecting individual capital and enterprise.
To this state of uncertainty the news of peace, which reached here in
August, gave an effectual quietus. The event was announced to the
community by order of Gen. Mason, through a national salute from the
fort; and hardly had the echoes died away among the hills, when its
certainty sunk deep and firm into the convictions of all. The result was
a revulsion of feeling towards Mexico, which no repentant action on her
part could ever overcome. The native people felt that they had been
_sold_, and expressed in no measured terms their indignation. They had
no objections to the transfer of allegiance; but they scorned the
_barter_, and denounced the treachery, as they termed it, which had put
a _price_ upon their heads. The old Spanish blood was up, and flaming,
like the lake which rolls its tide of fire in the breast of Vesuvius.
From that day to this, I have never heard one native citizen express for
Mexico even that poor sentiment of regard with which pity sometimes
softens an indignant contempt. The only regret was, that the American
arms were withdrawn from that country, and that her national existence
was not extinct. This feeling remains, and will still be felt in the
various relations of society, when the native mass has been swallowed up
in the emigrant tide, as a rivulet in the majesty of the mountain
stream.


SUNDAY, MARCH 11. What crowds are rushing out here for gold! what
multitudes are leaving their distant homes for this glittering treasure!
Can gold warrant the hazards of the enterprise? Can it compensate the
toils and suffering which it imposes? Can it repair a shattered
constitution, or bring back the exhilarating pulse and play of youth?
Let the wrecks of those who have perished speak; let the broken hearts
and hopes of thousands utter their admonition: their voices come surging
over these pines, breaking from these cliffs, sighing in the winds, and
knelling from the clouds. Your treasures you must resign at the dark
portal of the grave; there the glittering heap, and the strong arms
which wrenched it from the mine, lie down together; the spirit walketh
alone through that troubled night; but a ray twinkles through its long
aisle of darkness: follow that in meekness and faith, and it will lead
you to the spirit-land. There dwell your kindred who adorned virtue with
a spirit of contentment,—there the parent whose latest prayer was for
you,—there the sister, who, in the hush of voices around, heard the
sweet strains of an unseen harp, and was charmed away from the delusive
dreams of earth, ere a hope of the heart had been broken, or sorrow had
saddened a smile. What is wealth to such an inheritance? what the
society of kings to such companionship? Plume your wing for heaven ere
it droops in the death-dew of its dissolving strength.


TUESDAY, MARCH 20. The land titles in California ought to receive the
most indulgent construction. But few of them have _all_ the forms
prescribed by legislative enactments, but they have official insignia
sufficient to certify the intentions of the government. To disturb these
grants would be alike impolitic and unjust; it would be to convert the
lands which they cover to the public domain, and ultimately turn them
over to speculators and foreign capitalists. Better let them remain as
they are: they are now in good hands; they are held mostly by
Californians,—a class of persons who part with them on reasonable terms.
No Californian grinds the face of the poor, or refuses an emigrant a
participation in his lands. I have seen them dispose of miles for a
consideration less than would be required by Americans for as many
acres. You are shut up to the shrewdness and sharpness of the Yankee on
the one hand, and the liberality of the Californian on the other. Your
choice lies between the two, and I have no hesitation in saying, give me
the Californian. If he has a farm, and I have none, he will divide with
me; but who ever heard of a Yankee splitting up his farm to accommodate
emigrants? Why, he will not divide with his own sons till death has
divided him from both. Yankees are good when mountains are to be
levelled, lakes drained, and lightning converted into a vegetable
manure; but as a landholder, deliver me from his map and maw. He wants
not only all on this side of creation’s verge, but a _leetle_ that laps
over the other.


WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28. A young friend of mine had been several months in
Monterey, confined to his room, and nearly helpless, from an ugly sore
on one of his limbs. The skill of the whole medical profession here, in
the army and navy, and out of them, had been exerted in this case, and
baffled. At last, the discouraged patient sent for an old Indian woman,
who has some reputation among the natives for medical sagacity in roots
and herbs. She examined the sore, and the next day brought to the
patient a poultice and pot of tea. The application was made and the
beverage drank as directed. These were renewed two or three times, and
the young man is now running about the streets, or hunting his game,
sound as a nut.

This same Indian woman is the only physician I had when attacked with
the disease which carried off Lieut. Miner and several others attached
to the public service. In a half-delirious state, which followed close
upon the attack, I looked up and saw bending over me the kind Mrs.
Hartnell—one of the noblest among the native ladies of California—and at
her side stood this Indian woman feeling my pulse. Mrs. H. remained,
while her medical attendant went away, but returned soon with the Indian
medicaments which were to arrest, or remedy this rapid and critical
disease. I resigned myself to all her drinks and baths; she did with me
just what she pleased. She broke the fever without breaking me; restored
my strength, and in a week I was in my office, attending to my duties.
What she gave me I know not, but I believe her roots and herbs saved my
life, as well as the leg of my friend.


SATURDAY, APRIL 7. The quail, or tufted partridge, abounds in
California, and is a delicious bird. A walk of ten minutes in any
direction from Monterey, will bring you into their favorite haunts. But
they are extremely shy; it is no easy matter to strike them on the wing:
they are out of one bush and into another before you can level your
piece, unless, like the Irishman hitting his weasel, you fire first and
take aim afterwards. I must attribute my success frequently to hits of
this kind; for a deliberate aim was sure to come too late,—just like an
old bachelor’s proposal of marriage, which, as his vanity whispers him,
might have been accepted had it been made a _little_ sooner, but now the
dulcinia has changed her mind, and the fat is all in the fire. What a
pity that such a pelican should be left alone in this world’s
wilderness, and the community be deprived of all the little pelicans
that might have been! But I was speaking of quail, and not of pelicans,
and of the difficulty of hitting them. Gen. Mason is the best shot here;
a quail, to fly his fire, must be as quick on the wing as a message, in
its sightless career, over one of Morse’s magnetic wires. To me one of
the most enticing features in California life is presented in her game.
It comes in every variety of form, from the elk and buck that rove her
forests and prairies, to the rabbit that undermines the garden-hedge;
and from the wild goose and duck, which sweep in clouds her ruffled
waters, to the little beca that feeds on her figs. A good sportsman
might live the year round, amid these meadows and mounds, on the
trophies of his fowling-piece and rifle, and as independent of civilized
life as any savage that ever bent the bow or steadied his bark canoe
over the rushing verge of the cascade.


TUESDAY, APRIL 17. That spirit of prophecy which sometimes trembles in
an adieu, occurred forcibly to me on receiving the intelligence of the
death of Com. Biddle. His last words were omens, if such a thing may be.
He had ordered the Columbus to be ready for sea the next morning, and
had come ashore for a walk in the woods which skirt Monterey. We had
ascended the summit of a hill which commands a wide range of waving
woods, gleaming meadows, and ocean’s blue expanse. The great orb of day
was on the horizon, and the eye of the commodore was fastened upon it as
it sunk in solemn majesty from sight. He had not spoken for several
minutes; when, turning to me, he said—“This is my last walk among these
hills, and something whispers me that all my walks end here.” This was
said with that look and manner in which the undertone of a man’s
thoughts will sometimes find words without his will. It was utterly at
variance with the cool, philosophical habits which were eminently
characteristic of the commodore, and which he seldom relinquished,
except in some sally of humor and wit. This remark woke like a slumber
of the shroud, on the sudden intelligence of his death. It may be a
superstition, but I shall never resign, to a skeptical philosophy, the
omen and its seeming fulfilment. The future is often prefigured in an
incident or sentiment of the present.

               “An undefined and sudden thrill,
               That makes the heart a moment still—
               Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
               Of that strange sense itself had framed.”

The hill-top and the waving forest remain, but the commodore—where is
he? Gone, like a star from its darkened watch-tower on high! But the
night which quenched the beam is still fringed with light. To this
surviving ray we turn in bereavement and grief. His genius lighted the
objects of thought on which it touched, and glanced, with an intuitive
force, through the subtle problems of the mind. His mental horizon was
broad, and yet every object within its wide circle was distinctly seen,
and seen in its true position and relative importance. The trifling
never rose into the great, and the majestic never became tame. Each
stood, in his clear vision, as truth and reason had stamped it. He was
cool and collected without being stoical, and immovably firm without
being arbitrary. He had that courage which could never be shaken by
surprise, made giddy with success, or quelled by disaster. Whatever
subject he assayed, he mastered. He has left but few behind him, out of
the legal profession, more thoroughly versed in questions of
international law and maritime jurisprudence. Had not his early impulses
taken him to the deck, he might have been eminent at the bar, in the
cabinet, or hall of legislation. He had all the clearness and
comprehensiveness of a great statesman. Gratitude twines this leaf of
remembrance and respect into that chaplet which the bereavement of the
service has woven on his grave.




                             CHAPTER XXVII.

  THE GOLD REGION.—ITS LOCALITY, NATURE, AND EXTENT.—FOREIGNERS IN THE
    MINES.—THE INDIANS’ DISCOVERY OF GOLD.—AGRICULTURAL CAPABILITIES OF
    CALIFORNIA.—SERVICES OF UNITED STATES OFFICERS.—FIRST DECISIVE
    MOVEMENT FOR THE ORGANIZATION OF A CIVIL GOVERNMENT.—INTELLIGENCE OF
    THE DEATH OF GEN. KEARNY.

THURSDAY, APRIL 26. The gold region, which contains deposits of
sufficient richness to reward the labor of working them, is strongly
defined by nature. It lies along the foot hills of the Sierra Nevada—a
mountain range running nearly parallel with the coast—and extends on
these hills about five hundred miles north and south, by thirty or forty
east and west. From the slopes of the Sierra, a large number of streams
issue, which cut their channels through these hills, and roll with
greater or less volume to the Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers. The
Sacramento rises in the north, and flowing south two hundred and fifty
miles, empties itself into the Suisun, or upper bay of San Francisco.
The San Joaquin rises in the south, and flowing north two hundred miles,
discharges itself into the same bay. The source of the San Joaquin is a
narrow lake lying still further south, and extending in that direction
about eighty miles.

The streams which break into these rivers from the Sierra Nevada, are
from ten to thirty miles distant from each other. They commence with
Feather river on the north, and end with the river Reys on the south.
They all have numerous tributaries; are rapid and wild on the mountain
slopes, and become more tranquil and tame as they debouch upon the
plain. Still their serpentine waters, flashing up among the trees which
shadow their channels give a picturesque feature to the landscape, and
relieve it of that monotony which would otherwise fatigue the eye. But
very few of these rivers have sufficient depth and regularity to render
them navigable. Their sudden bends, falls, and shallows would puzzle
even an Indian canoe, and strand any boat of sufficient draft to warrant
the agency of steam.

The alluvial deposits of gold are confined mainly to the banks and bars
of these mountain streams, and the channels of the gorges, which
intersect them, and through which the streams are forced when swollen by
the winter rains. In the hills and table-lands, which occupy the
intervals between these currents and gorges, no alluvial deposits have
been found. Here and there a few detached pieces have been discovered,
forming an exception to some general law by which the uplands have been
deprived of their surface treasures. The conclusion at which I have
arrived, after days and weeks of patient research, and a thousand
inquiries made of others, is, that the alluvial deposits of gold in
California are mainly confined to the banks and bars of her streams, and
the ravines which intersect them. The only material exception to this
general law is found in those intervening deposits, from which the
streams have been diverted by some local cause, or some convulsion of
nature. Aside from these, no surface gold to any extent has been found
on the table-lands or plains. Even the banks of the Sacramento and San
Joaquin, stretching a distance of five hundred miles through their
valleys, have not yielded an ounce. The mountain streams, long before
they discharge themselves into these rivers, deposit their precious
treasures. They contribute their waters, but not their gold. Like
cunning misers they have stowed this away, and no enchantments can make
them whisper of its whereabouts. If you would find it, you must hunt for
it as for hid treasures.


MONDAY, MAY 14. Much has been said of the amounts of gold taken from the
mines by Sonoranians, Chilians, and Peruvians, and carried out of the
country. As a general fact, this apprehension and alarm is without any
sound basis. Not one pound of gold in ten, gathered by these foreigners,
is shipped off to their credit: it is spent in the country for
provisions, clothing, and in the hazards of the gaming-table. It falls
into the hands of those who command the avenues of commerce, and
ultimately reaches our own mints. I have been in a camp of five hundred
Sonoranians, who had not gold enough to buy a month’s provisions—all had
gone, through their improvident habits, to the capacious pockets of the
Americans. To drive them out of California, or interdict their
operations, is to abstract that amount of labor from the mines, and
curtail proportionably the proceeds. If gold, slumbering in the river
banks and mountains of California, be more valuable to us than when
stamped into eagles and incorporated into our national currency, then
drive out the Sonoranians: but if you would have it _here_ and not
_there_, let those diggers alone. When gold shall begin to fail, or
require capital and machinery, you will want these hardy men to quarry
the rocks and feed your stampers; and when you shall plunge into the
Cinnebar mountains, you will want them to sink your shafts and kindle
fires under your great quicksilver retorts. They will become the hewers
of wood and drawers of water to American capital and enterprise. But if
you want to perform this drudgery yourself, drive out the Sonoranians,
and upset that cherished system of political economy founded in a spirit
of wisdom and national justice.


TUESDAY, MAY 22. I was in possession of a fact which left no doubt of
the existence of gold in the Stanislaus more than a year prior to its
discovery on the American Fork. A wild Indian had straggled into
Monterey with a specimen, which he had hammered into a clasp for his
bow. It fell into the hands of my secretary, W. R. Garner, who
communicated the secret to me. The Indian described the locality in
which it was found with so much accuracy that Mr. G., on his recent
excursion to the mines, readily identified the spot. It is now known as
“Carson’s diggings.” No one who has been there can ever forget its wild
majestic scenery, or confound its soaring cliffs or sunless chasms with
the images projected from other objects. It was the full intention of
Mr. G. to trail this Indian at the first opportunity, and he was
prevented from doing it only by the imperative duties of the office. His
keeping the discovery a secret, proceeded less from any sinister motive
than an eccentricity of character. He had another mineral secret which
has not yet transpired—the existence of a tin mine, near San Louis
Obispo. The extent is not known, but certainly the specimen shown me was
very rich. Mr. Garner is now dead: it was his melancholy fate to fall
with five others by the wild Indians on the river Reys. To that party I
should have been attached had I remained in California another month.
How narrow those escapes which run their mystic thread between two
worlds! On the grave of my friend, gratitude for important services, and
a remembrance of many sterling virtues, might well erect a memorial.


THURSDAY, MAY 24. The capabilities of the soil of California for
agricultural purposes involve a question of profound interest, and one
which is not easily answered. There are no experimental facts of
sufficient scope to warrant a general conclusion. Where the soil itself
leaves no doubt of its richness, its productive forces may be baffled by
local circumstances or atmospheric phenomena. Some of the largest crops
that have ever rewarded the toil of the husbandman, have been gathered
in California; and yet those very localities, owing to a slender fall of
the winter rains, have next season disappointed the hopes of the
cultivator. The farmer can never be certain of an abundant harvest till
he is able to supply this deficiency of rain by a process of irrigation.
This can be done, in some places, by the diversion of streams, and must
be accomplished in others through artesian wells. It will be some years
before either will be brought into effective force in the agricultural
districts.

The lands on which cultivation has been attempted occupy a narrow space
between the coast ranges and the sea; it seldom exceeds in width thirty
miles, and is often reduced to ten by the obtrusion of some mountain
spur. East of this range no plough has ever travelled; no furrow has
ever been turned in the long valley of the San Joaquin; and if the other
sections of this valley correspond to those over which I passed, there
can be very little encouragement for the introduction of husbandry. The
soil is light and gravelly; the grass meagre and sparse; even the wild
horses and elk seek its margin, as if afraid to trust themselves to the
Sahara of its bosom. Still, in some of its bays, the evidences of
fertility exist, but as a district it will never add much to the
agricultural wealth of California.

The valley of the Sacramento has many localities of great fertility; but
few of them, as yet, have been subjected to the plough and harrow; their
adaptation to agriculture is inferred from their vigorous vegetation.
The same evidences of productive force cover several tracts north of San
Francisco, on the Russian river, and in the vicinity of Sonoma. But the
most fertile lands in California, as yet developed, lie around the
missions of Santa Clara and Santa Cruz, through the long narrow valleys
of San José and San Juan, along the margin of the Salinas, through the
dells of San Louis Obispo, and in the vicinity of los Angeles. These,
and other insular spots, may be made perfect gardens; but take
California as a whole, she is not the country which agriculturists would
select. Her whole mining region is barren; nature rested there with what
she put _beneath_ the soil. You can hardly travel through it in
midsummer without loading your mule down with provender to keep him
alive. The productive forces of such a state as New York, Ohio, or
Pennsylvania, sweep immeasurably beyond the utmost capabilities of
California. It is the _golden_ coronet that gives this land her
pre-eminence, and puts into her hand a magic wand, that will shake for
ages the exchanges of the civilized world.


TUESDAY, JUNE 12. At the return of Gen. Kearny, the command of the
military posts of the country, the suppression of popular disturbancies,
the protection of property from the incursion of the Indians, and the
collection of the custom-house revenues have devolved on Gen. Mason. To
these complicated duties he has surrendered his energies with an
unwearied fidelity and force. No one great interest confided to his
indomitable activity has languished. He has derived indispensable aid
from the intelligent services of Col. Stevenson, Maj. Folsom, Capt.
Halleck, and Lieut. Sherman, of the army, and Lieut. Lanman, of the
navy. These officers, and others that might be named, without any
increased compensation, and subjected to heavy expenses, have cheerfully
discharged the onerous duties devolved upon them by the condition of the
country.

The regiment of volunteers under Col. Stevenson arrived too late for any
active participation in the war. The insurrection had been suppressed,
and the country was in the peaceful occupation of the Americans. Still
they were with great propriety retained in the service, and their
presence at different points tended to discourage any attempts at
revolutionary movements. They were, many of them, youth who had not been
reared under the most auspicious circumstances, and the adventures of a
camp life were but little calculated to supply the defects of education.
They gave the colonel and his officers some trouble, and the communities
where they were stationed some solicitude. But they are now in a
condition, where every one is thrown upon his own resources, where every
thing good in a man may be developed. They have been sowing their wild
oats, and will now go to planting corn.


SATURDAY, JUNE 16. The primary movements in California for the
organization of a civil government had no connection with any
instructions from Washington. The first great meeting on the subject was
held in Monterey in January, 1849. At this meeting I was called upon to
draft a preamble and resolutions, setting forth the condition of the
country, the necessity of a civil organization, and providing for the
election of proper delegates to a convention, to be held at San José on
the 27th of February, in which all the districts of the Territory were
to be represented, and where a suitable constitution was to be framed.
These resolutions were sent to all the principal towns, and adopted. But
upon more mature reflection, it was deemed expedient, in order to
prevent any collision with the possible action of Congress, to postpone
the assembling of the convention to the first of May, that the
proceedings of that body might be known. This is the true history of
those primary and decisive measures which have resulted in that noble
constitution which now throws its sacred ægis over California. The
friends of the last and present administration, instead of contending
for the honor of an active participation in the origin and progress of
this instrument, deftly box back and forth the responsibility of its
provisions. But their political timidity is without any just grounds;
for neither afforded any countenance or aid till the rubicon had been
passed: so that all this shuttlecock business between the last and
present administration, is a superfluous exhibition of dexterity and
skill. Much good may it do the players, only let not California suffer
too much while the sport is going on.


WEDNESDAY, JUNE 20. The causes which exclude slavery from California lie
within a nut-shell. All here are diggers, and free white diggers wont
dig with slaves. They know they must dig themselves: they have come out
here for that purpose, and they wont degrade their calling by
associating it with slave-labor: self-preservation is the first law of
nature. They have nothing to do with slavery in the abstract, or as it
exists in other communities; not one in ten cares a button for its
abolition, nor the Wilmot proviso either: all they look at is their own
position; they must themselves swing the pick, and they wont swing it by
the side of negro slaves. That is their feeling, their determination,
and the upshot of the whole business. An army of half a million, backed
by the resources of the United States, could not shake their purpose. Of
all men with whom I have ever met, the most firm, resolute, and
indomitable, are the emigrants into California. They feel that they have
got into a new world, where they have a right to shape and settle things
in their own way. No mandate, unless it comes like a thunder-bolt
straight out of heaven, is regarded. They may offer to come into the
Union, but they consider it an act of condescension, like that of Queen
Victoria in her nuptials with Prince Albert. They walk over hills
treasured with the precious ores; they dwell by streams paved with gold;
while every mountain around soars into the heaven, circled with a diadem
richer than that which threw its halo on the seven hills of Rome. All
these belong to them; they walk in their midst; they feel their presence
and power, and partake of their grandeur. Think you that such men will
consent to swing the pick by the side of slaves? Never! while the stream
owns its source, or the mountain its base. You may call it pride, or
what you will, but _there_ it is—deep as the foundations of our nature,
and unchangeable as the laws of its divine Author.


TUESDAY, JUNE 26. The intelligence of the death of Gen. Kearny has been
received here with many expressions of affectionate remembrance. During
his brief sojourn in California, his considerate disposition, his
amiable deportment and generous policy, had endeared him to the
citizens. They saw in him nothing of the ruthless invader, but an
intelligent, humane general, largely endowed with a spirit of
forbearance and fraternal regard. The conflict which arrested his
progress at Pasquel, and the disaster in which so many of his brave men
sunk overpowered, were contemplated, by the more considerate of the
inhabitants, rather with a sentiment of regret than an air of triumph.
They seemed to regard these events as a waste of life—as a reckless
resistance on their part, which, if successful for a time, could only
have the effect to continue, for a brief period, the sway of leaders in
whose prudence and patriotism they had no confidence. They took leave of
him with regret, and have received the tidings of his death with
sympathy and sorrow. It is not for me to write his eulogy; it is graven
on the hearts of all who knew him. His star set without a cloud; but its
light lingers still: when all the watch-fires of the tented field have
gone out, a faithful ray will still light the shrine which affection and
bereavement have reared to his worth.

               “Still o’er the past warm memory wakes,
                 And fondly broods with miser-care;
               Time but the impression deeper makes,
                 As streams their channels deeper wear.”




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

  RIDE OF COL. FREMONT FROM LOS ANGELES TO MONTEREY AND BACK.—THE
    PARTY.—THE RELAYS.—CHARACTER OF THE COUNTRY.—THE RINCON.—SKELETONS
    OF DEAD HORSES.—A STAMPEDE.—GRAY BEARS.—RECEPTION AT MONTEREY.—THE
    RETURN.—THE TWO HORSES RODE BY COL. FREMONT.—AN EXPERIMENT.—THE
    RESULT.—CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CALIFORNIA HORSE.—FOSSIL REMAINS.—THE
    TWO CLASSES OF EMIGRANTS.—LIFE IN CALIFORNIA.—HEADS AGAINST TAILS.

The ride of Col. Fremont in March, 1847, from the ciudad de los Angeles
to Monterey in Alta California—a distance of four hundred and twenty
miles—and back, exhibits in a strong light the iron nerve of the rider,
and the capacities of the California horse. The party on this occasion,
consisted of the colonel, his friend Don Jesúse Pico, and his servant
Jacob Dodson. Each had three horses, nine in all, to take their turn
under the saddle, and relieve each other every twenty miles; while the
six loose horses galloped ahead, requiring constant vigilance and action
to keep them on the path. The relays were brought under the saddle by
the lasso, thrown by Don Jesúse or Jacob, who, though born and raised in
Washington, in his long expeditions with Col. Fremont, had become expert
as a Mexican with the lasso, sure as a mountaineer with the rifle, equal
to either on horse or foot, and always a lad of courage and fidelity.

The party left los Angeles on the morning of the 22d, at daybreak,
though the call which took the colonel to Monterey, had reached him only
the evening before. Their path lay through the wild mountains of San
Fernando, where the steep ridge and precipitous glen follow each other
like the deep hollows and crested waves of ocean, under the driving
force of the storm. It was a relief when a rough ravine opened its
winding gallery on the line of their path. They reached at length the
maritime defile of El Rincon, or Punto Gordo, where a mountain bluff
shoulders its way boldly to the sea, leaving for fifteen miles only a
narrow line of broken coast, lashed at high tide, and in the gale, by
the foaming surf. The sun was on the wave of the Pacific, when they
issued from the Rincon; and twilight still lingered when they reached
the hospitable rancho of Don Thomas Robbins—one hundred and twenty-five
miles from los Angeles. The only limb in the company which seemed to
complain of fatigue was the right arm of Jacob, incessantly exercised in
lashing the loose horses to the track, and lassoing the relays. None of
the horses were shod—an iron contrivance unknown here, except among a
few Americans. The gait through the day had been a hand-gallop, relieved
at short intervals by a light trot. Here the party rested for the night,
while the horses gathered their food from the young grass which spread
its tender verdure on the field.

Another morning had thrown its splendors on the forest when the party
waved their adieu to their hospitable host, and were under way. Their
path lay over the spurs of the Santa Barbara mountains; and close to
that steep ridge, where the California battalion, under Col. Fremont,
encountered on the 25th Dec., 1846, a blinding storm, which still throws
its sleet and hail through the dreams of those hardy men. Such was its
overpowering force, that more than a hundred of their horses dropped
down under their saddles. Their bleaching bones still glimmering in the
gorges, and hanging on the cliffs, are the ghastly memorials of its
terrific violence. None but they, who were of their number, can tell
what that battalion suffered. The object of that campaign accomplished,
and the conquest of California secured, the colonel, with his friend and
servant, was now on his brief return. Their path continued over the
flukes and around the bluffs of the coast mountains, relieved at
intervals by the less rugged slopes and more level lines of the cañada.
The hand-gallop and light trot of their spirited animals brought them,
at set of sun, to the rancho of their friend, Capt. Dana, where they
supped, and then proceeding on to San Luis Obispo, reached the house of
Don Jesúse, the colonel’s companion, at nine o’clock in the evening—one
hundred and thirty-five miles from the place where they broke camp in
the morning!

The arrival of Col. Fremont having got wind, the rancheros of San Luis
were on an early stir, determined to detain him. All crowded to his
quarters with their gratulations, and the tender of a splendid
entertainment, but his time was too pressing: still escape was
impossible, till a sumptuous breakfast had been served, and popular
enthusiasm had expressed its warm regard. This gratitude and esteem were
the result of that humane construction of military law, which had spared
the forfeited lives of the leaders in the recent insurrectionary war. It
was eleven o’clock in the morning before the colonel and his attendants
were in the saddle. Their tired horses had been left, and eight fresh
ones taken in their places, while their party had been increased by the
addition of a California boy, in the capacity of vaquero. Their path
still lay through a wild broken country, where primeval forests frowned,
and the mountain torrent dashed the tide of its strength. At eight in
the evening they reached the gloomy base of the steep range which guards
the head waters of the Salinas or Buenaventura, seventy miles from San
Luis. Here Don Jesúse, who had been up the greater part of the night
previous, with his family and friends, proposed a few hours rest. As the
place was the favorite haunt of marauding Indians, the party for safety
during their repose, turned off the track, which ran nearer the coast
than the usual rout, and issuing through a cañada into a thick wood,
rolled down in their serapes, with their saddles for their pillows,
while their horses were put to grass at a short distance, with the
Spanish boy in the saddle to keep watch. Sleep once commenced, was too
sweet to be easily given up; midnight had passed when the party were
roused from their slumbers by an _estampedo_ among their horses, and the
loud calls of the watch boy. The cause of the alarm proved not to be
Indians, but gray bears, which infest this wild pass. It was here that
Col. Fremont with thirty-five of his men, in the summer preceding, fell
in with several large bands of these ferocious fellows, who appeared to
have posted themselves here to dispute the path. An attack was ordered,
and thirteen of their grim file were left dead on the field. Such is
their acknowledged strength and towering rage, when assaulted, the
bravest hunters, when outnumbered, generally give them a wide berth.
When it was discovered that they had occasioned this midnight stampede,
the first impulse was to attack them; but Don Jesúse, who understood
their habits and weak points, discouraged the idea, stating that “people
_gente_ can scare bears,” and with that gave a succession of loud
halloos, at which the bears commenced their retreat. The horses by good
fortune were recovered, a fire kindled, and by break of day, the party
had finished their breakfast, and were again in the saddle. Their path,
issuing from the gloomy forests of the Soledad, skirted the coast range,
and crossed the plain of the Salinas to Monterey, where they arrived
three hours to set of sun, and ninety miles from their last
camping-tree.

The principal citizens of Monterey, as soon as the arrival of Col.
Fremont was announced, assembled at the office of the alcalde, and
passed resolutions inviting him to a public dinner; but the urgency of
his immediate return obliged him to forego the proffered honor. At four
o’clock in the afternoon of the day succeeding that of their arrival,
the party were ready to start on their return. The two horses rode by
the colonel from San Luis Obispo, were a present to him from Don Jesúse,
who now desired him to make an experiment with the abilities of one of
them. They were brothers, one a year younger than the other, both the
same color—cinnamon—and hence called _el canelo_, or _los canelos_. The
elder was taken for the trial, and lead off gallantly as the party
struck the plain which stretches towards the Salinas. A more graceful
horse, and one more deftly mounted, I have never seen. The eyes of the
gathered crowd followed them till they disappeared in the shadows of the
distant hills. Forty miles on the hand-gallop, and they camped for the
night. Another day dawned, and the elder canelo was again under the
saddle of Col. Fremont, and for ninety miles carried him without change,
and without apparent fatigue. It was still thirty miles to San Luis,
where they were to pass the night, and Don Jesúse insisted that canelo
could easily perform it, and so said the horse in his spirited look and
action. But the colonel would not put him to the trial; and shifting the
saddle to the younger brother, the elder was turned loose to run the
remaining thirty miles without a rider. He immediately took the lead,
and kept it the whole distance, entering San Luis on a sweeping gallop,
and neighing with exultation on his return to his native pastures. His
younger brother, with equal spirit, kept the lead of the horses under
the saddle, bearing on his bit, and requiring the constant check of his
rider. The whole eight horses made their one hundred and twenty miles
each in this day’s ride, after having performed forty the evening
before. The elder cinnamon, who had taken his rider through the forty,
carried him ninety miles further to-day, and would undoubtedly have
taken him through the remaining thirty miles had Col. Fremont continued
him under the saddle.

After a detention of half a day at San Luis Obispo by a rain-storm, the
party resumed the horses they had left there, and which took them back
to los Angeles in the same time they had brought them up. Thus making
their five hundred miles each in four days, with the interval of repose
occupied in the ride from San Luis to Monterey and back. In this whole
journey from los Angeles to Monterey and back—making eight hundred and
forty miles—the party had actually but one relay of fresh horses; the
time on the road was about seventy-six hours. The path through the
entire route lies through a wild broken country, over ridges, down
gorges, around bluffs, and through gloomy defiles, where a traveller,
unused to these mountains, would often deem even the slow trot
impracticable. The only food which the horses had, except a few quarts
of barley at Monterey, was the grass on the road; though the trained and
domesticated horses, like the canelos, will eat or drink almost every
thing which their master uses. They will take from his caressing hand
bread, fruits, sugar, coffee; and, like the Persian horse, will not
refuse a bumper of wine. They obey with gentlest docility his slightest
intimation; a swing of his hand, or a tap of his whip on the saddle,
will spring them into instant action, while the check of a thread-rein
on the Spanish bit will bring them to a dead stand; and yet in these
sudden stops, when rushing at the top of their speed, they manage not to
jostle their rider, or throw him forward. They go where their master
directs, whether it be a leap on the foe, up a flight of stairs, or over
a chasm. But this is true only of the conduct and behavior of those
horses trained like the canelos, who vindicate, in the mountain glens of
California, their Arabian origin. They are all grace, fleetness, muscle,
and fire; gentle as the lamb, lively as the antelope, and fearless as
the lion.


                            MARINE REMAINS.

The hills around Monterey are full of marine shells. You can turn them
out wherever you drive your spade into the ground. The Indians dig and
burn them for lime, which is used in whitewashing the adobe walls of
houses, and which makes them glimmer in the sun like banks of
freshly-driven snow. It has not sufficient strength for the mason, but
no other was in use when we landed at Monterey. The first regular
lime-kiln was burnt by me for the town-hall I found the stone about ten
miles from Monterey, and the lime it produced of a superior quality.
When the lime, hair, lath, and sand were brought together, no little
curiosity was awakened by the heterogeneous mass, and the admiration was
equally apparent when each took its place and performed its part in the
plaster and hard finish of the wall and ceiling. Thousands came to see
the work; it was the lion of the day. But the curiosity of the geologist
would turn from this to the fossil oyster-shells in the hills; and when
he has exhausted those on the coast, let him turn inland, and he will
find on the mountains, two hundred miles from the sea, and on elevations
of a thousand feet, the same marine productions; and not only these, but
the skeleton of a whale almost entire. How came that monster up there,
high and dry, glimmering like the pale skeleton of a huge cloud between
us and the moon? Did the central fire which threw up the mountain ridge,
throw him up on its crest? How astonished he must have been to find
himself up there, blowing off steam among volcanoes and comets! Now let
our _savans_ quit their cockle-shells and petrified herring, and tell us
about that whale. They will find him near the rancho of Robert
Livermore, on a mountain which overlooks the great valley of the San
Joaquin. There he reposes in grim majesty, while the winds of ages pour
through his bleaching bones their hollow dirge.


                     THE TWO CLASSES OF EMIGRANTS.

The emigrants to California are composed of two classes—those who come
to live by their wits, and those who come to accumulate by their work.
The wit capitalists will find dupes for a time—small fish in shallow
waters—but a huge roller will soon heave them all high and dry! This is
the last country to which a man should come, who is above or beneath the
exercise of his muscles. Every object he meets addresses him in the
admonitory language which gleams in the motto of the Arkansas
bowie-knife—“root, hog, or die.” But then he has this encouragement: he
can root almost anywhere, but _root_ he must. They who come relying on
their physical forces, and who are largely endowed with the organs of
perseverance, will succeed. But if they stay too long in San Francisco,
their enthusiasm will have an ague-fit, and their golden dream turn to
sleet and hail. They should hasten through and dash at once into their
scene of labor; nor should they expect success without corresponding
efforts; if fortune favors them to-day, she will disappoint them
to-morrow; her favors and frowns fall with marvellous caprice; the
digger must be above the one and independent of the other; he must rely
upon his own resources; and upon his fidelity to one unchanged and
unchangeable purpose. He comes here to get gold, not in pounds or
ounces, but in grains; his most instructive lesson will be by the side
of the ant-hill. There he sees a little industrious fellow, foregoing
the pastimes of other insects, and bringing another grain to his heap;
working on with right good heart through the day, and sometimes taking
advantage of the moon, and plying his task through the luminous night.
Let him watch that ant, and go and do likewise, if he would return from
California with a fortune. I don’t recommend him to come here and
convert himself into a pismire for gold; but if he _will_ come, the more
he has of the habits of that little groundling the better.


                        CALIFORNIA ON CHARACTER.

Life in California impresses new features on old characters, as a fresh
mintage on antiquated coins. The man whose prudence in the States never
forsakes him, and whose practical maxim is, “a bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush,” will _here_ throw all his birds into the bushes,
seemingly for the mere excitement of catching them again. He finds
himself in an atmosphere so strongly stirred and stirring, that he must
whirl with it, and soon enjoys the strong eddy almost as much as the
still pool. He may hang perhaps a moment on the verge of a cataract, but
if it spreads below to a tranquil lake, down he goes, and emerges from
the boiling gulf calm and confident as if lord of the glittering
trident. Or he may have been, while in the States, remarked for his
parsimony, pinching every cent as it dropped into the contribution-box
as if there was a spasm between his avarice and alms. But in California
that cent so awfully pinched soon takes the shape of a doubloon, and
slides from his hand too easily to leave even the odor of its value
behind. I have known five men, who never contributed a dollar in the
States for the support of a clergyman subscribe here five hundred
dollars each per annum, merely to encourage, as they termed it, “a good
sort of a thing in the community.” I have seen a miser, who would have
sold a hob-nail from his heel for old iron, in bartering off his saddle
throw in the horse; and then exchange a lump of perfectly pure gold for
one half quartz, merely because it struck his fancy! Such are some of
the anomalies in character which a life in California produces. If you
doubt it, make the experiment, and you will soon find your own heart,
though gnarled as a knot, cracking open, and turning inside out like a
kernel of parched corn.


                            HEADS AND TAILS.

My friend William Blackburn, alcalde of Santa Cruz, often hits upon a
method of punishing a transgressor, which has some claims to originality
as well as justice. A young man was brought before him, charged with
having sheared, close to the stump, the sweeping tail of another’s
horse. The evidence of the nefarious act, and of the prisoner’s guilt,
was conclusive. The alcalde sent for a barber, ordered the offender to
be seated, and directed the tonsor to shear and shave him clean of his
dark flowing locks and curling moustache, in which his pride and vanity
lay This was hardly done, when Mr. B, counsel for the prisoner entered,
and moved an arrest of judgment. “Oh, yes,” said the alcalde, “as the
shears and razor have done their work, judgment may now rest.” “And
under what law,” inquired the learned counsel, “has this penalty been
inflicted?” “Under the Mosaic,” replied the alcalde: “that good old
rule—eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hair for hair.” “But,” said the
biblical jurist, “_that_ was the law of the Old Testament, which has
been abrogated in the New.” “But we are still living,” returned the
alcalde, “under the old dispensation, and must continue there till
Congress shall sanction a new order of things.” “Well, well,” continued
the counsel, “old dispensation or new, the penalty was too severe—a
man’s head against a horse’s tail!” “That is not the question,” rejoined
the alcalde: “it is the hair on the one against the hair on the other;
now as there are forty fiddles to one wig in California, the inference
is just, that horsehair of the two is in most demand, and that the
greatest sufferer in this case is still the owner of the steed.” “But,
then,” murmured the ingenious counsel, “you should consider the young
man’s pride.” “Yes, yes,” responded the alcalde, “I considered all that,
and considered too the stump of that horse’s tail, and the just pride of
his owner. Your client will recover his crop much sooner than the other,
and will manage, I hope, to keep it free of the barber’s department in
this court;” and with this, client and counsel were dismissed.


                          SPANISH COURTESIES.

The courtesies characteristic of the Spanish linger in California, and
seem, as you encounter them amid the less observant habits of the
emigration, like golden-tinted leaves of Autumn, still trembling on
their stems in the rushing verdure of Spring. They exhibit themselves in
every phase of society and every walk of life. You encounter them in the
church, in the fandango, at the bridal altar, and the hearse: they adorn
youth, and take from age its chilling severity. They are trifles in
themselves, but they refine social intercourse, and soften its
alienations. They may seem to verge upon extremes, but even then they
carry some sentiment with them, some sign of deference to humanity. I
received a cluster of wild-flowers from a lady, with a note in pure
Castilian, and bearing in the subscription the initials of the words,
which rudely translated mean, “I kiss your hand.” One might have felt
tempted to write her back—

                  Thou need’st not, lady, stoop so low
                    To print the gentle kiss:
                  Can hands return what lips bestow,
                    Or blush to show their bliss?




                             CHAPTER XXIX.

  THE TRAGEDY AT SAN MIGUEL.—COURT AND CULPRITS.—AGE AND CIRCUMSTANCES
    OF THOSE WHO SHOULD COME TO CALIFORNIA.—CONDITION OF THE
    PROFESSIONS.—THE WRONGS OF CALIFORNIA.—CLAIMS ON THE CHRISTIAN
    COMMUNITY.—JOURNALISTS.

Retribution follows fast on the heels of crime in California. Two
persons, a Hessian and Irishman, whom I had met in the Stanislaus, left
the mines for the seaboard. On their way to Stockton, they fell in with
two miners asleep under a tree, whom they murdered and robbed of their
gold; with this booty they hastened across the valley of the San
Joaquin, and skirting the mountains to avoid all frequented paths, held
their course south to La Solidad. Here they fell in with three deserters
from the Pacific squadron, who joined them, and the whole party
proceeded south to San Miguel, where they quartered themselves for the
night on the hospitality of Mr. Reade, an English ranchero of
respectability and wealth. In the morning they took their departure, but
had proceeded only a short distance, when it was agreed they should
return and rob their host. During the ensuing night they rose on the
household, consisting of Mr. Reade, his wife, and three children, a
kinswoman with four children, and two Indian domestics, and murdered the
whole! Having rifled the money-chest of a large amount of gold dust, the
blood-stained party renewed their flight south, and had reached a
secluded cove in a bend of the sea, below Santa Barbara, where they were
overtaken by a band of citizens, who had tracked them from the
neighborhood of San Miguel. The fugitives were armed, and avowed their
determination to shoot down any person who should attempt to apprehend
them. The citizens, though few, and badly provided with weapons, were
resolute and determined. A desperate conflict ensued, in which one of
the felons was shot dead; another, having discharged the last barrel of
his revolver, jumped into the sea and was drowned; the remaining three
were at length disarmed and secured. Of the citizens several were
wounded, and one—the father of a beloved family—lay a corpse! The next
morning, as there was no alcalde in the vicinity, the three prisoners
were brought before a temporary court organized for the purpose, wherein
twelve good and lawful men took oath to render judgment according to
conscience. Each person when brought to the bar told his own story,
inextricably involving his associates in the guilt of deliberate murder,
and who, in their turn, wove the same terrible web about him. Of their
guilt, though convicted without the testimony of an impartial witness,
no doubt remained to disturb the convictions of the court. They were
sentenced to death, and before the sun went down were in their graves!
The whole five were buried among the stern rocks which frown on the sea,
and which seem as if there to stay the tide of crime, as well as the
storms of ocean. What a tragedy of depravity and despair! Thirteen
innocent persons—men, women, and children—swept in an unsuspecting
moment from life; and the five perpetrators of the crime, crushed into a
hurried grave, under the avenging arm of justice! There is a spirit in
California that will rightly dispose of the murderer; it may at times be
hasty, and too little observant of the forms of law, but it reaches its
object; it leaves the guilty no escape through the defects of an
indictment, the ingenuity of counsel, or the clemency of the executive.
It plants itself on the ground that the first duty society owes itself,
is to protect its members; and to secure this object, it throws around
the sanctity of life, the defenses found in the terrors of death. The
grave is the prison which God has sunk in the path of the murderer. Let
not man attempt to bridge it.


                     WHO SHOULD STAY AND WHO COME.

The indiscretion with which so many thousands are rushing to California
will be a source of regret to them, and of sorrow to their friends. Not
one in twenty will bring back a fortune, and not more than one in ten
secure the means of defraying the expenses of his return. I speak now of
those whose plans and efforts are confined to the mines, and who rely on
the proceeds of their manual labor: when they have defrayed the expenses
incident to their position, liquidated all demands for food, clothing,
and implements for the year, their yellow heap will dwindle to a point.
This might serve as the nucleus of operations which are to extend
through a series of years; but as the result of the enterprise,
involving privation and hardship, is a failure, no man should come to
California under the impression that he can in a few months pick a
fortune out of its mines. He may here and there light on a more
productive deposit, but the chances are a hundred to one that his gains
will be slenderly and laboriously acquired. He is made giddy with the
reports of sudden wealth; these are the rare _prizes_, while the silence
of the grave hangs over the multitudinous _blanks_.

A young man endowed with a vigorous constitution, and who possesses
sterling habits of sobriety and application, and who has no dependencies
at home, can do well in California. But he should come with the resolute
purpose of remaining here eight or ten years, and with a spirit that can
throw its unrelaxed energies into any enterprise which the progress of
the country may develop. He must identify himself for the time being
with all the great interests which absorb attention, and quicken labor.
If he has not the enterprise and force of purpose which this requires,
he should remain at home. There is another class of persons whom
domestic obligations and motives of prudence should dissuade from a
California adventure. It is blind folly in a man, who has a family
dependent on him for a support, to exhaust the little means, which
previous industry and frugality have left, in defraying the expenses of
a passage here, with the vague hope that in a year or two he can return
with an ample competence. I respect his feelings and motives, but
honorable intentions cannot save him from disappointment. When the
expenses which the most rigid economy could not avoid have been paid,
and the obligations connected with the support of his family at home
have been discharged, the results of his enterprise will leave him poor.
He may never tell you of broken hopes and a shattered constitution, but
his hearth-stone is strewn with their pale, admonitory fragments. Let me
persuade those whom God has blessed with a faithful wife and interesting
family, not to abandon these objects of affection for the gold mines of
California. Do not come out here under the delusive belief that you can
in a few months, or a brief year, on the proceeds of the mattock and
bowl, accumulate a fortune. This has rarely if ever been done, even
where the deposits were first disturbed by the more fortunate
adventurer. If it could not be done in the green tree, what are you to
expect in the dry? If when the _placers_ were fresh, many gathered but
little more than sufficient to meet their current wants, what can you
anticipate when they are measurably exhausted? They who inflame your
imagination with tales of inexhaustible deposits which only wait your
spade and wash-bowl, abuse your credulity, and dishonor their own claims
to truth.


                     THE PROFESSIONS AND PURSUITS.

All the secular professions and more privileged or prescribed pursuits
in California are crowded to overflowing. Physicians are without
patients; lawyers without clients; surveyors without lands;
hydrographers without harbors; actors without audiences; painters
without pupils; financiers without funds; minters without metals;
printers without presses; hunters without hounds, and fiddlers without
fools. And all these must take to the plough, the pickaxe, and spade.
Even California, with all her treasured hills and streams, fell under
that primal malediction which threw its death-shade on the infant world.
It is as true here as among the granite rocks of New England—in the
sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread. Let none think to escape this
labor-destiny here; it environs the globe, and binds every nation and
tribe in its inexorable folds.

The merchant, whose shrewdness avails him everywhere else, will often be
wrecked here. The markets of a single month have all the phases of its
fickle moon. The slender crescent waxes into the circle; and the full
orb passes under a total eclipse. The man that figured on its front is
gone, and with him the hopes of the millionaire. The bullfrog in his
croaking pond, and the owl in his hooting tree, remain; but the
speculator, like a ghost at the glimmer of day, hath fled. You can only
dimly remember the phantom’s shape and where he walked, and half doubt
the dream in which he denizened and dissolved from sight. But still the
gulf of vision swarms with realities—with beings where the play of life
and death, joy and grief, wealth and want, are the portion of the living
and the legacy of the dead. California is a continent swelling between
the hopes of the future and the wrecks of the past; but like all other
continents, will be visited with the alternation of day and night. The
cloud will travel where the sunbeam hath been.


                         WRONGS OF CALIFORNIA.

The neglect and wrongs of California will yet find a tongue. From the
day the United States flag was raised in this country, she has been the
victim of the most unrelenting oppression. Her farmers were robbed of
their stock to meet the exigences of war; and her emigrants forced into
the field to maintain the conquest. Through the exactions of the
custom-house the comforts and necessaries of life were oppressively
taxed. No article of food or raiment could escape this forced
contribution; it reached the plough of the farmer, the anvil of the
smith; the blanket that protected your person, the salt that seasoned
your food, the shingle that roofed your cabin, and the nail that bound
your coffin. Even the light of heaven paid its contribution in its
windowed tariff. And who were the persons on whom these extortions fell?
Citizens whom the government had promised to relieve of taxation, and
emigrants who had exhausted their last means in reaching their new
abode! There was treachery and tyranny combined in the treatment which
they received. A less provocation sunk the dutied tea in the harbor of
Boston, and severed the indignant colonies from the British crown.

Nor does this gross injustice stop here: this oppressive tax was
enforced at a time when there was but little specie in the country; the
whole circulating medium was absorbed in its unrighteous demands. Nor
was the case materially relieved by the discovery of gold; this precious
ore was extorted at ten dollars the ounce, and forfeited at that
arbitrary valuation if not redeemed within a given time. There was no
specie by which it could be redeemed, and it went to the clutches of the
government at ten dollars, when its real value at our mints is eighteen
dollars. If this be not robbery, will some one define what that word
means? It was worse than robbery—it was swindling under the color of
law. All this has been carried on against a community without a
representation in our national legislature, and without any civil
benefits in return. Not even a light-house rose to relieve its onerous
injustice. Hundreds of thousands, not to say millions thus extorted, are
now locked up in the sub-treasury chest at San Francisco. Every
doubloon, dollar, and dime that reaches the country is forced under that
inexorable key. In this absorption of the circulating medium, commercial
loans can be effected only on ruinous rates of interest, and the civil
government itself is bankrupt.

Every dollar of these ill-gotten gains should be placed forthwith at the
disposal of the state of California. It belongs to her; it never was the
property of the United States under any law of Congress. It has been
exacted under executive circulars, under the naked dictates of arbitrary
power. I blame not the revenue functionaries of the general government
in California; they were bound by the orders and instructions which they
received; the responsibility rests nearer home: it rests with those who
have usurped and exercised powers not conferred by the Constitution, or
the consent of the American people. Nor do these aggressions and wrongs
stop here. Who has authorized a captain of U. S. dragoons to drive, at
the point of his flashing glaive, peaceful citizens from their gardens
and dwellings on the bay of San Francisco, under the pretext of a
government reservation, and then to farm out those grounds under a ten
years’ lease? Who has conferred this impudent stretch of authority, and
this private monopoly of the public domain? Let the citizens thus
trampled upon maintain their right, even with their rifles, till they
can be made the proper subjects of judicial investigation or legislative
action.


                        CLAIMS ON THE CHRISTIAN.

With the Christian community California has higher claims than those
which glitter in her mines. The moral elements which now drift over her
streams and treasured rocks will ere long settle down into abiding
forms. The impalpable will become the real, and the unsubstantial assume
a local habitation and a name. Shall these permanent shapes, into which
society is to be cast, take their plastic features from the impress of
blind accident and skeptical apathy, or the moulding hand of religion?
These primal forms must remain and wear for ages the traces of their
deformity or beauty, their guilty insignificance or moral grandeur.
Through them circulates your own life-blood; in them is bound up the
hopes of an empire. Not only the destiny of California is suspended on
the issue, but the fate of all the republics which cheer the shores of
the Pacific. The same treason to religion which wrecks the institutions
of this country, will sap the foundations of a thousand other glorified
shrines. It is for you, Christian brethren, to prevent such a disaster;
it is for you to pour into California an unremitted tide of holy light.
The Bible must throw its sacred radiance around every hearth, over every
stream, through every mountain glen. The voice of the heralds of
heavenly love must be echoed from every cliff and chasm and forest
sanctuary. On you devolves this mission of Christian fidelity. It is for
your faith and philanthropy to say what California shall be when her
swelling population shall burst the bounds of her domain. You can write
her hopes in ashes, or stars that shall never set. Every school-book and
Bible you throw among her hills will be a source of penetrating and
pervading light, when the torch of the caverned miner has gone out. The
images which you impress on her gold age will efface; but the insignia
of truth, stamped into her ardent heart, will survive the touch of time,
and gleam bright in the night of the grave.


                   PROPHETIC SHADOWS AND JOURNALISTS.

Coming events cast their shadows before. When Com. Jones, several years
since, captured Monterey, no political seer discovered in the event the
precursor of an actual, permanent possession. No flag waved on the
horoscope save the Mexican; no thunder broke on the ear of the augur,
except what disturbed the wrong quarter of the heaven; and even the
birds, which carried the fate of nations in their sounding beaks, flew
in a wrong direction. But the first occupation, though it came and went
as a shadow, was an omen, which has now become a reality—a great
eventful _fact_ in the history of the age. The commodore, who struck
this first uncertain blow, is now here entrusted with the defence of the
new acquisition. His spirit of intelligence and enterprise is making
itself felt in every department, that justly falls within the
prerogatives of a commander-in-chief.

There are a multitude of topics connected with the wild life and new
condition of affairs in California, which must escape the pen of any one
journalist. Some of them are touched with vivid force in the graphic
pictures of “El Dorado,” others are sketched with lively effect in the
pages of “Los Gringos,” while California as she was, before gold had
cankered her barbaric bliss, is thrown wildly on our vision, by the
author of “Two Years Before the Mast.” Her geography, the habits of her
citizens, and her resources, when little known beyond the furtive
glances of the coaster, are faithfully delineated in the pioneer pages
of Col. Fremont, Capt. Wilkes, and Mr. Robinson. Every traveller can
find in California some new untouched feature for a sketch. They unroll
themselves on the eye at every glance. With the reader they are rather
sources of wonder and amusement, than solid advantage. Our globe was
invested with no claims to utility till it had emerged from chaos; then
verdure clothed its hills and vales; then flowing streams made vocal the
forest aisles; then rolled the anthem of the morning star.




                              CHAPTER XXX.

  THE GOLD-BEARING QUARTZ.—THEIR LOCALITY.—RICHNESS AND
    EXTENT.—SPECIMENS AND DOUBTFUL CONCLUSIONS.—THE SUITABLE MACHINERY
    TO BE USED IN THE MOUNTAINS.—THE COURT OF ADMIRALTY AT MONTEREY.—ITS
    ORGANIZATION AND JURISDICTION.—THE CASES DETERMINED.—SALE OF THE
    PRIZES.—CONVENTION AND CONSTITUTION OF CALIFORNIA.—DIFFICULTIES AND
    COMPROMISES.—SPIRIT OF THE INSTRUMENT.

The surface gold in California will in a few years be measurably
exhausted; the occasional discovery of new deposits cannot long postpone
such a result; nor will it be delayed for any great number of years, by
any more scientific and thorough method of securing the treasure.
California will prove no exception in these respects to other sections
of the globe where surface gold has been found. The great question is,
will her mountains be exhausted with her streams and valleys? Will her
rock gold give out with her alluvial deposits? The gold-bearing quartz
is the sheet-anchor at which the whole argosy rides; if this parts, your
golden craft goes to fragments.

When an old Sonoranian told me in the mines that the quartz _sweated_
out the gold, all the young savans around laughed at the old man’s
stupidity; and I must say the _perspiration_ part of the business rather
staggered my credulity, which has some compass, where there are no laws
to guide one. But the old digger was nearer the truth than many who have
more felicitous terms in which to express their theories. Though the
gold may not ooze from the quartz as water drips from a rock, yet it is
_there_, and often beads from the surface like a tear that has lost its
way among the dimples of a lady’s cheek. In other instances it shows
itself only in fine veins; and in others still, is wholly concealed from
the naked eye, and even eludes the optical instrument; but when reduced
to powder with the quartz, flies to the embrace of quicksilver, and
takes a virgin shape, massive and rich. The specimens of quartz which
have been subjected to experiment, have yielded from one to three
dollars the pound. These specimens were gathered at different points, in
the foot range of the Sierra Nevada, and are deemed only a fair average
of the yield that may be derived from the quartz.

The gold rocks of Georgia and Virginia yield, on an average, less than
half a cent to the pound, and yet the profits are sufficient to justify
deep mining. What then must be the profits of working a rock which lies
near the surface, and which yields over a dollar to the pound! The
result staggers credulity; and we seek a refuge from the weakness of
faith in the more reasonable persuasion, that the specimens tested are
richer than the average of the veins and quarries which remain. And yet
the poorest specimen, which the casual blow of the sledge has knocked
from the sunlit peak, has seemingly more gold in its shadow, than the
rock unhouseled from its mine in Virginia beneath forty fathoms of
darkness. The only real defence for our incredulity lies in the
presumption, that the gold-bearing quartz, like the surface deposits,
has its confined localities. And yet Mr. Wright, our member of Congress
from California, who has traversed the slopes of the Sierra, collected
more specimens, and made more experiments than any other individual, is
sanguine in the opinion that the gold-bearing quartz occupies a broad
continuous vein through the entire extent of the foot range: and in this
opinion the Hon. T. Butler King, in his lucid report, coincides. Still
such a wide departure in nature from all her known laws, or capricious
impulses, in the distribution of gold, leaps beyond my belief. In no
other part of her wide domain has she deposited in the quartz rock a
proportion of gold more than sufficient barely to compensate the hardy
miner: and it is difficult to believe, that with all her affection for
California, she has been so prodigal of her gifts. It surpasses the
rainbow-inwoven coat bestowed by the partial love of the patriarch on
his favorite child.

When a simple swain saw a necromancer break a cocoanut shell and let fly
half a dozen canary birds, he remarked, there was no doubt the young
birds were hatched in the cocoanut; but what puzzled him was, to know
how the old bird could get in to lay the eggs. But a deeper puzzle with
me is, that each and every cocoanut on this California tree, should have
a nest of canaries in it. And yet, with all these dogged doubts and
dismal dissuasives, were I going to invest in California speculations,
my inklings would turn strongly to quartz and stampers.

But I would send out no machinery which should have a piece in it
weighing over seventy or eighty pounds: no other can be taken through
the gorges, and over the acclivities to the lofty steeps where the
quartz exists. The machinery which can be readily taken to the mines in
Virginia, would cost a fortune in its transportation to the proper
localities in California. The heaviest capitalist would find himself
swamped before he got to work. Every piece must be taken over elevations
where a man can hardly draw himself up, and where his life is often
suspended on the strength of the fibres which twine the bush to the
fissures of the rock. It should be so light as to render its removal to
any new and more productive locality practicable, without involving a
ruinous expense. A machine wielding the force of one man, and stamping
on the spot, will be more productive than a forty-horse power working at
a distance. All the transportation must be done by hand, for no animal
can subsist among the steeps where the quartz prevail. Watch the eagle
as he soars to his high cliff with a writhing snake in his beak, and
then seize your light machinery and pursue his track. But, chained to a
heavy engine, you would make about as much progress as that mountain
bird with his talons driven into the back of a mastodon or whale.


                          COURT OF ADMIRALTY.

There were seven prize cases introduced into the court of admiralty at
Monterey, on which condemnation and sale of the property libelled
ensued. They were all clearly cases of legal capture, and came under the
well-established rule of international law, that the hostile character
attaches to the commerce of the neutral domiciled in the enemy’s
country. This rule is enforced by every consideration of sound policy
and national justice. If the flag of the neutral can protect the
property over which it waves, the entire commerce of the belligerent
might assume this neutral garb, and be as safe in time of war as peace.
To prevent such an abuse, the comity of nations has conceded the general
principle, that all commerce flowing to or emanating from a mercantile
house, established in the enemy’s country, shall be deemed hostile, and
be held liable to seizure.

A much more difficult question arose connected with the competency of
the court. Its organization arose out of the exigences of war; the
alternative lay between a recognition of its jurisdiction, and the
extreme right of the belligerent to burn and sink his captures.
Congress, in a declaration of war, virtually invests the executive with
authority to prosecute it, and secure the ends for which it has been
waged. He is necessarily entrusted with extraordinary discretion and
corresponding powers; when, in the due prosecution of these measures, he
finds himself borne beyond their statutory provisions, and surrounded by
exigences, lying at the time perhaps beyond the purview of legislative
enactment, he must either forego the objects which animated the acts of
the national legislature, or temporarily assume the responsibility which
the crisis demands. He must authorize the maintenance of civil
government in territories acquired by our arms, and judicial proceedings
in cases of capture on the high seas, which cannot be brought within the
jurisdiction of our established courts.

Nor is there any thing in such judicial proceedings which trenches upon
the laws of nations; these laws never assume the right to define the
powers vested in the executive of a realm. They claim no authority to
bring into court the constitutional prerogatives of a prince or of the
president of a republic; these are questions which appertain to the
forms of government where the acts originate, where the power is
exercised, and which must be disposed of as the wisdom of the nation may
deem proper. It is enough that national law allows the captor at his
peril to burn or sink his prize. Any executive measure to prevent such a
precipitate result, and to subject the legality of the capture to the
forms of a judicial investigation, is in accordance with every dictate
of moral justice, and that strong sense of right which binds every
civilized nation in a period of war as well as peace. Nor can the
captor, from a want of jurisdiction in the court that determines his
case, lose his prize. All the claimant can do is to require him to
appear before a court of competent authority, where the case must be
examined and decided _de novo_ on its merits. This great principle in
maritime jurisprudence has been recognized and confirmed in the decision
of the High Court of Admiralty in England. Half a century has rolled
over that decision, but its authoritative force remains firm and
unshaken as the base of the sea-girt isle.

It devolved on the court at Monterey not only to determine the prize
cases submitted, but to assume an onerous responsibility in the disposal
of the property libelled and condemned. The cargo of one of these prizes
consisted of a large amount of cotton, paper, and iron, destined to a
Mexican market, and for which there was no adequate demand in
California. The highest cash bid that could be procured at a sale duly
notified, was $34,000. To this bid the property must be knocked down, or
surrendered to a credit bid of $60,000, involving conditions for the
benefit of the purchaser wholly inadmissible in law. In this perplexity
I bid the ship and cargo in; placed a faithful, competent agent and crew
on board, and sent the whole to Mazatlan, which had become a port of
entry. The result was, that after discharging all claims existing
against the property, I paid over to the Secretary of the Navy, as the
net proceeds of the sales, the sum of $68,000, and stand credited with
that amount on the books of the department. But this is rather a matter
of personal service than a topic of public interest; it is, however,
connected with official duty, and exhibits one of the many forms in
which private responsibility may be tasked in saving from sacrifice
property confided to its care. A failure in such cases often brings
ruin; and even success may be obliged to seek its meagre remuneration
through the slow forms of legislative relief.


                      CONSTITUTION OF CALIFORNIA.

The desires of the people of California for a civil government, suited
to their new condition, at length found utterance at the ballot-box. The
best informed and most sedate of her citizens were elected in their
several districts, and commissioned to proceed to Monterey, for the
purpose of drafting in concert the provisions of a constitution. Never
were interests, habits, and associations more diverse than those
represented in this body. Unanimity could be reached only through the
largest concessions. It was the conquerors and the conquered, the
conservatives and the progressives; they who owned the lands, and they
who worked the mines, assembling to frame organic laws which should
equally secure and bind the interests of all. No cloud ever cast its
shadow on equal incongruities grouped in cliffs and chasms, pinnacles
and precipices, without having it broken into a thousand fragments. But
the honest and patriotic purpose which animated the convention, raised
that body above all national prejudice and local interests, and poured
its spirit in blending power over its measures. They had been
commissioned to plan and perfect a constitution for California, and they
were true to their trust. Day after day they labored at that eventful
instrument; no passion, no prejudice disturbed their counsels: where
opinions clashed, they were softened; where interests jarred, they were
harmonized; where local feeling sought assertion, it was surrendered.
Till at last, through this spirit of deference, compromise, and public
concern, the instrument was finished. And now let us glance at its
prominent features.

This constitution is thoroughly democratic; no prescriptive privileges,
or invidious distinctions are recognized; the interests of the great
mass fill every provision. Political and social equality are its bases,
while the rights of private judgment and individual conscience flow
untrammelled through its spirit. It is the embodiment of the American
mind, throwing its convictions, impulses, and aspirations into a
tangible, permanent shape. It is the creed of the thousands who wield
the plough, the plane, the hammer, the trowel, and spade. It is the
palladium of freedom, rolled in from the seaboard, and down from the
mountains, and which has caught its echoes from every river, steep, and
valley. It is the fraternal oath of a great people, uttered in the
presence of God and the hearing of nations. Millions will turn their
eyes to the fulfilment of its promises, when time and disaster have
engulfed the monuments of their own splendor and strength.

The 13th of October, 1849, will never fade from the annals of
California. It was not the sun, circling up into a broad and brilliant
heaven, that gave this morn its brightness: it was not the thunder of
the Pacific on the sea-beaten strand, that gave the day its impressive
force: it was not the long heavy roll of the artillery that most
signalized the hour; nor the harmony of the winds rolling their anthems
from the steep forests that stirred most strongly the human heart. It
was the silent signatures of the members of the convention to the
constitution, which had been confided to their wisdom and patriotic
fidelity. It was this last crowning act in an eventful moral enterprise,
having its source in the exigences of a great community. I wonder not
the old pioneer of the Sacramento pronounced it the greatest day of his
life; I wonder not that the veteran “Hero of Contreras” forgot the
laurels gathered on that field of fame, in the higher and nobler honors
showered upon him in this day’s achievements. It was his steady purpose
and fearless responsibility that threw into organized forms and
practical results, the plans and purposes of the people of California.
He will find his reward in the happiness and prosperity of a great
state, over which the flag of the Union shall never cease to wave. The
tide of Anglo-Saxon blood stops not here; it is to circulate on other
shores, continents, and isles; its progress is blent with the steady
triumphs of commerce, art, civilization, and religion. It will yet flow
the globe round, and beat in every nation’s pulse; morn will not blush,
or twilight fade where its swelling wave is not; its guiding-star is
above the disasters in which the purposes of man are sphered.

I regret my limits will not permit me to follow the Pacific squadron,
under the command of Com. Shubrick, to the Mexican coast. The capture
and occupation of Mazatlan has hardly stirred a whisper in the trump of
fame, which has poured out such strains on the other side of the
continent. And yet this achievement of the commodore had in it a spirit
of wisdom, resolution, and firmness that might emblazon a much loftier
page than mine. When the history of the Mexican war shall be written,
and the services of those who shared in its hardships and perils be duly
recognized, Com. Shubrick, with the gallant officers and brave men
attached to his command, will receive a lasting meed of merited renown.
It is now silently written in that international compact which
terminated the apprehensions of one republic and sealed the triumphs of
another. It was the waving of the stars and stripes on the strand of the
Pacific which left a forlorn hope without a refuge, and coerced the
terms of an honorable peace; and long may that peace remain unbroken by
the monster of discord and war.




                             CHAPTER XXXI.

  GLANCES AT TOWNS SPRUNG AND SPRINGING.—SAN
    FRANCISCO.—BENICIA.—SACRAMENTO
    CITY.—SUTTER.—VERNON.—BOSTON.—STOCKTON.—NEW
    YORK.—ALVEZO.—STANISLAUS.—SONORA.—CRESCENT CITY.—TRINIDAD.

The growth of towns in California is so rapid, that before you can
sketch the last, a new one has sprung into existence. You go to work on
this, and dash down a few features, when another glimmers on your
vision, till at last you become like the English surgeon at the battle
of Waterloo; who began by bandaging individuals, but found the wounded
brought in so fast he declared he must splinter by the regiment.


SAN FRANCISCO.—This town has thrice been laid in ashes; but the young
phœnix has risen on ampler wings than those which steadied the consumed
form of its parent. It must be the great commercial emporium of
California in spite of competition, wind, and flame. Its direct
connection with the sea, its magnificent bay and internal
communications, have settled the question of its ultimate grandeur. It
may be afflicted with grog-shops and gamblers, and the mania of
speculation, but these are temporary evils which time, a higher moral
tone, and the more steady pursuits of man will remedy. Three years ago
only a dozen shanties sprinkled its sand-hills; now, even with its heart
burnt out, it looks like the skeleton of a huge city. That heart will be
reconstructed, and send the life-blood leaping through the system.


BENICIA.—This town on the straits of Carquinas has the advantages of a
bold shore, a quiet anchorage, and depth of water for ships of any size.
Even without being a port of entry, it must become in time a large
commercial depot. The small craft which float the waters of the Suisun,
Sacramento, and San Joaquin, and which are ill suited to the rough bay
below, will here deposit their cargoes. It has been selected as the most
feasible site for a navy yard, and the army stores are already housed on
its quay. It was first selected as the site of a city by Robert Semple,
president of the Constitution Convention, and rose rapidly into
importance under his fostering care, and the energetic measures of
Thomas O. Larkin.


SACRAMENTO CITY.—The site of this town on the eastern bank of the
Sacramento, at its junction with the Rio Americano, presents many
picturesque features. It is a town in the woods, with the native trees
still waving over its roofs. The sails of the shipping are inwoven with
the masses of shade, which serve as awnings. Roads diverge from it to
the mines on the North, Middle, and South Forks, Bear, Juba, and Feather
rivers. The town has been swept by one inundation from the overflow of
the Americano. It came upon the inhabitants like a thief in the night;
they had only time to jump from their beds; the roaring flood was at
their heels: some reached the shipping, and some sprung into the tops of
the trees. But a levee is now going up which will shut out the flood;
while brick and slate will ward off the flame. This place is destined to
figure among the largest towns of California.


SUTTER.—This town, which bears the name of the old pioneer on whose
lands it stands, is beautifully located on the Sacramento, at the head
waters of navigation. From it issue the roads leading to all the
northern mines; the site is not subject to overflow, and the country
around possesses great fertility. It has a large commercial business:
its central position must secure its prosperity. Its proprietors are
Capt. Sutter and John McDougal, lieutenant-governor of the
state—gentlemen who pursue the most liberal policy, and reap their
reward in the growth of their town.


VERNON.—This is the only town on Feather river, and stands at the
confluence of that stream with the Sacramento. It is above the reach of
any inundation, and commands a country of wildly varied aspect. Its
location, rather than buildings or business, invest it with interest.
Its importance is prospective; but the future is fast becoming the
present. Its projectors are Franklin Bates, E. O. Crosby, and Samuel
Norris.


BOSTON.—This town is located on the American Fork at its junction with
the Sacramento. The plot of the town is beautiful—its situation
agreeable. Direct roads issue from it to the placers of the Yuba,
Feather river, the North, Middle, and South forks of the Americano. Like
Sacramento City, it is located within the grant of Capt. Sutter, whose
title to the enterprising proprietors will undoubtedly be found valid.
Several buildings have been erected, which give an air of stability to
the flapping tents which shadow its avenues.


STOCKTON.—This flourishing town is located at the head of an arm of the
Suisun bay, and is accessible to small steamers. It stands in the centre
of a vast fertile plain, and on a position sufficiently elevated to
exempt it from inundation. It is the commercial depot for the southern
mines; the miners on the Mokelumne, Stanislaus, Tuolumne, Mariposa,
Mercedes, and King’s river, are supplied with provisions and clothing
from its heavy storehouses. It will yet loom largely in the map of
California.


NEW YORK.—This town is located on the triangle formed by the junction of
the San Joaquin river and Suisun bay, with its base resting on a broad
plain, covered with clusters of live-oak. The banks of the river and bay
are bold, and above the reach of tide and freshet. The bay is
represented on the surveys which have been made as having sufficient
depth for merchantmen of the largest class. The communication with the
sea lies through the broad strait of the Carquinas. The town will
naturally command the commerce of the San Joaquin and its numerous
tributaries. The projectors of the town are Col. Stevenson and Dr.
Parker.


ALVEZO.—This town is situated at the head of the great bay of San
Francisco, on the Gaudalupe, which flows through it. It is the natural
depot of the commerce which will roll in a broad exhaustless tide,
through the fertile valleys of Santa Clara and San José. It lies
directly in the route to the gold and quicksilver mines, with a climate
not surpassed by that of any locality in the northern sections of
California. The fertility of the surrounding country must ere long make
itself felt in the growth and prosperity of this town. San Francisco is
dependant on the products of its horticulture. Fortunes might be made by
any persons who would go there and devote themselves exclusively to
gardening. But it is not in man to raise cabbages in a soil that
contains gold. The proprietors of the town are J. D. Hoppe, Peter H.
Burnett, and Charles B. Marvin.


STANISLAUS.—This town, situated at the junction of the Stanislaus and
San Joaquin, is fast rising into consideration. It is the highest point
to which the lightest steamer can ascend, and is in the immediate
vicinity of the richest mines in California. From its storehouses
supplies are destined to flow through the whole southern mines. The
placers on the Stanislaus, Tuolumne, Mercedes, and King’s river must
contribute to its growing wealth. It is in the direct route from
Monterey to the mines—a route which has been surveyed in reference to a
great public road, and through which a portion of the commerce of the
Pacific will one day roll. This town was projected by Samuel Brannan,
the sagacious leader of the Mormon battalion in California.


SONORA and CRESCENT CITY.—These towns, perched up among the gold mines
which overlook the San Joaquin, derive their importance from no river or
bay; their resources are in the rocks and sands of the mountain freshet.
They are the miner’s home—his winter quarters—his metropolis, to which
he goes for society, recreation, repose, frolic, and fun. Through the
livelong night the rafters ring with resounding mirth, while the storm
unheeded raves without. Of all the sites for a hamlet which I have met
with in the mining region, I should prefer the one at the head of a
ravine near the sources of the Stanislaus. It is a natural amphitheatre,
throwing on the eye its sweeping wall of wild cliffs and waving shade.
From the green bosom of its arena swells a slight elevation, covered
with beautiful evergreen trees. A little rivulet leaps from a rock, and
sings in its sparkling flow the year round; while the leaves, as if in
love with the spot, whisper in the soft night-wind. Many a night have I
stood there in silent revery, watching the bright stars, the trembling
shadows of the trees, and listening to the silver lay of the streamlet.
The Coliseum, with its melancholy night-bird and solemn grandeur, can
never rival this temple of nature.


                           THE ONE MOON TOWN.

The recent discovery of Trinidad bay, which lies about two hundred miles
north of San Francisco, will have a material effect on the local
interests of the country. It will open a new channel of commerce into
the northern mines, and render accessible the finest forests in
California. This bay, as represented, has sufficient depth and capacity
to shelter a large marine. A town has already been laid out on the curve
of its bold shore; streets, squares, and edifices have ceased to figure
on the map, and become a reality. Where but one moon since the shark and
seal plunged and played at will, freighted ships are riding at anchor;
while the indignant bear has only had time to gather up her cubs and
seek a new jungle.

Before this sheet can get to press, there will be a daily on Trinidad
bay, with the price-current of New York and London figuring in its
columns, and an opera of Rossini singing its prelude between the reeling
anthems of the church-going bell. Why, man! you talk of the slumbers of
Rip Van Winkle, and the visions of the seven sleepers of Ephesus! Know
you not the whole world is asleep, save what wakes and works on Trinidad
bay? It takes an age in other lands to rear a city; but here, one phase
of the fickle moon, and up she comes, like Venus from the wave, or the
peak of Pico at the call of the morning star. Clear the coast with your
old dormitory hulks of slumbering ages, and let this new Trinidad launch
her keeled thunder! Her pennant unrolls itself in flame on the wind, and
her trident is tipt with the keen lightning. The great whale of the
Pacific turns here his startled gaze—plunges, and blows next half-way to
Japan.

          Hurra for Trinidad! Let nations sleep,
            And empires moulder in their misty shroud;
          She shakes her trident on her golden steep,
            O’er waving woods, in solemn reverence bowed;
          Her bright aurora throws its flashing ray
          Where primal worlds in sunless darkness stray!

          A shout from those touched orbs comes rolling back,
            As rose the anthem of this earth, when first
          Around the night that sphered her rayless track,
            The breaking morn in golden splendors burst—
          The king of chaos sees the new-born light,
          And, howling, plunges down the gulf of night.

OLD AND WELL-TRIED FRIENDS.

I must not forget in my reveries over the map marvels of the new towns,
the fireside friends of good old Monterey. Among _them_ my three years
circled their varied rounds, now stored with memories that can never
die. I must introduce them to the reader before we part, and pay them
the tribute of a farewell word. They have no splendor of outward
circumstance to stir your wonder, but hearts as true as ever throbbed in
the human breast. Here is David Spence, from the hills of Scotland, a
man of unblemished integrity and sterling sense, married to a daughter
of the late Don José Estrada, a resident of twenty-five years in
Monterey, my predecessor in the office of alcalde, and recently prefect
of the department. Here is W. P. Hartnell, from England, married into
the Noriega family, the best linguist in the country, and the government
translator, with the claims of a twenty-seven years’ residence, and a
circle of children, in which yours, my gentle reader, would only appear
as a few more added to a sweeping flock.

Here is Don Manuel Dias, a native of Mexico, married to a sister of Mrs.
Spence, a gentleman whose urbanity and intelligence honors his origin.
Here is James McKinley, a gentleman of liberality and wealth from the
Grampian Hills, married to a daughter of a Spanish Don from the Bay of
Biscay. Here is Don Manuel Jimeno, once secretary of state, married into
the Noriega family, to a lady of sparkling wit and gentle benevolence.
Here is Milton Little, a man of mind and means, who broke into
California many years ago from the west, and whom I joined in wedlock to
a fair daughter of the empire state. Here is Don José Abrigo, blest with
wealth, enterprise, and a fine family of boys. Here is J. P. Lease, from
Missouri, long resident in California, with ample fortune and generous
heart, and whose amiable wife is the sister of Gen. Vallejo. Here is
James Watson, born on the Thames; came to Monterey twenty-five years
since, married a lady of the country, is now a heavy capitalist, with a
charity open as day. Here is Charles Walter, of German origin, a
resident of many years, married into the Estrada family, and possessed
of wealth. Here is Gov. Pulacio, from Lower California—a gentleman of
the old school—with a wife and daughter imbued with the same spirit of
refinement. Here is J. F. Dye, from our own shores, long identified with
the interests of the country, and married to one of its daughters. Here
are Messrs. Toomes & Thoms, bosom friends, partners in business, and men
of enterprise and substance. Here is James Stokes, from England, for
twenty-five years a citizen of Monterey, a merchant, farmer, and doctor,
married to a lady of the country, in whom the afflicted always find a
friend.

Here is Señor Soveranez, whose saloon is lit by eyes bright as nuptial
tapers, and where the Castilian flows soft as if warbled by a bird. Here
is Padre Ramirez, an intelligent, liberal, and warm-hearted canon of the
Catholic church; and also the Rev. S. H. Willey, of the Protestant
persuasion, who is organizing a society, and who has the zeal and energy
to carry the enterprise through. Monterey lost one of its most cherished
ladies, when Mrs. Larkin took her departure. Here for eighteen years she
had lent a charm to its society. She was the first lady from the United
States that settled in California. Long will the good old town lament
the departure of T. H. Green. His enterprise and integrity as a
merchant, and his benevolence as a citizen, were everywhere felt. The
widow and the orphan ever found in him a generous friend. Nor must I
forget the young and gentle Saladonia, who has often hovered like a
ministering angel in the family of the poor emigrant. Nor must I pass
unheeded the grave of my revered friend Don Juan Malerine, beloved in
life, and who died

             “Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
             About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”




                             CHAPTER XXXII.

  BRIEF NOTICES OF PERSONS WHOSE PORTRAITS EMBELLISH THIS VOLUME, AND
    WHO ARE PROMINENTLY CONNECTED WITH CALIFORNIA AFFAIRS.


                          JOHN CHARLES FREMONT

Is a native of South Carolina—was born in 1813—received his education at
Charleston College, and first evinced the vigor of his mathematical
genius in the efficient aid rendered the accomplished Nicollet in his
survey of the basin of the upper Mississippi. The importance of this
service was acknowledged by the government in his appointment as a
lieutenant in the corps of Topographical Engineers. In 1841 the war
department confided to him the interests and objects of an expedition to
the Rocky Mountains, in which he discovered and mapped the South Pass.
The scientific results of this adventure awakened in the public mind an
intense enthusiasm for a more extended exploration. In the following
year he left the frontier settlements at the head of a small party,
crossed the Rocky Mountains, discovered and surveyed the great valley of
the Salt Lake, and extended his researches into Oregon and California.
These explorations, which occupied the greater portion of two years,
were not confined to topographical questions; they embraced all the
departments of natural history, with extended meteorological
observations. They fill a volume, in which the trophies of science are
blended with the incidents of the wildest adventure.

In 1844, the explorer left the United States again for the western
slopes of the Sierra Nevada, and had descended into California, when the
declaration of war suspended his scientific pursuits, and summoned him
to the field. He had been honored successively with the rank of captain,
major, and colonel. A battalion of riflemen enrolled themselves under
his command. Their campaign, in the winter of 1846, impressed its
intrepid spirit and heroic action on the fate of the war. Constrained by
the orders of a superior, Col. Fremont was again in the United States;
where, having declined a return of his commission, which he had adorned
with eminent service, he threw himself, with unrepressed spirit, on his
own energies, and started again for California. This was his seventh
adventure across the continent; and owing to the lateness of the season,
was attended with hardships and privations, in which many of his brave
mountaineers perished. But his force of purpose triumphed over the
elements, and carried him through. The new territory, in the vast
accessions of a rushing emigration, had suddenly risen to the dignity of
a commonwealth. A United States senator was to be chosen: it was the
highest office within the gift of the people, and they conferred it,
without distinction of party, on Col. Fremont. The decree of a military
tribunal, bound to those rigid rules of discipline which never bend to
the force of circumstance, may dispose of the parchment honors of a
commission, but the public services and private worth of the individual
must remain; the substantial benefits conferred on mankind must remain;
the path opened to the golden gates of the west must remain; the flag of
the country still fly along its fortified line, and the great tide of
emigration roll through its avenue for ages. If Humboldt be the Nestor
of scientific travellers, and Audubon the interpreter of nature, Col.
Fremont is the Pathfinder of empire.


                            WILLIAM M. GWIN

Was born in Sumner county, Tennessee, in 1805. His father, the Rev.
James Gwin, was a distinguished divine in the Methodist Episcopal
church, and one of its founders in the West. He was for fifty years the
intimate and confidential friend of Gen. Jackson, and chaplain to his
army during the late war with England. Dr. Gwin was graduated at
Transylvania University, in Kentucky, and practised his profession, with
eminent success for several years, in his native state and Mississippi.
He relinquished his profession in 1833, and was appointed, by Gen.
Jackson, Marshal of Mississippi,—an office which he filled until after
the election of Gen. Harrison to the presidency, when he became a
candidate for congress, and was elected by a large majority.

He was remarked, during the session, as a ready, forcible debater, and
was renominated by his district with great unanimity, but declined
running, owing to pecuniary embarrassments incurred while he held the
office of marshal, and brought about by the paper money system, which
involved Mississippi in bankruptcy, and especially the public officers,
who, like Dr. Gwin, had been induced, under the decisions of the courts,
to take this irresponsible paper in payment of executions. In 1846, Dr.
Gwin removed to New Orleans, and was soon after appointed commissioner
to superintend the erection of the custom-house in that city, destined
to be one of the largest public edifices in the country. From this
position he retired on the election of Gen. Taylor to the presidency,
and emigrated to California, where he engaged actively in organizing a
state government. He was elected a member of the convention from San
Francisco, and bore a prominent, influential part in its debates and
proceedings, which resulted in the present noble constitution. The
importance of these services were duly recognized by the people of
California, and they testified their regard and confidence in conferring
on him the dignity of a United States senator. He will have it in his
power to do much for the new state, and we feel assured she will find in
him a resolute champion of her rights.


                         THOMAS OLIVER LARKIN.

Born in Charleston, Mass., 1803, and emigrated to California eighteen
years since. The same spirit of adventure which took him to this
country, characterized his subsequent career. He came here without
capital, and with no sources of reliance save in his own enterprise and
activity. There was then no gold out of which a fortune could be
suddenly piled, and no established channels of business through which a
man could become regularly and safely rich. But this unsettled state of
affairs was suited to the enterprising spirit of Mr. Larkin. He often
projected enterprises and achieved them, seemingly through the boldness
of the design; but there was ever behind this a restless energy that
pushed them to a successful result. Many and most of the public
improvements were planned and executed by him; the only wharf and
custom-house on the coast were erected through his activity.

Through all the revolutions which convulsed the country, he held the
post of United States consul, and vigilantly protected our commercial
interests and the rights of our citizens. He was deeply concerned in all
the measures which at length severed California from Mexico, and loaned
his funds and credit to a large amount in raising means to meet the
sudden exigences of the war. The Californians, to cut off these
supplies, managed at last, very adroitly, to capture him, and held him
as a hostage in any important contingency. But the work had already been
measurably accomplished, and a restoration of prisoners soon followed.
Mr. Larkin early engaged in the organization of a civil government—was a
delegate from Monterey to the convention for drafting a constitution,
and impressed his practical genius on many of its provisions. He has
never been a candidate for any office, and resigned that of Navy Agent,
with which he had been honored, as soon as the condition of public
affairs would allow. His commercial enterprise and sagacity work best
where they have the most scope; they have secured to him an ample
fortune. His house has always been the home of the stranger; his
hospitalities are ever on a scale with his ample means.


                           GEORGE W. WRIGHT.

Among the successful adventurers into California, Mr. Wright holds a
prominent place. He was born in Massachusetts in 1816, where he received
a business education, and commenced life with no capital beyond his own
enterprise and sagacity. Through these he won his way to a partnership
in a large commercial house, extensively engaged in the whaling service
and its correlative branches of trade. Without disturbing these
relations, he determined to push his adventures into California, where
he arrived soon after the discovery of the _placers_, and engaged in the
commerce of the country. Success and a rapid accumulation of capital
attended his efforts. A large banking-house at San Francisco was
proposed, and he became the leading partner. This house has withstood
all the shocks which have carried ruin to many others, and maintained
its credit unshaken. At the adoption of the constitution, two members of
Congress were to be chosen, and Mr. Wright was elected to this honorable
position. This token of confidence and regard was the more to be
appreciated, as it resulted from no constrained party organization, but
the decided preference of the citizens, expressed at the ballot-box.

Mr. Wright was the first to collect specimens of the gold-bearing
quartz. He traversed the foot hills of the Sierra Nevada for this
purpose, and underwent many hardships and perils. He was often for days
on the very shortest allowance, and obliged to share even this with his
famished mule. The quartz frequently seam the loftiest ridges, and can
be reached only through the most exhausting fatigue. None but those of
iron muscles can scale the soaring steep, or dislodge, with steady hand
and head, the treasured vein in the giddy verge. Against these obstacles
Mr. Wright persevered, and gathered a great variety of specimens,
curious in themselves and often rich, but valued mainly as indications
of the wealth of the quartz, and as leading-clues to their localities.
They will serve to stimulate the exertions and guide the footsteps of
the subsequent miner. They are not stowed away as secrets for the
exclusive benefit of the discoverer: the information they impart is free
to all. The only danger lies in conclusions too glowing for the reality,
and those hasty adventures in which anticipation overleaps the laborious
process. The specimens are genuine, and have been pronounced at the mint
the richest that have been tested. The _extent_ to which the
gold-bearing quartz prevails can be thoroughly known only in the results
of mining operations. It has been found in different localities between
Feather river and the Mariposa; and if it approaches in value the most
ordinary specimens gathered by Mr. Wright and myself, will munificently
reward the labors of the miner, and will upset all geological deductions
connected with gold-bearing quartz in other countries.


                            JACOB R. SNYDER.

Born in Philadelphia, 1813, emigrated to the west in 1834, and has been
for the last five years a citizen of California. At the commencement of
hostilities in that country, Com. Stockton, then in command of the land
and naval forces, confided to him the organization of an artillery
corps, and subsequently conferred on him the appointment of
quarter-master to the battalion of mounted riflemen under Col. Fremont,
which office he continued to fill during the war. At the restoration of
peace, Mr. Snyder was appointed by Governor Mason surveyor for the
middle department of California, where his activity and science were
called into play in the settlement of many questions of disputed
boundary in land titles. In the organization of a civil government, he
was elected delegate from Sacramento district to the convention, and was
one of the committee for drafting the constitution. His remarks in the
convention are characterized for their pertinency, brevity, and sound
sense. He is a good specimen of that versatility which belongs to the
“universal nation.” Fond of adventure, and with resources in himself to
meet all its exigencies,—partial to new positions, new duties, and
responsibilities, and yet perfectly at home in each—ever with some
beckoning object ahead, which, when attained, is to be relinquished for
one of still greater magnitude,—and all this with a sound judgment,
inflexible integrity, and unostentatious generosity. He was one of the
original projectors of Sacramento City, and is still largely concerned
in its prosperity. His liberal policy, sustained by that of his
enterprising, intelligent partner, Major Reading, is exhibited in the
ample reservations which have been made for churches, school-houses, and
public squares.


                         CAPT. JOHN A. SUTTER.

The leading features of interest in the adventurous life of Capt. Sutter
are connected with California affairs. He was born in Switzerland near
the close of the last century, and early relinquished its glaciers and
lakes for the sunny fields of France. His love of adventure turned his
attention to the camp, where his gallant conduct soon secured him an
honorable commission. But the wars of the continent being over, he
emigrated to the United States, and having resided several years in
Missouri, turned his roving eye to the shores of the Pacific.

Through a series of adventures, which seem more like fictions than
realities, he at length reached the valley of the Sacramento, where he
procured from the government the grant of a large tract of land. The
country around was in the possession of wild Indians, some of whom he
conciliated, and through their labors constructed a fort to protect
himself from the rest. His influence over these children of the forest
was such that in a few years he had over a thousand of their number at
work on his farm. He was upright in all his dealings with them, and paid
each as punctually as if he had been a king. His place, to which he gave
the name of New Helvetia, was for years the emigrant’s goal,—the land of
promise, which glimmered in warm light through his cold mountain dream.
_There_ he was sure of a cordial welcome, and a hospitality that knew no
bounds; no matter from what clime he came, or what were his credentials;
it was enough for his generous host to know that he was an adventurer,
poor in all things save a manly purpose. But often the bounty of Capt.
Sutter has gone forth to meet the emigrant; it was his sympathy and
active benevolence that mainly rescued the emigrants of forty-six from
starvation in the California mountains. When his relief reached them,
their last animals had been killed and consumed for food, their last
pound of provisions, and their last means of subsistence had given out;
they were embayed in depths of snow which baffled their exhausted
strength, and hunger hung in horror over the dead.

It was on the lands of Capt. Sutter that gold was first discovered; the
cut of a mill-race revealed the entrancing treasure; but all were
welcome to the results; no spirit of monopoly obstructed the digger, or
enriched the proprietor; fortunes went freely to the pockets of those
who drove the spade and turned the bowl. When a civil organization was
proposed, the generous captain was deputed by the electors in his
district to represent them in the convention. He there favored all
measures calculated to secure the interests of the emigrants, and
develop the resources of the country. When he put his own signature to
the constitution, he dropped the pen in very gladness; the light of
other days encircled his spirit, he was a child again; all felt the
tears which filled the eyes of the old pioneer, and wept in joyous
sympathy with their source. The work was done, and California was
henceforth to revolve among the glorious orbs of the republic!


                     DON MARIANO GUADALUPE VALLEJO.

This distinguished Californian was born in Monterey, 1817; his father
held a military command under the crown of Spain, and subsequently under
the Mexican republic; he lived to the advanced age of 95, and saw his
children allied in marriage to the most influential families in the
province. Don Mariano entered the service of the government as a cadet;
rose rapidly to a post of commanding influence, but always evinced a
repugnance to Mexican rule. In 1837, assisted by his nephew, Alverado,
he succeeded in driving the satellites of that ill-starred republic out
of the country, and in the organization of the new government, was
honored with the post of commandante-general.

When the United States flag was raised, Gen. Vallejo saw in it the
opportunity of securing the permanent tranquillity and prosperity of
California: a thousand of his noble horses went under the saddles of our
mounted riflemen. The war over, he was first and foremost in measures
for a civil organization, and represented the district of Sonoma in the
convention for drafting a constitution. His liberal views and sound
policy pervade every provision of the instrument. He was subsequently
elected a senator to the state legislature, and might have been a
successful candidate for any office within the gift of the people. He is
a large landed proprietor; his cattle are on a hundred hills, and his
horses in as many vales; while a thousand Indians, whom he has won from
savage life, cultivate his fields, and garner his grains. His munificent
liberality and profound interest in the cause of education, and the
claims of humanity, may be gathered from the following statement
contained in the report of the committee of the California legislature
on public buildings and grounds, in relation to the permanent location
of the seat of government. This committee say:

  Gen. Vallejo, a native of California, and now a member of the
  legislature, offers a site lying upon the Straits of Carquinas and
  Napa river, where he proposes to lay out the capital to be called
  Eureka, or such other name as the legislature may suggest. He
  proposes—

  1st. That said permanent seat of government may be laid out in such
  form as five Commissioners may direct, three of whom shall be
  appointed by the legislature, and two by himself.

  2d. That he proposes to grant to the state, for the following
  purposes, free of cost:

                                                              Acres.
   Capitol and grounds                                            20
   Governor’s house and grounds                                   10
   Offices of Treasurer, Comptroller, Secretary of State, &c.      5
   State Library and Translator’s office                           1
   Orphan’s Asylum                                                20
   Male Charity Hospital                                          10
   Female Charity Hospital                                        10
   Asylum for the Blind                                            4
   Deaf and Dumb Asylum                                            4
   Lunatic Asylum                                                 20
   Four Common Schools                                             8
   State University                                               20
   State Botanical Garden                                          4
   State Penitentiary                                             20

  Also, your memorialist proposes to donate and pay over to the state,
  within two years after the acceptance of his propositions, the
  following sums of money, for the faithful payment of which he proposes
  to give to the state ample security.

 For building State Capitol                                     $125,000
 Furnishing the same                                              10,000
 Building Governor’s House                                        10,000
 Furnishing the same                                               5,000
 State Library and Translator’s Office                             5,000
 State Library.                                                    5,000
 For the building of the Offices of Secretary of State,
   Comptroller, Attorney-General, Surveyor-General,   and
   Treasurer, should the Commissioners deem it proper   to
   separate them from the State House                             20,000
 Building Orphan’s Asylum                                         20,000
 Building Female Charity Hospital                                 20,000
 Building Male Charity Hospital                                   20,000
 Building Asylum for Blind                                        20,000
 Building Deaf and Dumb Asylum                                    20,000
 Building State University                                        20,000
 For University Library                                           10,000
 Scientific Apparatus therefor                                     5,000
 Chemical Laboratory therefor                                      3,000
 Mineral Cabinet therefor                                          3,000
 Four Common School Edifices                                      10,000
 Purchasing Books for same                                         5,000
 For the Building of a Lunatic Asylum                             20,000
 For a State Penitentiary                                         20,000
 For a State Botanical Collection                                  3,000

  In accordance with another proposition of Gen. Vallejo, the committee
  further report in favor of submitting this offer to the acceptance of
  the people, at the next general election. The report adds:

  “Your committee cannot dwell with too much warmth upon the magnificent
  propositions contained in the memorial of Gen. Vallejo. They breathe
  throughout the spirit of an enlarged mind, and a sincere public
  benefactor, for which he deserves the thanks of this body, and the
  gratitude of California. Such a proposition looks more like the legacy
  of a prince to his people, than the free donation of a private planter
  to a great state.”




                            CHAPTER XXXIII.

  THE MISSION ESTABLISHMENTS IN CALIFORNIA.—THEIR ORIGIN, OBJECTS,
    LOCALITIES, LANDS, REVENUES, OVERTHROW.

The missions of California are the most prominent features in her
history. They were established to propagate the Roman faith, and extend
the domain of the Spanish crown. They contemplated the conversion of the
untutored natives, and a permanent possession of the soil. They were an
extension of the same system which, half a century previous, had
achieved such signal triumphs on the peninsula and through the northern
provinces of Mexico. The founders were men of unwearied zeal and heroic
action; their enterprise, fortitude, and unshaken purpose might rouse
all the slumbering strings of the religious minstrel.

In Alta California these missions formed a religious cordon the entire
extent of the coast. They were reared at intervals of twelve or fourteen
leagues in all the great fertile valleys opening on the sea. The first
was founded in 1769; others followed fast, and before the close of the
century the whole twenty were in effective operation. Each establishment
contained within itself the elements of its strength, the sources of its
aggrandizement. It embraced a massive church, garnished with costly
plate; dwellings, storehouses, and workshops, suited to the wants of a
growing colony; broad lands, encircling meadows, forests, streams,
orchards, and cultured fields, with cattle, sheep, and horses, grazing
on a “thousand hills,” and game in every glade; and above all, a faith
that could scoop up whole tribes of savages, dazzling them with the
symbols of religion, and impressing them with the conviction that
submission to the padres was obedience to God.

These vast establishments absorbed the lands, capital, and business of
the country; shut out emigration, suppressed enterprise, and moulded
every interest into an implement of ecclesiastical sway. In 1833, the
supreme government of Mexico issued a decree which converted them into
civil institutions, subject to the control of the state. The consequence
was, the padres lost their power, and with that departed the enterprise
and wealth of their establishments. The civil administrators plundered
them of their stock, the governors granted to favorites sections of
their lands, till, with few exceptions, only the huge buildings remain.
Their localities will serve as important guides to emigrants in quest of
lands adapted to pasturage and agriculture, and their statistics will
show, to some extent, the productive forces of the soil. These have been
gathered, with some pains, from the archives of each mission, and are
grouped for the first time in these pages. They are like the missions
themselves—skeletons. California, though seemingly young, is piled with
the wrecks of the past; around the stately ruin flits the shade of the
padre; his warm welcome to streaming guests still lingers in the hall;
and the loud mirth of the festive crowds still echoes in the darkened
arches. But all these good olden times are passed—their glorious
realities are gone—like the sound and sunlit splendors of the wave
dashed and broken on the remorseless rock.


                          MISSION OF DOLLORES.

This mission is situated on the south side of the bay of San Francisco,
two miles from the town. Its lands were forty leagues in circumference.
Its stock, in 1825, consisted of 76,000 head of cattle, 950 tame horses,
2000 breeding-mares, 84 stud of choice breed, 820 mules, 79,000 sheep,
2000 hogs, 456 yoke of working-oxen, 18,000 bushels of wheat and barley,
$35,000 in merchandise, and $25,000 in specie. It was secularized in
1834 by order of Gen. Figueroa, and soon became a wreck. The walls of
the huge church only remain. Little did the good padre who reared them
dream of the great town that was to rise in their shadows!


                        MISSION OF SANTA CLARA.

This mission is situated in the bosom of the great valley that bears its
name, six miles from the embarcadero which strands the upper bend of the
great bay of San Francisco. Around it lie the richest lands in
California—once its own domain. In 1823 it branded, as the increase of
one year, 22,400 calves. It owned 74,280 head of full-grown cattle, 407
yoke of working-oxen, 82,540 sheep, 1890 trained horses, 4235 mares, 725
mules, 1000 hogs, and $120,000 in goods. The church is a gigantic pile,
and was once adorned with ornaments of massive silver. The property was
secularized in 1834 by order of Gen. Figueroa, when the frolicking
citizens of the Pueblo de San José began to revel on its ruins. It has
still a fine vineyard, where the grape reels and the pear mellows.


                          MISSION OF SAN JOSÉ.

This mission was founded in 1797, fifteen miles from the town which
bears its name, and at the terminus of a valley unrivalled in fertility.
It supplied the Russian Company with grain, who sent yearly several
large ships for stores for their northern settlements. It is stated, in
the archives of this mission, that the mayordomo gathered 8,600 bushels
of wheat from 80 bushels sown; and the following year, from the grain
which fell at the time of the first harvest, 5200 bushels! The priest
told me that Julius Cæsar deposited in the temple of Ceres 362 kernels
of wheat, as the largest yield of any one kernel in the Roman empire;
and that he had gathered and counted, from one kernel sown at this
mission, 365—beating Rom in three kernels! This mission had, in 1825,
3000 Indians, 62,000 head of cattle, 840 tame horses, 1500 mares, 420
mules, 310 yoke of oxen, and 62,000 sheep It has still a vineyard, in
which large quantities of luscious grapes and pears are raised. It was
secularized in 1834; and the old church bell, as if indignant at the
change, has plunged from its chiming tower.


                     MISSION OF SAN JUAN BOUTISTA.

This mission looms over a rich valley, ten leagues from Monterey—founded
1794. Its lands swept the broad interval and adjacent hills. In 1820 it
owned 43,870 head of cattle, 1360 tame horses, 4870 mares, colts, and
fillies. It had seven sheep-farms, containing 69,530 sheep; while the
Indians attached to the mission drove 321 yoke of working-oxen. Its
storehouse contained $75,000 in goods and $20,000 in specie. This
mission was secularized in 1834; its cattle slaughtered for their hides
and tallow, its sheep left to the wolves, its horses taken by the
dandies, its Indians left to hunt acorns, while the wind sighs over the
grave of its last padre.


                         MISSION OF SAN CARLOS.

This mission, founded 1770, stands in the Carmel valley, three miles
from Monterey. Through its ample lands flows a beautiful stream of
water, which every governor of the country, for the last thirty years,
has purposed conducting to the metropolis. Its gardens supply the
vegetable market of Monterey. Its pears are extremely rich in flavor. In
its soil were raised, in 1826, the first potatoes cultivated in
California. So little did the presiding padre think of this strange
vegetable, he allowed the Indians to raise and sell them to the whalers
that visited Monterey, without disturbing their profits. He was
satisfied if the Indians would give him one salmon in ten out of the
hundreds they speared in the stream which swept past his door. This
mission, in 1825, branded 2300 calves; had 87,600 head of cattle, 1800
horses and mares, 365 yoke of oxen, nine sheep-farms, with an average of
about 6,000 sheep on each, a large assortment of merchandise, and
$40,000 in specie, which was buried on the report of a piratical cruiser
on the coast. It was secularized in 1835. The church remains; but the
only being I found in it was a large white owl, who seemed to mourn its
fall.


                         MISSION OF SANTA CRUZ.

This mission stands near the coast on the northern side of the bay of
Monterey, in a tract of land remarkable for its agricultural capacities,
which it developed in the richest harvests. In 1830 this mission owned
all the lands now cultivated or claimed by the farmers of Santa Cruz. It
had 42,800 head of cattle, 3200 horses and mares, 72,500 sheep, 200
mules, large herds of swine, a spacious church, garnished with $25,000
worth of silver plate. It was secularized in 1834 by order of Gen.
Figueroa, and shared the fate of its Carmel sister. Only one padre
lingers on the premises, and he seems the last of a perished race.


                          MISSION OF SOLEDAD.

This mission is situated fifteen leagues southwest of Monterey, in a
fertile plain, known by the name of the “llano del rey.” The priest was
an indefatigable agriculturist. To obviate the summer drought, he
constructed, through the labor of his Indians, an aqueduct extending
fifteen miles, by which he could water twenty thousand acres of land. In
1826 this mission owned about 36,000 head of cattle, and a greater
number of horses and mares than any other mission in the country. So
great was the reproduction of these animals, they were given away to
preserve the pasturage for cattle and sheep. It had about 70,000 sheep,
and 300 yoke of tame oxen. In 1819 the mayordomo of this mission
gathered 3400 bushels of wheat from 38 bushels sown. It has still
standing about a thousand fruit trees, which still bear their mellow
harvests; but its secularization has been followed by decay and ruin.


                        MISSION OF SAN ANTONIO.

This mission is situated twelve leagues south of Soledad, on the border
of an inland stream, upon which it has conferred its name. The buildings
were inclosed in a square, twelve hundred feet on each side, and walled
with adobes. Its lands were forty-eight leagues in circumference,
including seven farms, with a convenient house and chapel attached to
each. The stream was conducted in paved trenches twenty miles for
purposes of irrigation: large crops rewarded the husbandry of the
padres. In 1822 this mission owned 52,800 head of cattle, 1800 tame
horses, 3000 mares, 500 yoke of working-oxen, 600 mules, 48,000 sheep,
and 1000 swine. The climate here is cold in winter, and intensely hot in
summer. This mission, on its secularization, fell into the hands of an
administrator, who neglected its farms, drove off its cattle, and left
its poor Indians to starve.


                         MISSION OF SAN MIGUEL.

This inland mission is situated sixteen leagues south of San Antonio, on
a barren elevation; but the lands attached to it sweep a circuit of
sixty leagues, and embrace some of the finest tracts for agriculture. Of
the sethe Estella tract is one; its fertility is enough to make a New
England plough jump out of its rocks; and a hundred emigrants will yet
squat in its green bosom, and set the wild Indians and their war-whoop
at defiance. In 1822 this mission owned 91,000 head of cattle, 1100 tame
horses, 3000 mares, 2000 mules, 170 yoke of working-oxen, and 47,000
sheep. The mules were used in packing the products of the mission to
Monterey, and bringing back drygoods, groceries, and the implements of
husbandry. But now the Indian neophytes are gone, the padres have
departed, and the old church only remains to interpret the past.


                      MISSION OF SAN LUIS OBISPO.

This mission stands fourteen leagues southeast of San Miguel, and within
three of the coast. It has always been considered one of the richest
missions in California. The presiding priest, Luis Martinez, was a man
of comprehensive purpose and indomitable force. His mission grant
covered an immense tract of the richest lands on the seaboard. Every
mountain stream was made to subserve the purposes of irrigation. He
planted the cotton-tree, the lime, and a grove of olives, which still
shower their abundant harvests on the tables of the Californians. He
built a launch that run to Santa Barbara, trained his Indians to kill
the otter, and often received thirty and forty skins a week from his
children of the bow. His storehouse at Santa Margarita, with its high
adobe walls, was one hundred and ninety feet long, and well stowed with
grain. His table was loaded with the choicest game and richest wines;
his apartments for guests might have served the hospitable intentions of
a prince. He had 87,000 head of grown cattle, 2000 tame horses, 3500
mares, 3700 mules, eight sheep-farms, averaging 9000 sheep to each farm,
and the broad Tulare valley, in which his Indians could capture any
number of wild horses. The mayordomo of this mission in 1827, scattered
on the ground, without having first ploughed it, 120 bushels of wheat,
and then scratched it in with things called harrows, and harvested from
the same over 7000 bushels. This was a lazy experiment, but shows what
the land may yield when activity shall take the place of indolence.
Father Martinez returned to Spain, taking with him $100,000 as the
fruits of his mission enterprise. On the secularization of the mission
in 1834, the property fell a prey to state exigency, and private
rapacity A gloomy wreck of grandeur only remains.


                        MISSION OF LA PURISIMA.

This mission is located eighteen leagues south of San Luis, at the base
of a mountain spur, in the coast range; its lands covered about thirteen
hundred square miles, and were at one time so filled with wild cattle,
the presiding priest granted permits to any person who desired to kill
them for their hides and tallow, the meat being thrown away. Thousands
in this shape fell under the lasso and knife, and still the mission
numbered in 1830 over 40,000 head of cattle sufficiently domesticated to
be corralled, 300 yoke of working-oxen, 2600 tame horses, 4000 mares,
30,000 sheep, and 5000 swine, which were raised for their lard—no one
eating the meat. The horses on this mission were celebrated for their
beauty and speed; they performed feats under the saddle worthy of the
most brilliant page in the register of the turf. But now the steed and
his rider are gone, and the willow sighs over the mouldering ruin.


                         MISSION OF SANTA INEZ.

This mission is seven leagues to the southward of La Purisima, and
thirteen north of Santa Barbara. Its lands were more circumscribed than
those of other missions; still it had vast herds of cattle and sheep,
and its horses vied in beauty and strength with those of its sister
missions. Its property, in 1823, was valued at $800,000. A portion of
its lands remain unalienated, and must be held for the benefit of its
Indian neophytes, or accrue to the public domain. The last government
decree left the whole in the hands of an administrator, who thought more
of his own revenues than the claims of the poor Indians whom law had
betrayed.


                       MISSION OF SANTA BARBARA.

This mission is twelve leagues south of Santa Inez. Between the two a
steep mountain range shoulders its way to the sea. No wheeled vehicle
has ever been driven over it, except that which transported the
field-piece attached to Col. Fremont’s battalion. The mission being near
the beautiful town of Santa Barbara, its profuse hospitality contributed
largely to the social pleasures of the citizens. Its vintage never
failed, and its friendly fires ever burnt bright; many a gay merrianda
has kindled the eye of beauty in its soft shade. The main building is
elaborately finished for California. The lands of the mission embraced
many leagues. In 1828 it had 40,000 head of cattle, 1000 horses, 2000
mares, 80 yoke of oxen, 600 mules, and 20,000 sheep. It is now under a
civil administrator, and a portion of its lands still remain vested in
their original object. Around this mission emigrants will ere long
settle in great numbers, and devote themselves to agriculture and the
cultivation of grapes, olives, figs, for which the climate is peculiarly
adapted.


                      MISSION OF SAN BUENAVENTURA.

This mission is situated about nine leagues south of Santa Barbara, near
the seaboard. Its lands covered an area of fifteen hundred square miles,
of which two hundred are arable land. In 1825 it owned 37,000 head of
cattle, 600 riding horses, 1300 mares, 200 yoke of working-oxen, 500
mules, 30,000 sheep, 200 goats, 2000 swine, a thrifty orchard, two rich
vineyards, $35,000 in foreign goods, $27,000 in specie, with church
ornaments and clothing valued at $61,000. It was secularized in 1835,
and has since been under a civil administrator, but all its wealth soon
became a wreck. A small portion of its lands remain, and will tempt the
horticultural emigrant to its fertile bosom.


                        MISSION OF SAN FERNANDO.

This mission, founded 1797, is situated about sixteen leagues south of
San Buenaventura, in the midst of a beautiful plain, and has always been
celebrated for the superior quality of the brandy distilled from its
grapes. In 1826 it owned 56,000 head of cattle, 1500 horses and mares,
200 mules, 400 yoke of working-oxen, 64,000 sheep, and 2000 swine. It
had in its stores about $50,000 in merchandise, $90,000 in specie; its
vineyards yielded annually about 2000 gallons of brandy and as many of
wine. Its secularization was followed by the dispersion of its Indians
and ruin of its property. The hills, at the foot of which this mission
stands, have, within the last ten years, produced considerable
quantities of gold. One house exported about $30,000 of it. This was the
first gold discovered in California, and the discovery was made three or
four years previous to that on the American Fork. The marvel is the
search for it did not extend further.


                        MISSION OF SAN GABRIEL.

This mission, located a little below los Angeles, was founded in 1771,
and for several years led the others in enterprise and wealth. Its lands
cover one of the most charming intervals in California; the soil and
climate are both well adapted to fruit. In its gardens bloomed oranges,
citrons, limes, apples, pears, peaches, pomegranates, figs, and grapes
in great abundance. From the latter were made annually from four to six
hundred barrels of wine, and two hundred of brandy, the sale of which
produced an income of more than $12,000. In 1829 it had 70,000 head of
cattle, 1200 horses, 3000 mares, 400 mules, 120 yoke of working-oxen,
and 54,000 sheep. The charming rancho of Santa Anita belongs to this
mission; it is situated on a gentle acclivity, where fruit trees and
flowers scatter their perfume; while a clear lake lies calmly in front,
to which the leaping rivulets rush in glee. Here the emigrant will find
more charms in the landscape than he has left behind, and a more balmy
air than he ever yet inhaled.


                    MISSION OF SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO.

This mission, situated eighteen leagues south of San Gabriel, was
founded in 1776, and was for many years one of the most opulent in the
country. Its lands extended fifteen leagues along the seaboard, and back
to the mountains, where they swept over many ravines of fertile soil and
sequestering shade. Through these roamed vast herds of cattle, sheep,
and horses; while the sickle, pruning-knife, and shuttle gleamed in the
dexterous hand of the domestic Indian. The earthquake of 1812 threw down
the heavy stone church, as if in omen of the disasters which have since
befallen the mission. The cattle have gone to the shambles, the Indians
are in exile, the mass is over, and the shuttle at rest.


                        MISSION OF SAN LUIS REY.

This mission, located near the sea, and twelve leagues south of San
Juan, was founded in 1798 by padre Peyri, who had devoted himself for
years to the improvement of the Indians. The buildings occupy a large
square, in the centre of which a fountain still plays; along the front
runs a corridor, supported by thirty-two arches, ornamented with
latticed railings; while the interior is divided into apartments suited
to the domestic economy of a large establishment. Here the wool of the
sheep which grazed on the hills around, was woven into blankets, and
coarse apparel for the Indians, while the furrowed field waved for miles
under the golden grain. The reeling grape, the blushing peach, the
yellow orange, the mellow pear, and luscious melon filled the garden,
and, loaded the wings of the zephyr with perfume. In 1826 it had three
thousand Indians, 70,000 head of cattle, 2000 horses, 140 yoke of tame
oxen, 300 mules, 68,000 sheep, and a tract of land, around half of which
you could not gallop between sun and sun. Its massive stone church still
remains, and the remnants of its greatness are now in the hands of an
administrator who little heeds the object which animated its founder.


                         MISSION OF SAN DIEGO.

This mission, situated fourteen leagues south of San Luis Rey, and near
the town that bears its name, was founded in 1769 by padre Junipero
Lerra, and was the first established in Alta California. Its possessions
covered the whole tract of land which circles for leagues around the
beautiful bay upon which its green hills look. Here the first cattle
were corralled, the first sheep sheared, the first field furrowed, the
first vineyard planted, and the first church bell rung. The Indian heard
in this strange sound the invoking voice of his God, and knelt
reverently to the earth. The success of this mission paved the way for
the establishment of others, till the whole coast was sprinkled with
their churches, and every green glade filled with their wild converts
and lowing herds. But the padres and their neophytes are gone, and all
the memorials that remain are a cumbrous ruin. Gigantic skeletons of
things that were!


                      THE RAILROAD TO CALIFORNIA.

The facilities of social and commercial intercourse between our Atlantic
and Pacific borders, yet to be created, present a problem of great
practical importance. The present route, _via_ Chagres and Panama, may
be regarded as a necessity to be superseded as soon as practicable, by a
railroad directly across the continent, within our own jurisdiction.
Besides the formidable political objections to being dependent on
foreign powers for a connection between our remotest and most important
commercial points, the distance, _via_ Chagres and Panama, or by any
railroad or canal across the Isthmus yet to be made, in connection with
the effects of a hot climate on animal and vegetable products, as
subjects of trade between our Atlantic and Pacific coasts, present most
insuperable obstacles to a permanent reliance on that route. It is now
ascertained, that instead of thirty days between New York and San
Francisco, or forty days to the mouth of the Columbia river by steam, or
three to six months by sailing craft, either of these points may be
reached in seven to eight days by railroad direct, avoiding altogether
the deleterious effects of climate on articles of trade, as well as on
health and life. These two considerations, so potent and overruling in
commercial intercourse, will undoubtedly prove paramount to all
antagonistic interests, and the railroad, directly across, may be
regarded as already decided by the demands of trade between these remote
parts of our present extended domain.

But what shall be the plan, Mr. Whitney’s or a government enterprise? If
the government undertake it, the chances are a thousand to one, that,
like the Cumberland road, it will be broken down by party strifes.
Neither of the two great parties of the country would, in any
probability, risk the responsibility of taking it on its shoulders as a
government work. Shall it, then, be done by a corporate company, with an
adequate loan of public credit, as has been proposed? Besides other
insuperable objections to a plan of this kind, of a party political
character, it must be seen, that all transport on a road built on this
plan, must pay a toll to satisfy the interest of the capital invested;
whereas, on the Whitney plan, no toll will be exacted, except to keep
the road and its machinery in repair. This difference, in its operation
on trade and commerce, will be immense, sufficient, as any one may see,
to decide the question at once and forever between the two plans. The
company proposed will have to _borrow_ its capital, the interest of
which must be provided for by tolls. This tax on trade and intercourse
will necessarily prevent that grand movement of commercial exchanges
between the Atlantic and Pacific states, between the United States and
Asia, and between Europe and Asia, which is the great object of the
enterprise. But the Whitney plan does not borrow, but _creates_, by its
own progress, out of the increased value of the lands through which it
passes, the capital required to build the road; and thus dispensing with
all tolls to pay for the use of capital, it will invite and secure the
passage on this line of the great bulk of commerce around the entire
globe, and between the great masses of the industrial and producing
portions of the human family, which, as will be seen, lie on one great
belt of the earth, demanding precisely the direct and cheap channel of
intercommunication here proposed, instead of the circuitous, long, and
expensive routes of commerce heretofore used.

Moreover, on the company plan, the increased value of the lands on the
route, will all go to the corporation; whereas, on the Whitney plan, it
will go to the people of the United States, whose property it is, and to
the benefit of that trade and commerce which it sets in motion.

The Whitney plan, once executed, will merge in one the interests of our
population on the Pacific slope of this continent and those of our
population on the Atlantic slope, and by that means they will remain one
forever. But the failure of this enterprise, by the neglect of Congress
to authorize it, would make the interests of these two vast regions
forever independent of and opposed to each other. Such a dereliction of
duty, so apparent, would ere long, as a natural if not necessary
consequence, create an independent nation on the Pacific.


                                THE END.

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. P. 206, changed “buck was not be captured” to “buck was not to be
      captured”.
 2. P. 263, changed “flea is not be trifled with” to “flea is not to be
      trifled with”.
 3. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
      spelling.
 4. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
 5. Portraits of Hon. Wm. M. Gwin and Jacob R. Snyder are not present.
 6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
 7. Denoted superscripts by a caret before a single superscript
      character.