BANCROFT LIBRARY
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
BY O.^/FITZGERALD H
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BISHOP GEORGE F. PIERCE.
The bearded men in rude attire,
H '/'///. iter'-e* <>f *!f<'l a /n! /i carts of fire, The WO in en fen' luf fair ami .w/vvY, Like, nharimvii rixi<nia <liin and fleet, Aijnin I $t'<\ iujn'i/i I lit'itr, As dnu'n the jHixt. I dinit i/ jteer, And muse o'er buried joy and pain, And tread the hilh of youth aijain.
SOUTHERN METHODIST PUBLISHING HOUSE,
NASHVILLE, TENN.
1882.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
O. P. FITZGERALD, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
A WORD.
\-
are usually anticlimaxes. I never did like them. Yet here I am again before the public with another book of "CALIFORNIA SKETCHES." The kind treatment given to the former volume, of which six editions have been printed and sold; the expressed wishes of many friends who have said, Give us another book; and my own impulse, have induced me to venture upon a second appearance. If much of the song is in the minor key, it had to be so: these Sketches are from real life, and "all lives are tragedies." THE AUTHOR.
Nashville, September, 1881.
INTKODUCTIOK
n^HE first issue of the "California Sketches" was very popular, deservedly so. The distinguished Author has prepared a Sec- ond Series. In this fact the reading public will rejoice.
In these books we have the romance and prestige of fiction; the " thrill of incident and adventure; the wonderful phases of society in a new country, and under the pressure of strong and peculiar excitements; human character loose from the restraints of an old civilization — a settled order of things; individuality unwarped by imitation — free, varied, independent. The materials are rich, and they are embodied in a glowing narrative. The writer himself lived amid the scenes and the people he describes, and, as a citizen, a preacher, and an editor, was an important factor among the forces destined to mold the elements which were to be formulated in the politics of the State and the enterprises of the Church. A close observer, gifted with a keen discrimination and retentive memory, .a decided relish for the ludicrous and the sportive, and always ready to give a religious turn to thought and conversation, he is admi- rably adapted to portray and recite what he saw, heard, and felt.
These Sketches furnish good reading for anybody. For the young they are charming, full of entertainment, and not wanting in moral instruction. They will gratify the taste of those who love to read, and, what is more important, beget the appetite for books among the dull and indifferent. He who can stimulate children and young men and women to read renders a signal service to society at large. Mental growth depends much upon reading, and the fertilization of the original soil by the habit wisely directed connects vitally with the outcome and harvest of the future.
Dr. Fitzgerald is doing good service in the work already done, and I trust the patronage of the people will encourage him to give us another and another of the same sort. At my house we all read the " California Sketches "—old and young— and long for more.
G. F. PIERCE.
CONTENTS.
DICK 7
THE DIGGERS 15
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE 30
SAN QUENTIN 41
"CORRALED" 51
THE REBLOOMING 62
THE EMPEROR NORTON 71
CAMILLA CAIN 79
LONE MOUNTAIN 82
N I:\VTOX 92
THE CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN 99
OLD MAN LOWRY 113
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA 120
FATHER FISHER 133
JACK WHITE 145
THE RABBI 153
MY MINING SPECULATION 161
MIKE REESE 166
UNCLE NOLAN 175
BUFFALO JONES 181
TOD ROBINSON 189
AH LEE 198
THE CLIMATE OF CALIFORNIA 204
6
CONTENTS.
AFTER THE STORM 212
BISHOP KAVANAUGH IN CALIFORNIA 214
SANDERS 229
A DAY 238
WINTER-BLOSSOMED 248
A VIRGINIAN IN CALIFORNIA 257
AT THE END 263
DICK.
DICK was a Califbrnian. We made his ac- quaintance in Sonora about a month before Christmas, Anno Domini 1855. This is the way it happened :
At the request of a number of families, the lady who presided in the curious little parsonage near the church on the hill-side had started a school for little girls. The public schools might do for the boys, but were too mixed for their sisters — so they thought. Boys could rough it — they were a rough set, any way — but the girls must be raised accord- ing to the traditions of the old times and the old homes. That was the view taken of the matter then, and from that day to this the average Cali- fornia girl has been superior to the average Cali- fornia boy. The boy gets his bias from the street ; the girl, from her mother at home. The boy plunges into the life that surges around him; the girl only feels the touch of its waves as they break upon the
8 CALIFORNIA SKKTCHKS.
embankments of home. The boy gets -more of the father; the girl gets more of the mother. This may explain their relative superiority. The school for girls was started on condition that it should be free, the proposed teacher refusing all compensa- tion. That part of the arrangement was a failure, for at the end of the first month every little girl brought a handful of money, and laid it on the teacher's desk. It must have been a concerted matter. That quiet, unselfish woman had suddenly become a money-maker in spite of herself. (Use was found for the coin in the course of events.) The school was opened with a Psalm, a prayer, and a little song in which the sweet voices of the lit- tle Jewish, Spanish, German, Irish, and American maidens united heartily. Dear children ! they are scattered now. Some of them have died, and some of them have met with what is worse than death. There was one bright Spanish girl, slender, grace- ful as a willow, with the fresh Castilian blood man- tling her cheeks, her bright eyes beaming with mis- chief and affection. She was a beautiful child, and her winning ways made her a pet in the little school. But surrounded as the bright, beautiful girl was, Satan had a mortgage on her from her birth, and her fate was too dark and sad to be told in these pages. She inherited evil condition, and perhaps evil blood, and her evil life seemed to be
DK-K. 9
inevitable. Poor child of sin, whose very beauty was thy curse, let the curtain fall upon thy late and name; we leave thee in the hands of the pity- ing Christ, who hath said, "Where little is given little will be required.'7 Little was given thee in the way of opportunity, for it was a mother's hand that bound thee with the chains of evil.
Among the children that came to that remark- able academy on the hill was little Mary Kinneth, a thin, delicate child, with mild blue eyes, flaxen hair, a peach complexion, and the blue veins on her temples that are so often the sign of delicacy of organization and the presage of early death. Mike Kinneth, her father, was a drinking Irishman, a good -hearted fellow when sober, but pugnacious and disposed to beat his wife when drunk. The poor woman came over to see me one day. She had been crying, and there was an ugly bruise on her cheek.
" Your riverence will excuse me," she said, courte- sying, "but I wish you would come over and spake a word to me husband. Mike 's a kind, good cray- thur except when he is dhrinking, but then he is the very Satan himself."
"Did he give you that bruise on your face, Mrs. Kinneth?"
"Yis; he came home last night mad with the whisky, and wras breaking ivery thing in the house.
10 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
I tried to stop him, and thin he bate me — O! he never did that before ! My heart is broke ! "
Here the poor woman broke down and cried, hiding her face in her apron.
"Little Mary was asleep, and she waked up frightened and crying to see her father in such a way. Seeing the child seemed to sober him a lit- tle, and he stumbled on to the bed, and fell asleep. He was always kind to the child, dhruuk or sober. And there is a good heart in him if he will only stay away from the dhrink."
" Would he let me talk to him?"
" Yis; we belong to the old Church, but there is no priest here now, and the kindness your lady has shown to little Mary has softened his heart to ye both. And I think he feels a little sick and ashamed this mornin', and he will listen to kind words now if iver."
I went to see Mike, and found him half-sick and in a penitent mood. He called me " Father Fitz- gerald," and treated me with the utmost polite- ness and deference. I talked to him about little Mary, and his warm Irish heart opened to me at once.
"She is a good child, your riverence, and shame on the father that would hurt or disgrace her ! "
The tears stood in Mike's eyes as he spoke the words.
DICK. n
"All the trouble comes from the whisky. Why not give it up?"
"By the help of God I will!" said Mike, grasp- ing my hand with energy.
And he did. I confess that the result of my visit exceeded my hopes. Mike kept away from the sa- loons, worked steadily, little Mary had no lack of new shoes and neat frocks, and the Kinneth family were happy in a humble way. Mike always seemed glad to see me, and greeted me warmly.
One morning about the last of November there was a knock at the door of the little parsonage. Opening the door, there stood Mrs. Kinneth with a turkey under her arm.
" Christmas will soon be coming, and I Ve brought ye a turkey for your kindness to little Mary and your good talk to Mike. He has not touched a dhrop since the blissed day ye spake to him. Will ye take the turkey, and my thanks wid it?"
The turkey was politely and smilingly accepted, and Mrs. Kinneth went away looking mightily pleased.
I extemporized a little coop for our turkey. Having but little mechanical ingenuity, it was ;i difficult job, but it resulted more satisfactorily than did my attempt to make a door for the min- iature kitchen attached to the parsonage. My ob- ject was to nail some cross-pieces on some plain
12 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
boards, hang it on hinges, and fasten it on the in- side by a leather strap attached to a nail. The model in my mind was, as the reader sees, of the most simple and primitive pattern. I spent all my leisure time for a week at work on that door. I spoiled the lumber, I blistered my hands, I broke several dollars' worth of carpenter's tools, which I had to pay, and — then I hired a man to make that door ! This was my last effort in that line of things, excepting the turkey-coop, which was the very last. It lasted four days, at the end of which time it just gave way all over, and caved in. Fortunately, it was no longer needed. Our turkey would not leave us. The parsonage fare suited him, and he staid, and throve, and made friends.
We named him Dick. He is the hero of this Sketch. Dick was intelligent, sociable, and had a good appetite. He would eat any thing, from a crust of bread to the pieces of candy that the school- girls would give him as they passed. He became as gentle as a dog, and would answer to his name. He had the freedom of the town, and went where he pleased, returning at meal-times, and at night to roost on the western end of the kitchen-roof. He would eat from our hands, looking at us with a sort of human expression in his shiny eyes. If he were a hundred yards away, all we had to do was to go to the door and call out, "Dick!"
DICK. 13
"Dick!'7 once or twice, and here he would come, stretching his long legs, and saying, "Got," "oot," "not" (is that the wray to spell it?). He got to like going about with me. He would go with me to the post-office, to the market, and sometimes he would accompany me in a pastoral visit. Dick was well known and popular. Even the bad boys of the towrn did not throw stones at him. His ruling passion was the love of eating. He ate between meals. He ate all that was offered to him. Dick was a pampered turkey, and made the most of his good luck and popularity. He was never in low spirits, and never disturbed except when a dog came about him. He disliked dogs, and seemed to distrust them.
The days rolled by, and Dick was fat and happy. It was the day before Christmas. We had asked two bachelors to take Christmas-dinner \vith us, having room and chairs for just two more persons. (One of our four chairs was called a stool— it had a bottom and three legs, one of which was a little shaky, and no back.) There was a constraint upon us both all day. I knew what was the matter, but said nothing. About four o'clock in the afternoon Dick's mistress sat down by me, and, after a pause, remarked :
" Do you know that to-morrow is Christmas-day ? "
"Yes, I know it."
14 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
Another pause. I had nothing to say just then.
" Well, if — if — if any thing is to be done about that turkey, it is time it were done."
"Do you mean Dick?"
" Yes," with a little quiver in her voice.
"I understand you — you mean to kill him — poor Dick! the only pet we ever had."
She broke right down at this, and began to cry.
"What is the ^natter here?" said our kind, ener- getic neighbor, Mrs. T , who came in to pay us
one of her informal visits. She was from Phila- delphia, and, though a gifted woman, with a wide range of reading and observation of human life, was not a sentimentalist. She laughed at the weep- ing mistress of the parsonage, and, going to the back-door, she called out:
"Dick!" "Dick!"
Dick, who was taking the air high up on the hill- side, came at the call, making long strides, and sounding his "Oot," "oot," "oot," which was the formula by which he expressed all his emotions, varying only the tone.
Dick, as he stood with outstretched neck and a look of expectation in his honest eyes, was scooped up by our neighbor, and carried off down the hill in the most summary manner.
In about an hour Dick was brought back. He was dressed. He was also stuffed.
THE DIGGEKS.
THE Digger Indian holds a low place in the scale of humanity. He is not intelligent ; he is not handsome ; he is not very brave. He stands near the foot of his class, and I fear he is not likely to go up any higher. It is more likely that the places that know him now will soon know him no more, for the reason that he seems readier to adopt the bad white man's whisky and diseases than the good white man's morals and religion. Ethnologic- ally he has given rise to much conflicting specula- tion, with which I will not trouble the gentle read- er. He has been in California a long time, and he does not know that he was ever anywhere else. His pedigree does not trouble him ; he is more concerned about getting something to eat. It is not because he is an agriculturist that he is called a Digger, but because he grabbles for wrild roots, and has a general fondness for dirt. I said he was not hand- some, and when we consider his rusty, dark-brown
(15)
16 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
color, his heavy features, fishy black eyes, coarse black hair, and clumsy gait, nobody will dispute the statement. But one Digger is uglier than an- other, and an old squaw caps the climax.
The first Digger I ever saw was the best -look- ing. He had picked up a little English, and loafed around the mining-camps picking up a meal where he could get it. He called himself "Captain Charley/' and, like a true native American, was proud of his title. If it was self-assumed, he was still following the precedent set by a vast host of captains, majors, colonels, and generals, who never wore a uniform or hurt anybody. He made his appearance at the little parsonage on the hill-side in Sonora one day, and, thrusting his bare head into the door, he said :
" Me Cappin Charley," tapping his chest com- placently as he spoke.
Returning his salutation, I waited for him to speak again.
"You got grub — coche carne?" he asked, mix- ing his Spanish and English.
Some food was given him, which he snatched rather eagerly, and began to eat at once. It was evident that Captain Charley had not breakfasted that morning. He wTas a hungry Indian, and when he got through his meal there was no reserve of rations in the unique repository of dishes and food
TJIE DIUGK'RS. 17
which has been mentioned heretofore in these Sketches. Peering about the premises, Captain Charley made a discovery. The modest little parsonage stood on a steep incline, the upper side resting on the red gravelly earth, while the lower side was raised three or four feet from the ground. The vacant space underneath had been used by our several bachelor predecessors as a receptacle* for cast-off clothing. Malone, Lockley, and Ev- ans, had thus disposed of their discarded apparel, and Drury Bond and one or two other miners had also added to the treasures that caught the eye of the inquisitive Digger. It was a museum of sar- torial curiosities — seedy and ripped broadcloth coats, vests, and pants, flannel mining-shirts of gay colors and of different degrees of wear and tear, linen shirts that looked like battle-flags that had been through the war, and old shoes and boots of all sorts, from the high rubber water-proofs used by miners to the ragged slippers that had adorned the feet of the lonely single parsons whose names are written above.
"Me take um?" asked Captain Charley, point- ing to the treasure he had discovered.
Leave was given, and Captain Charley lost no
time; in taking possession of the coveted goods.
lie chuckled to himself as one article after another
was drawn forth from the pile which seemed to be
2
18 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES,
almost inexhaustible. When he had gotten all out and piled up together, it was a rare-looking sight. "Mucho bueno!" exclaimed Captain Charley, as he proceeded to array himself in a pair of trou- sers. Then a shirt, then a vest, and then a coat, were put on. And then another, and another, and yet another suit was donned in the same order. He was fast becoming a " big Indian " indeed. We looked on and smiled, sympathizing with the evi- dent delight of our visitor in his superabundant wardrobe. He was in full-dress, and enjoyed it, But he made a failure at one point — his feet were too large, or were not the right shape, for white men's boots or shoes. He tried several pairs, but his huge flat foot would not enter them, and finally he threw down the last one tried by him with a Spanish exclamation not fit to be printed in these pages. That language is a musical one, but its oaths are very harsh in sound. A battered " stove- pipe" hat was found among the spoils turned over to Captain Charley. Placing it on his head jaunt- ily, he turned to us, saying, Adios, and went strut- ting down the street, the picture of gratified van- ity. His appearance on Washington Street, the main thoroughfare of the place, thus gorgeously and abundantly arrayed, created a sensation. It was as good as a "show" to the jolly miners, al- ways ready to be amused. Captain Charley was
THE DIGGERS. 19
known to most of them, and they had a kindly feeling for the good-natured "fool Injun," as one of them called him in my hearing.
The next Digger I noticed was of the gentler (hut in this case not lovelier) sex. She was an old squaw, who was in mourning. The sign of her grief was the black adobe mud spread over her face. She sat all day motionless and speechless, gazing up into the sky. Her grief was caused by the death of a child, and her sorrowful look showed that she had a mother's heart. Poor, degraded creature! What were her thoughts as she sat there looking so pitifully up into the silent, far-off heavens? All the livelong day she gazed thus fixedly into the sky, taking no notice of the pass- ers-by, neither speaking, eating, nor drinking. It was a custom of the tribe, but its peculiar signifi- cance is unknown to me.
It was a- great night at an adjoining camp when the old chief died. It was made the occasion of a fearful orgy. Dry wood and brush were gathered into a huge pile, the body of the dead chief was placed upon it, and the mass set on fire. As the flames blazed upward with a roar, the Indians, several hundred in number, broke forth into wild wailings and howlings, the shrill soprano of the women rising high above the din, as they marched around the burning pyre. Fresh fuel was supplied
20 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES,
from time to time, and all night long the flames lighted up the surrounding hills which echoed with the shouts and howls of the savages. It was a touch of pandemonium. At dawn there was noth- ino" left of the dead chief but ashes. The mourn-
o
ers took up their line of march toward the Stan- islaus River, the squaws bearing their papooses on their backs, the " bucks" leading the way.
The Digger believes in a future life, and in fut- ure rewards and punishments. Good Indians and bad Indians are subjected to the same ordeal at death. Each one is rewarded according to his deeds.
The disembodied soul comes to a wide, turbid river, whose angry waters rush on to an unknown destination, roaring and foaming. From high banks on either side of the stream is stretched a pole smooth and small, over which he is required to walk. Upon the result of this post-mortem Blondinizing his fate depends. If he was in life a very good Indian he goes over safely, and finds on the* other side a paradise, where the skies are cloudless, the air balmy, the flowers brilliant in color and sweet in perfume, the springs many and cool, and the deer plentiful and fat. In this fair clime there are no bad Indians, no briers, no snakes, no grizzly bears. Such is the paradise of good Diggers.
THE DIGGERS, XI
The Indian who was in life a mixed character, not all good or bad> but made up of both, starts across the fateful river, gets on very well until he reaches about half-way over, when his head be- comes dizzy, and he tumbles into the boiling flood below. He swims for his life. (Every Indian on earth can swim, and he does not forget the art in the world of spirits.) Buffeting the waters, he is carried swiftly down the rushing current, and at last makes the shore, to find a country which, like his former life, is a mixture of good and bad. Some days are fair, and others are rainy and chilly ; flowers and brambles grow together; there are some springs of water, but they are few, and not all cool and sweet; the deer are fewr, and shy, and loan, and grizzly bears roam the hills and valleys. This is the limbo of the moderately-wicked Digger.
The very bad Indian, placing his feet upon the attenuated bridge of doom, makes a few steps forward, stumbles, falls into the whirling waters below, and is swept downward with fearful ve- locity. At last, with desperate struggles he half swims, and is half washed ashore on the same side from which he started, to find a dreary land where the sun never shines, and the cold rains always pour down from the dark skies, where the wTater is brackish and foul, where no flowers ever bloom, where leagues may be traversed without seeing a
22 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES,
deer, and grizzly bears abound. This is the hell of very bad Indians— and a very bad one it is.
The worst Indians of all, at death, are trans- formed into grizzly bears.
The Digger has a good appetite, and he is not particular about his eating. He likes grasshop- pers, clover, acorns, roots, and fish. The flesh of a dead mule, horse, cow, or hog, does not come amiss to him— I mean the flesh of such as die nat- ural deaths. He eats what he can get, and all he can get. In the grasshopper season he is fat and flourishing. In the suburbs of Sonora I came one day upon a lot of squaws, who were engaged in catching grasshoppers. Stretched along in line, armed with thick branches of pine, they threshed . the ground in front of them as they advanced, driving the grasshoppers before them in constantly- increasing numbers, until the air was thick with the flying insects. Their course was directed to a deep gully, or gulch, into which they fell exhaust- ed. It was astonishing to see with what dexterity the squaws would gather them up and thrust them into a sort of covered basket, made of willow-twigs or tule-grass, while the insects would be trying to escape, but would fall back unable to rise above the sides of the gulch in which they had been en- trapped. The grasshoppers are dried, or cured, for winter use. A white man who had tried them told
THE DIGGKRS* 23
me they were pleasant eating, having a flavor very similar to that of a good shrimp. (I was content to take his word for it.)
When Bishop Soule was in California, in 1853, he paid a visit to a Digger campoody (or village) in the Calaveras hills. He was profoundly inter- ested, and expressed an ardent desire to be instru- mental in the conversion of one of these poor kin. It was yet early in the morning when the Bishop and his party arrived, and the Diggers were not astir, save here and there . a squaw, in primitive array, who slouched lazily toward a spring of water hard by. But soon the arrival of the visitors was made known, and the bucks, squaws, and papooses, swarmed forth. They cast curious looks upon the whole party, but were specially struck with the majestic bearing of the Bishop, as were the pass- ing crowds in London, who stopped in the streets to gaze with admiration upon the great American preacher. The Digger chief did not conceal his delight. After looking upon the Bishop fixedly for some moments, he went up to him, and tapping first his own chest and then the Bishop's, he said :
" Me big man — you big man ! "
It was his opinion that two great men had met, and that the occasion was a grand one. Moraliz- ers to the contrary notwithstanding, greatness is not always lacking in self-consciousness.
24 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
"I would like to go into one of their wigwams, or huts, and see how they really live," said the Bishop.
"You had better drop that idea," said the guide, a white man who knew more about Digger Indians than was good for his reputation and morals, but who wras a good-hearted fellow, always ready to do a friendly turn, and with plenty of time on his hands to do it. The genius born to live without work will make his way by his wits, whether it be in the lobby at Washington City, or as a hanger- on at a Digger camp.
The Bishop insisted on going inside the chief's wigwam, which was a conical structure of long tule-grass, air-tight and weather-proof, with an aperture in front just large enough for a man's body in a crawling attitude. Sacrificing his dig- nity, the Bishop wrent down on all-fours, and then a degree lower, and, following the chief, crawled in. The air was foul, the smells were strong, and the light was dim. The chief proceeded to tender to his distinguished guest the hospitalities of the establishment, by offering to share his breakfast with him. The bill of fare was grasshoppers, with acorns as a side-dish. The Bishop maintained his dignity as he squatted there in the dirt — his dig- nity was equal to any test. He declined the grass- hoppers tendered him by the chief, pleading that
TJIE DwuK/fft. 25
he had already breakfasted, but watched with peculiar sensations the movements of his host, as handful after handful of the crisp and juicy yryllm mdgaris were crammed into his capacious mouth, and swallowed. What he saw and smelt, and the absence of fresh air, began to tell upon the Bishop — he became sick and pale, while a gen- tle perspiration, like unto that felt in the begin- ning of seasickness, beaded his noble forehead. With slow dignity, but marked emphasis, he spoke :
" Brother Bristow, I propose that we retire/7 They retired, and there is no record that Bishop Soule ever expressed the least desire to repeat his visit to the interior of a Digger Indian's abode.
The whites had many difficulties with the Dig- gers in the early days. In most cases I think the whites were chiefly to blame. It is very hard for the strong to be just to the weak. The weakest creature, pressed hard, will strike back. White women and children wrere massacred in retaliation for outrages committed upon the ignorant Indians by white outlaws. Then there would be a sweep- ing destruction of Indians by the excited whites, who in those days made rather light of Indian shooting. The shooting of a "buck" was about the same thing, whether it was a male Digger or a deer.
26 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
»
'•"There is not much fight in a Digger unless he's got the dead-wood on you, and then he'll make it rough for you. But these Injuns are of no use, and I 'd about as soon shodf one of them as a coyote" (ki-o-te).
The speaker was a very red-faced, sandy-haired man, with blood-shot blue eyes, whom I met on his return to the Humboldt country after a visit to San Francisco.
"Did you ever shoot an Indian?" I asked.
"I first went up into the Eel River country in '46," he answered. "They give us a lot of trouble in them days. They would steal cattle, and our boys would shoot. But we've never had much difficulty with them since the big fight we had with them in 1849. A good deal of devilment had been goin' on all roun', and some had been killed on both sides. The Injuns killed two women on a ranch in the valley, and then we sot in just to wipe 'em out. Their camp was in a bend of the river, near the head of the valley, with a deep slough on the right flank. There was about sixty of us, and
Dave was our captain. He was a hard rider,
a dead shot, and not very tender-hearted. The boys sorter liked him, but kep' a sharp eye on him, knowin' he was so quick and handy with a pistol. Our plan was to git to their camp and fall on em at daybreak, but the sun was risin' just as we
THE DIGGERS. 27
come in sight of it. A dog barked, and Dave sung out:
"'Out with your pistols I pitch in, and give 'em the hot lead ! '
"In we galloped at full speed, and as the Injuns come out to see what was up, we let 'em have it. We shot forty bucks — about a dozen got away by swiimnin' the river."
" Were any of the women killed?"
"A few were knocked over. You can't be par- ticular when you are in a hurry; and a squaw, when her blood is up, will fight equal to a buck."
The fellow spoke with evident pride, feeling that he was detailing a heroic affair, having no idea that he had done any thing wrong in merely kill- ing " bucks." I noticed that this same man was very kind to an old lady who took the stage for Bloomfield — helping her into the vehicle, and look- ing after her baggage. When we parted, I did not care to take the hand that had held a pistol that morning when the Digger camp was " wiped out."
The scattered remnants of the Digger tribes were gathered into a reservation in Round Valley, Mendocino county, north of the Bay of San Fran- cisco, and were there taught a mild form of agri- cultural life, and put under the care of Govern- ment agents, contractors, and soldiers, with about
2S CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
the usual results. One agent, who was also a preacher, took several hundred of them into the Christian Church. They seemed to have mastered the leading facts of the gospel, and attained con- siderable proficiency in the singing of hymns. Al- together, the result of this effort at their conver- sion showed that they were human beings, and as such could be made recipients of the truth and grace of God, who is the Father of all the fami- lies of the earth. Their spiritual guide told me he had to make one compromise with them — they would dance. Extremes meet — the fashionable white Christians of our gay capitals and the tawny Digger exhibit the same weakness for the fascinat- ing exercise that cost John the Baptist his head.
There is one thing a Digger cannot bear, and that is the comforts and luxuries of civilized life. A number of my friends, who had taken Digger children to raise, found that as they approached maturity they fell into. a decline and died, in most cases of some pulmonary affection. The only way to save them was to let them rough it, avoiding warm bed-rooms and too much clothing. A Dig- ger girl belonged to my church at Santa Rosa, and was a gentle, kind-hearted, grateful creature.
She was a domestic in the family of Colonel H .
In that pleasant Christian household she developed into a pretty fair specimen of brunette young
THE DIGGERS.
20
womanhood, but to the last she had an aversion to wearing shoes.
The Digger seems to be doomed. Civilization kills him; and if he sticks to his savagery, he will go down before the bullets, whisky, and vices of his white fellow-sinners.
THE CALIFOBNIA MAP-HOUSE,
ON my first visit to the State Insane Asylum, at Stockton, I was struck by the beauty of a. boy of some seven or eight years, who was moving about the grounds clad in a strait-jacket. In re^ ply to my inquiries, the resident physician told me his history:
"About a year ago he was on his way to Cali* forma with the family to wThich he belonged. He was a general pet among the passengers on the steamer. Handsome, confiding, and overflowing with boyish spirits, everybody had a smile and a kind word for the winning little fellow. Even the rough sailors would pause a moment to pat his curly head as they passed. One day a sailor, yield* ing to a playful impulse in passing, caught up the boy in his arms, crying:
" ' I am going to throw you into the sea ! ' " The child gave one scream of terror, and went into convulsions. When the paroxysm subsided,, (30)
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE. 31
he opened his eyes and gazed around with a va- cant expression. His mother, who bent over him with a pale face, noticed the look, and almost screamc'd ;
"'Tommy, here is your mother — don't you know me?'
"The child gave no sign of recognition. He never knew his poor mother again. He was lit- erally frightened out of his senses. The mother's anguish was terrible. The remorse of the sailor for his thoughtless freak was so great that it in some degree disarmed the indignation of the pas- sengers and crew. The child had learned to read, and had made rapid progress in the studies suited to his age, but all was swept away by the cruel blow. He was unable to utter a word intelligent- . ly, Since he has been here, there have been signs of returning mental consciousness, and we have begun with him as with an infant. He knows and can call his own name, and is now learning the alphabet/'
"How is his health?"
" His health is pretty good, except that he has occasional convulsive attacks that can only be controlled by the use of powerful opiates."
I was glad to learn, on a visit made two years later, that the unfortunate boy had died.
This child was murdered by a fool. The fools
32 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
are always murdering children, though the work is not always done as effectually as in this case. They cripple and half kill them by terror. There are many who will read this Sketch who will carry to the grave, and into the world of spirits, natures out of which half the* sweetness, and brightness, and beauty has been crushed by ignorance or brutality. In most cases it is ignorance. The hand that should guide, smites; the voice that should soothe, jars the sensitive chords that are untuned forever. He who thoughtlessly excites terror in a child's heart is unconsciously doing the devil's work ; he that does it consciously is a devil.
"There is a lady here whom I wish you would talk to. She belongs to one of the most respecta- ble families in San Francisco, is cultivated, refined, and has been the center of a large and loving cir- cle. Her monomania is spiritual despair. She thinks she has committed the unpardonable sin. There she is now. I will introduce you to her. Talk with her, and comfort her if you can."
She was a tall, well-formed woman in black, with all the marks of refinement in her dress and bear- ing. She was walking the floor to and fro with rapid steps, wringing her hands, and moaning pit- eously. Indescribable anguish was in her face • — it was a hopeless face. It haunted my thoughts
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE. 33
for many days, and it is vividly before me as I write now. The kind physician introduced me, and left the apartment.
There is a sacredness about such an interview that inclines me to veil its details.
" I am willing to talk with you, sir, and appreciate your motive, but I understand my situation. I have committed the unpardonable sin, and I know there is no hope for me."
With the earnestness excited by intense sympa- thy, I combated her conclusion, and felt certain that I could make her see and feel that she had given way to an illusion. She listened respectfully to all I had to say, and then said again :
"I know my situation. I denied my Saviour after all his goodness to me, and he has left me forever."
There was the frozen calmness of utter despair in look and tone. I left her as I found her.
"I will introduce you to another woman, the opposite of the poor lady you have just seen. She thinks she is a queen, and is perfectly harmless. You must be careful to humor her illusion. There she is — let me present you."
She was a woman of immense size, enormously fat, with broad red face, and a self-satisfied smirk, dressed in some sort of flaming scarlet stuff, pro- fusely tinseled all over, making a gorgeously ridic- 3
34 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
ulous effect. She received me with a mixture of mock dignity and smiling condescension, and sur- veying herself admiringly, she asked :
"How do you like my dress?"
It was not the first time that royalty had shown itself not above the little weaknesses of human nature. On being told that her apparel was in- deed magnificent, she was much pleased, and drew herself up proudly, and was a picture of ecstatic vanity. Are the real queens as happy? When they lay aside their royal robes for their grave- clothes, will not the pageantry which was the glory of their lives seem as vain as that of this tin- seled queen of the mad-house ? Where is happiness, after all? Is it in the circumstances, the external conditions? or, is it in the mind? Such were the thoughts passing through my mind, when a man approached with a violin. Every eye brightened, and the queen seemed to thrill with pleasure in every nerve.
" This is the only way we can get some of them to take any exercise. The music rouses them, and they will dance as long as they are permitted to do so."
The fiddler struck up a lively tune, and the queen, with marvelous lightness of step and ogling glances, ambled up to a tall, raw-boned Methodist preacher, who had come with me, and invited him
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE. 35
to dance with her. The poor parson seemed sadly embarrassed, as her manner was very pressing, but he awkwardly and confusedly declined, amid the titters of all present. It was a singular spectacle, that dance of the mad-women. The most striking figure on the floor was the queen. Her great size, her brilliant apparel, her astonishing agility, the perfect time she kept, the bows, the smiles and blandishments, she bestowed on an imaginary part- ner, were indescribably ludicrous. Now and then, in her evolutions, she would cast a momentary re- proachful glance at the ungallant clergyman who had refused to dance with feminine royalty, and who stood looking on with a sheepish expression of face. He was a Kentuckian, and lack of gal- lantry is not a Kentucky trait.
During the session of the Annual Conference at Stockton, in 1859 or 1860, the resident physician invited me to preach to the inmates of the Asylum on Sunday afternoon. The novelty of the service, which was announced in the daily papers, attracted a large number of visitors, among them the greater part of the preachers. The day was one of those bright, clear, beautiful October days, peculiar to California, that make you think of heaven. I stood on the steps, and the hundreds of men and women stood below me, with their upturned faces. Among them were old men crushed by sorrow, and
36 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
old men ruined by vice ; aged women with faces that seemed to plead for pity, women that made you shrink from their unwomanly gaze ; lion-like young men, made for heroes but caught in the devil's trap and changed into beasts; and boys whose looks showed that sin had already stamped them with its foul insignia, and burned into their souls the shame which is to be one of the elements of its eternal punishment. A less impressible man than I would have felt moved at the sight of that throng of bruised and broken creatures. A hymn was read, and when Burnet, Kelsay, Neal, and others of the preachers, struck up an old tune, voice after voice joined in the melody until it swelled into a mighty volume of sacred song. I noticed that the faces of many were wet with tears, and there was an indescribable pathos in their voices. The pitying God, amid the rapturous hal- leluiahs of the heavenly hosts, bent to listen to the music of these broken harps. This text was an- nounced, My peace I give unto you; and the ser- mon began.
Among those standing nearest to me was " Old Kelley," a noted patient, whose monomania was the notion that he was a millionaire, and who spent most of his time in drawing checks on imaginary deposits for vast sums of money. I held one of his checks for a round million, but it has never yet
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE. 37
been cashed. The old man pressed up close to me, seeming to. feel that the success of the service somehow depended on him. I had not more than fairly begun my discourse, when he broke in :
" That 's Daniel Webster ! "
I don't mind a judicious "Amen," but this put me out a little. I resumed my remarks, and was getting. another good start, when he again broke in enthusiastically:
"Henry Clay!"
The preachers standing "around me smiled — I think I heard one or two of them titter. I could not take my eyes from Kelley, who stood with open mouth and beaming countenance, waiting for me to go on. He held me with an evil fascination. I did go on in a louder voice, and in a sort of des- peration ; but again my delighted hearer exclaimed :
"Calhoun!"
"Old Kelley" spoiled that sermon, though he meant kindly. He died not long afterward, gloat- ing over his fancied millions to the last.
"If you have steady nerves, come with me and I will show you the worst case we have — a woman half tigress, and half devil."
Ascending a stair-way, I was led to an angle of the building assigned to the patients whose violence required them to be kept in close confine- ment.
38 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
"Hark! don't you hear her? She is in one of her paroxysms now."
The sounds that iss.ued from one of the cells were like nothing I had ever heard before. They were a series of unearthly, fiendish shrieks, inter- mingled with furious imprecations, as of a lost spirit in an ecstasy of rage and fear.
The face that glared upon me through the iron grating was hideous, horrible. It was that of a woman, or of what had been a woman, but was now a wreck out of which evil passion had stamped all that was womanly or human. I involuntarily shrunk back as I met the glare of those fiery eyes, and caught the sound of words that made me shud- der. I never suspected myself of being a coward, but I felt glad that the iron bars of the cell against which she dashed herself were strong. I had read of Furies — one was now before me. The bloated, gin-inflamed face, the fiery-red, wicked eyes, the swinish chin, the tangled coarse hair falling around her like writhing snakes, the tiger-like clutch of her dirty fingers, the horrible words — the picture was sickening, disgust for the time almost extin- guishing pity.
"She was the keeper of a beer -saloon in San Francisco, and led a life of drunkenness and li- centiousness until she broke down, and she was brought here."
THE CALIFORNIA MAD-HOUSE. 39
"Is there any hope of her restoration ? "
"I fear not — nothing short of a miracle can re-tune an instrument so fearfully broken and jangled."
I thought of her out of whom were cast the seven devils, and of Him who came to seek and to save the lost, and resisting the impulse that prompted me to hurry away from the sight and hearing of this lost woman, I tried to talk with her, but had to retire at last amid a volley of such language as I hope never to hear from a woman's lips again.
" Listen! Did you ever hear a sweeter voice than that?"
I had heard the voice before, and thrilled under its power. It was a female voice of wonderful richness and volume, with a touch of something in it that moved you strangely — a sort of intensity that set your pulses to beating faster, while it en- tranced you. The whole of the spacious grounds were flooded with the melody, and the passing teamsters on the public highway would pause and listen with wonder and delight. The singer was a fair young girl, with dark auburn hair, large brown eyes, that were at times dreamy and sad, and then again lit up with excitement, as her moods changed from sad to gay.
"She will sit silent for hours gazing listlessly out of the window, and then all at once break forth
40 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
into a burst of song so sweet and thrilling that the other patients gather near her and listen in rapt silence and delight. Sometimes at a dead hour of the night her voice is heard, and then it seems that she is under a special afflatus — she seems to be in- spired by the very soul of music, and her songs, wild and sad, wailing and rollicking, by turns, but all exquisitely sweet, fill the long night-hours with their melody."
The shock caused by the sudden death of her betrothed lover overthrew her reason, and blighted her life. By the mercy of God, the love of music and the gift of song survived the wreck of love and of reason. This girl's voice, pealing forth upon the still summer evening air, is mingled with my last recollection of Stockton and its refuge for the doubly miserable who are doomed to death in life.
SAN QUENTIN.
" T WANT you to go with me over to San Quentin L next Thursday, and preach a thanksgiving- sermon to the poor fellows in the State-prison."
On the appointed morning, I met our party at the Vallejo-street wharf, and we were soon steam- ing on our way. Passing under the guns of Fort Alcatraz, past Angel Island — why so called I know not, as in early days it was inhabited not by an- gels but goats only — all of us felt the exhilaration of the California sunshine, and the bracing No- vember air, as we stood upon the guards, watching the play of the lazy-looking porpoises, that seemed to roll along, keeping up with the swift motion of the boat in such a leisurely way. The porpoise is a deceiver. As he rolls up to the surface of the water, in his lumbering way, he looks as if he were a huge lump of unwieldy awkwTarduess, floating at random and almost helpless ; but when you come to know him better, you find that he is
(41)
42 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
a marvel of muscular power and swiftness. I have seen a "school" of porpoises in the Pacific swimming for hours alongside one of our fleetest ocean-steamers, darting a few yards ahead now and then, as if by mere volition, cutting their way through the water with the directness of an arrow. The porpoise is playful at times, and his favorite game is a sort of leap-frog. A score or more of the creatures, seemingly full of fun and excite- ment, will chase one another at full speed, throw- ing themselves from the water and turning somer- saults in the air, the water boiling with the agitation, and their huge bodies flashing in the light. You might almost imagine that they had found some- thing in the sea that had made them drunk, or that they had inhaled some sort of piscatorial an- aesthetic. But here we are at our destination. The bell rings, we round to, and land.
At San Quentin nature is at her best, and man at his worst. Against the rocky shore the waters of the bay break in gentle plashings when the winds are quiet. When the gales from the south- west sweep through the Golden Gate, and set the white caps to dancing to their wild music, the waves rise high, and dash upon the dripping stones with a hoarse roar, as of anger. Beginning a few hundreds of yards from the water's edge, the hills slope up, and up, and up, until they touch the
SAN QUEXTLN. 43
base of Tamelpais, on whose dark and rugged summit, four thousand feet above the sea that laves his feet on the west, the rays of the morning sun fall with transfiguring glory while yet the val- ley below lies in shadow. On this lofty pinnacle lin- ger the last rays of the setting sun, as it drops into the bosom of the Pacific. In stormy weather, the mist and clouds roll in from the ocean, and gather in dark masses around his awful head, as if the sea-gods had risen from their homes in the deep, and were holding a council of war amid the battle of the elements ; at other times, after calm, bright days, the thin, soft white clouds that hang about his crest deepen into crimson and gold, and the mountain-top looks as if the angels of God had come down to encamp, and pitched here their pa- vilions of glory. This is nature at San Quentin, and this is Tamelpais as I have looked upon it many a morning and many an evening from my window above the sea at North Beach.
The gate is opened for us, and we enter the prison-walls. It is a holiday, and the day is fair and balmy; but the chill and sadness cannot be shaken off, as we look around us. The sunshine seems almost to be a mockery in this place where fel- low-men are caged and guarded like wild beasts, and skulk about with shaved heads, clad in the striped uniform of infamy. Merciful God! is this what
44 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
thy creature man was made for? How ]ong, how long?
Seated upon the platform with the prison offi- cials and visitors, I watched my strange auditors as they came in. There were one thousand of them. Their faces were a curious study. Most of them were bad faces. Beast and devil were printed on them. Thick necks, heavy back-heads, and low, square foreheads, were the prevalent types. The least repulsive were those who looked as if they were all animal, creatures of instinct and appetite, good-natured and stupid ; the most repulsive were those whose eyes had a gleam of mingled sensuality and ferocity. But some of these faces that met my gaze were startling — they seemed so out of place. One old man with gray hair, pale, sad face, and clear blue eyes, might have passed, in other garb and in other company, for an honored member of the Society of Friends. He had killed a man in a mountain county. If he was indeed a murderer at heart, nature had given him the wrong imprint. My attention was struck by a smooth-faced, handsome young fellow, scarcely of age, who looked as little like a convict as anybody on that platform. He was in for burglary, and had a very bad record. Some came in half laughing, as if they thought the whole affair more a joke than any thing else. The Mex-
SAX QUEXTIX. 45
icans, of whom there was quite a number, were sullen and scowling. There is gloom in the Span- ish blood. The irrepressible good nature of sev- eral ruddy-faced Irishmen broke out in sly merri- ment. As the service began, the discipline of the prison showed itself in the quiet that instantly prevailed ; but only a few, who joined in the singing, seemed to feel the slightest interest in it. Their eyes were wandering, and their faces were vacant. They had the look of men who had come to be talked at and patronized, and who were used to it. The prayer that wras offered was not calcu- lated to banish such a feeling — it was dry and cold. I stood up to begin the sermon. Never be- fore had I realized so fully that God's message was to lost men, and for lost men. A mighty tide of pity rushed in upon my soul as I looked down into the faces of my hearers. My eyes filled, and my heart melted within me. I could not speak until after a pause, and only then by great effort. There was a deep silence, and every face was lifted to mine as I announced the text. God had touched my heart and theirs at the start. I read the words slowly : God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to ob~ IK in salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ. Then I said : " My fellowr-men, I come to you to-day with a message from my Father, and your Father in heaven. It is a message of hope. God help me
46 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
to deliver it as I ought! God help you to hear it as you ought! I will not insult you by saying that because you have an extra dinner, a few hours respite from your toil, and a little fresh air and sunshine, you ought to have a joyful thanks- giving to-day. If I should talk thus, you would be ready to ask me how I would like to change places with you. You would despise me, and I would despise myself, for indulging in such cant. Your lot is a hard one. The battle of life has gone against you — whether by your own fault or by hard fortune, it matters not, so far as the fact is concerned; this thanksgiving-day finds you locked in here, with broken lives, and wearing the badge of crime. God alone knows the secrets of each throb* bing heart before me, and how it is that you have come to this. Fellow-men, children of my Father in heaven, putting myself for the moment in your place, the bitterness of your lot is real and terrible to ine. For some of you there is no happier pros- pect for this life than to toil within these walls by day, and sleep in yonder cells by night, through the weary, slow-dragging years, and then to die, with only the hands of hired attendants to wipe the death-sweat from your brows; and then to be put in a convict's coffin, and taken up on the hill yonder, and laid in a lonely grave. My God ! this is terrible ! "
SAN QUENTIN. 47
An unexpected dramatic effect followed these words. The heads of many of the convicts fell forward on their breasts, as if struck with sudden paralysis. They were the men who were in for life, and the horror of it overcame them. The silence was broken by sobbings all over the room. The officers and visitors on the platform were weeping. The angel of pity hovered over the place, and the glow of human sympathy had melt- ed those stony hearts. A thousand strong men were thrilled with the touch of sympathy, and once more the sacred fountain of tears wras un- sealed. These convicts were men, after all, and deep down under the rubbish of their natures there was still burning the spark of a humanity not yet extinct. It was wonderful to see the soft- ened expression of their faces. Yes, they were men, after all, responding to the voice of sympathy, which had been but too strange to many of them all their evil lives. Many of them had inherited hard conditions; they were literally conceived in sin and born in iniquity ; they grew up in the midst of vice. For them pure and holy lives were a moral impossibility. Evil with them was hereditary, organic, and the result of association ; it poisoned their blood at the start, and stamped it- self on their features from their cradles. Human law, in dealing with these victims of evil circum-
48 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
stance, can make little discrimination. Society must protect itself, treating a criminal as a crim- inal. But what will God do with them hereafter? Be sure he will do right. Where little is given, little will be required. It shall be better for Tyre and Sidon at the day of judgment than for Chora- zin and Bethsaida. There is no ruin without rem- edy, except that which a man makes for himself by abusing mercy, and throwing away proffered opportunity. Thoughts like these rushed through the preacher's mind, as he stood there looking in the tear-bedewed faces of these men of crime. A fresh tide of pity rose in his heart, that he felt came from the heart of the all-pitying One.
" I do not try to disguise from you, or from myself the fact that for this life your outlook is not bright. But I come to you this day with a message of hope from God our Father. He hath not appointed you to wrath. He loves all his children. He sent his Son to die for them. Jesus trod the paths of pain, and drained the cup of sorrow. He died as a malefactor, for malefactors. He died for me. He died for each one of you. If I knew the most broken, the most desolate-hearted, despairing man before me, who feels that he is scorned of men and forsaken of God, I would go to where he sits and put my hand* on his head, and tell him that God hath not appointed him to wrath, but to obtain
SAX QUKXTIN. 49
salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us. I would tell him that his Father in heaven loves him still, loves him more than the mother that bore him. I 'would tell him that all the wrongs and follies of his past life may from this hour be turned into so much capital of a warning experience, and that a million of years from to-day he may be a child of the Heavenly Father, and an heir of glory, having the freedom of the heavens tind the blessedness of everlasting life. O broth- ers, God does love you! Nothing can ruin you but your own despair. .No man has any right to despair who has eternity before him. Eternity? Long, long eternity! Blessed, blessed eternity! That is yours* — all of it. It may be a happy eter- nity for each one of you. From this moment you may begin a better life. There is hope for you, and mercy, and love, and heaven. This is the message I bring you warm from a brother's heart, and warm from the heart of Jesus, whose life-blood was poured out for you and me. His loving hand opened the gate of mercy and hope to every man. The proof is that he died for us. O Son of God, take us to thy pitying arms, and lift us up into the light that never, never grows dim — into the love that fills heaven and eternity!"
As the speaker sunk into his seat, there was a e'.lenoe that was almost painful for a few moments. 4
50 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
Then the pent-up emotion of the men broke forth in sobs that shook their strong frames. Dr. Lucky, the prisoner's friend, made a brief, tearful prayer, and then the benediction was said, and the service was at an end. The men sat still in their seats. As we filed out of the chapel, many hands were extended to grasp mine, holding it with a clinging pressure. I passed out bearing with me the im- pression of an hour I can never .forget ; and the images of those thousand faces are still painted in memory.
' COKBALED."
you were corraled last night?" This was the remark of a friend whom I met in the streets of Stockton the morning after my adventure. I knew what the expression meant as applied to cattle, but I, had never heard it be- fore in reference to a human being. Yes, I had been corraled; and this is how it happened:
It was in the old days, before there were any railroads in California. With a wiry, clean-limbed pinto horse, I undertook to drive from Sacramento City to Stockton one day. It was in the winter season, and the clouds were sweeping up from the south-west, the snow-crested Sierras hidden from sight by dense masses of vapor boiling at their bases and massed against their sides. The roads were heavy from the effects of previous rains, and the plucky little pinto sweated as he pulled through the long stretches of black adobe mud. A cold 'wind struck me in the face, and the ride was a
(51)
52 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
dreary one from the start. But I pushed on con- fidently, having faith in the spotted mustang, de- spite the evident fact that he had lost no little of the spirit with which he dashed out of town at starting. When a, genuine mustang flags, it is a serious business. The hardiness and endurance of this breed of horses almost exceed belief.
Toward night a cold rain began to fall, driving in my face with the head-wind. Still many a long mile lay between me and Stockton. Dark came on, and it was dark indeed. The outline of the horse I was driving could not be seen, and the flat country through which I was driving was a great black sea of night. I trusted to the instinct of the horse, and moved on. The bells of a wagon-team meeting me fell upon my ear. I called out,
"Halloo there!"
"What's the matter?'' answered a heavy voice through the darkness.
"Am I in the road to Stockton, and can I get there to-night?"
" You are in the road, but you will never find your way such a night as this. It is ten good miles from here ; you have several bridges to cross — you had better stop at the first house you come to, about half a mile ahead. I am going to strike camp myself."
I thanked my adviser, and went on, hearing the
" CORRALED" 53
sound of the tinkling bells, but unable to see any thing. In a little while I saw a light ahead, and was glad to see it. Driving up in front and halt- ing, I repeated the traveler's " halloo" several times, and at last got a response in a hoarse, gruff voice.
"I am belated on my way to Stockton, and am cold, and tired, and hungry. Can I get shelter with you for the night?"
" You may try it, if you want to," answered the unmusical voice abruptly.
In a few moments a man appeared to take the horse, and taking my satchel in hand, I went into the house. The first thing that struck my atten- tion on entering the room wras a big log-fire, which I was glad to see, for I was wet and very cold. Taking a chair in the corner, I looked around. The scene that presented itself was not reassuring. The main feature of the room was a bar, with an ample supply of barrels, demijohns, bottles, tum- blers, and all the et cceteras. Behind the counter stood the proprietor, a burly fellow with a buffalo- neck, fair skin and blue eyes, with a frightful scar across his left under-jaw and neck; his shirt-collar was open, exposing a huge chest, and his sleeves were rolled up above the elbows. I noticed also that one of his hands was minus all the fingers but the half of uiie — the result probably of some
54 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
desperate rencounter. I did not like the appear- ance of my landlord, and he eyed me in a way that led me to fear that he liked my looks as little as I did his ; but the claims of other guests soon divert- ed his attention from me, and I was left to get warm and make further observations. At a table in the middle of the room several hard -looking fellows were betting at cards, amid terrible pro- fanity and frequent drinks of whisky. They cast inquiring and not very friendly glances at me from time to time, once or twice exchanging whispers and giggling. As their play went on, and tumbler after tumbler of whisky was drunk by them, they became more boisterous. Threats were made of using pistols and knives, with which they all seemed to be heavily armed ; and one sottish-look- ing brute actually drew forth a pistol, but was disarmed in no gentle way by the big-limbed land- lord. The profanity and other foul language were horrible. Many of my readers have no conception of the brutishness of men when whisky and Satan have full possession of them. In the midst of a volley of oaths and terrible imprecations by one of the most violent of the set, there was a faint gleam of lingering decency exhibited by one of his companions:
"Blast it, Dick, don't cuss so loud — that fellow in the corner there is a preacher!"
" CORRALED" 55
There was some potency in "the cloth" even there. How lie knew my calling I do not know. The remark directed particular attention to me, and I became unpleasantly conspicuous. Scowling glances were bent upon me by two or three of the ruffians, and one fellow made a profane remark not at all complimentary to my vocation — whereat there was some coarse laughter. In the meantime I was conscious of being very hungry. My hun- ger, like that of a boy, is a very positive thing — at least it was very much so in those days. Glancing toward the maimed and scarred giant who stood behind the bar, I found he was gazing at me witli a fixed expression.
"Can I get something to eat? I am very hun- gry, sir," I said in my blandest tones.
"Yes, we've plenty of cold goose, and may be Pete can pick up something else for you if he is sober and in a good humor. Come this way/'
I followed him through a narrow passage-way, which led to a long, low- ceiled room, along nearly the whole length of which was stretched a table, around which were placed rough stools for the rough men about the place.
Pete, the cook, came in, and the head of the house turned me over to him, and returned to his duties behind the bar. From the noise of the up- roar going on, his presence was doubtless needed.
56 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
Pete set before me a large roasted wild-goose, not badly cooked, with bread, milk, and the inevitable cucumber pickles. The knives and forks were not very bright — in fact, they had been subjected to in- fluences promotive of oxidation; and the dishes were not free from bigns of former use. Nothing could be said against the table-cloth — there was no table-cloth there. But the goose was fat, brown, and tender ; and a hungry man defers his criticisms until he is done eating, That is what I did. Pete evidently regarded me with curiosity. He was about fifty years of age, and had the look of a man who had come down in the world. His face bore the marks of the effects of strong drink, but it was not a bad face ; it was more weak than wicked.
"Are you a preacher?" he asked.
".I thought so," he added, after getting my an- swer to his question. " Of what persuasion are you?" he further inquired.
When I told him I was a Methodist, he said quickly and with some warmth :
"I was sure of it. This is a rough place for a man of your calling. Would you like some eggs? we've plenty on hand. And may be you would like a cup of coffee," he added, with in- creasing hospitality.
I took the eggs, but declined the coffee, not lik-
" ComtALED" 57
ing the looks of the cups and saucers, and not car- ing to wait.
" I used to be a Methodist myself," said Pete, with a sort of choking in his throat, " but bad luck and bad company have brought me down to this. I have a family in Iowa, a wife and four children. I guess they think I'm dead, and sometimes I wish I was."
Pete stood by my chair, actually crying. The sight of a Methodist preacher brought up old times. He told me his story. He had come to California hoping to make- a fortune in a hurry, but had only ill luck from the start. His pros- pectings were always failures, his partners cheated liim, his health broke down, his courage gave way, and — he faltered a little, and then spoke it out — he took to whisky, and then the worst came.
" I have come down to this — cooking for a lot of roughs at five dollars a week, and all the whis- ky I want. It would have been better for me if I had died when I was in the hospital at San Andreas."
Poor Pete! he had indeed touched bottom. But he had a heart and a conscience still, and my own heart warmed toward my poor backslidden brother.
" You are not a lost man yet. You are worth a thousand dead men. You can get out of this, and you must. You must act the part of a brave man, and not be any longer a coward. Bad luck and
58 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
lack of success are a disgrace to no man. There is where you went wrong. It was cowardly to give up and not write to your family, and then take to whisky/'
"I know all that, Elder. There is no better lit- tle woman on earth than my wife" — Pete choked up again.
" You write to her this very night, and go back to her and your children just as soon as you can get the money to pay your way. Act the man, and all will come right yet. I have writing-materials here in my satchel — pen, ink, paper, envelopes, stamps, every thing; I am an editor, and go fixed up for writing."
The letter was written, I acting as Pete's aman- uensis, he pleading that he was a poor scribe at best, and that his nerves were too unsteady for such work. Taking my advice, he made a clean breast of the whole matter, throwing himself on the for- giveness of the wife whom he had so shamefully neglected, and promising by the help of God to make all the amends possible in time to come. The letter was duly directed, sealed, and stamped, and Pete looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his soul. He had made me a fire in the little stove, saying it was better than the bar- room; in which opinion I was fully agreed.
" There is no place for you to sleep to-night with-
" COBRALED." 59
out corral ing you with the fellows; there is but one bed-room, and there are fourteen bunks in it."
I shuddered at the prospect — fourteen bunks in one small room, and those whisky-sodden, loud- cursing card-players to be my room-mates for the night !
"I prefer sitting here by the stove all night," I said; "I can employ most of the time writing, if I can have a light."
Pete thought a moment, looked grave, and then said :
"That won't do, Elder; those fellows would take offense, and make trouble. Several of them are out now goose-hunting; they will be coming in at all hours from now till day-break, and it won't do for them to find you sitting up here alone. The best thing for you to do is to go in and take one of those bunks ; you need n't take off any thing but your coat and boots, and" — here he lowered his voice, looking about him as he spoke — " if you have any money about, keep it next to your body."
The last words were spoken with peculiar em- phasis.
Taking the advice given me, I took up my bag- gage and followed Pete to the room where I was to spend the night. Ugh! it was dreadful. The single window in the room was nailed down, and the air was close and foul. The bunks were damp
60 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
and dirty beyond belief, grimed with foulness, and reeking with ill odors. This was being corraled. I turned to Pete, saying:
" I can't stand this — I will go back to the kitchen."
"You had better follow my advice, Elder," said he very gravely. " I know things about here bet- ter than you do. It's rough, but you had better stand it."
And I did; being corraled, I had to stand it. That fearful night! The drunken fellows stag- gered in one by one, cursing and hiccoughing, un- til every bunk was occupied. They muttered oaths in their sleep, and their stertorous breath- ings made a concert fit for Tartarus. The sickening odors of whisky, onions, and tobacco filled the room. I lay there and longed for daylight, which seemed as if it never would come. I thought of the descriptions I had heard and read of hell, and just then the most vivid conception of its horror was to be shut up forever with the aggregated im- purity of the universe. By contrast I tried to think of that city of God into which, it is said, "there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomi- nation, or maketh a lie; but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life." But thoughts of heaven did not suit- the situation; it was more sug-
"CORRALED." 61
gestive of the other place. The horror of being shut up eternally in hell as the companion of lost spirits was intensified by the experience and re- flections of that night when I Avas corraled.
Day came at last. I rose with the first streaks of the dawn, and not having much toilet to make, I was soon out-of-doors. Never did I breathe the pure, fresh air with such profound pleasure and gratitude. I drew deep inspirations, and, opening my coat and vest, let the breeze that swept up the valley blow upon me unrestricted. How bright, was the face of nature, and how sweet her breath after the sights, sounds, and smells of the night !
I did not wait for breakfast, but had my pinto and buggy brought out, and, bidding Pete good-by, hurried on to Stockton.
"So you were corraled last night?" was the re- mark of a friend, quoted at the beginning of this true sketch. "What was the name .of the propri- etor of the house?"
I gave him the name.
"DaveW— — !" he exclaimed with fresh aston- ishment. "That is the roughest place in the San Joaquin Valley. Several men have been killed and robbed there during the last two or three years."
I hope Pete got back safe to his wife and chil- dren in Iowa; and I hope I may never be corraled again.
THE KEBLOOMING.
IT is now more than twenty years since the morning a slender youth of handsome face and modest mien carne into my office on the corner of Montgomery and Clay streets, San Francisco. He was the son of a preacher well known in Missouri and California, a man of rare good sense, caustic wit, and many eccentricities. The young man be- came an attache of my newspaper-office and an in- mate of my home. He was as fair as a girl, and refined in his taste and manners. A genial taci- turnity, if the expression may be allowed, marked his bearing in the social circle. Everybody had a kind feeling and a good word for the quiet, bright- faced youth. In the discharge of his duties in the office he was punctual and trustworthy, showing n©t only industry but unusual aptitude for business. It was with special pleasure that I learned that he was turning his thoughts to the subject of religion. During the services in the little Pine-street church (62)
THE EEBLOOMING. 63
he would sit with thoughtful face, and not seldom with moistened eyes. He read the Bible and prayed in secret. I was not surprised when he came to me one day and opened his heart. The great crisis in his life had come. God was speak- ing to his soul, and he was listening to his voice. The uplifted cross drew him, and he yielded to the gentle attraction. We prayed together, and hence- forth there was a new and sacred bond that bound us to each other. I felt that I was a witness to the most solemn transaction that can take place on earth — the wedding of -a soul to a heavenly faith. Soon thereafter he went to Virginia, to at- tend college. There he united with the Church. His letters to me were full of gratitude and joy. It was the blossoming of his spiritual life, and the air was full of its fragrance, and the earth was Hooded with glory. A pedestrian-tour among the Virginia hills brought him into communion with Nature at a time when it was rapture to drink in its beauty and its grandeur. The light kindled within his soul by the touch of the Holy Spirit transfigured the scenery upon which he gazed, and the glory of God shone round about the young student in the flush and blessedness of his first love. O blessed days! O days of brightness, and sweetness, and rapture! The soul is then in its blossoming -time, and all high enthusiasms, all
64 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
bright dreams, all thrilling joys, are realities which inwork themselves into the consciousness, to be for- gotten never; to remain with us as prophecies of the eternal spring-time that awaits the true-hearted bu the hills of God beyond the grave, or as accus- ing voices charging us with the murder of our dead ideals! Amid the dust and din of the battle in after-years we turn to this radiant spot in our journey with smiles or tears, according as we have been true or false to the impulses, aspirations, and purposes inspired within us by that first, and brightest, and nearest manifestation of God. Such a season is as natural to every life as the April buds and June roses are to fprest and garden. The spring-time of some lives is deferred by impropi- tious circumstance to the time when it should be glowing with autumnal glory, and rich in the fruit- age of the closing year. The life that does not blossom into religion in youth may have light at noon, and peace at sunset, but misses the morning glory on the hills, and the dew that sparkles on grass and flower. The call of God to the young to seek him early is the expression of a true psy- chology no less than of a love infinite in its depth and tenderness.
His college-course finished, my young friend re- turned to California, and in one of its beautiful valley-towns he entered a law-office, with a view
THE REBLOOMING. 65
to prepare himself for the legal profession. Here he was thrown into daily association with a little knot of skeptical lawyers. As is often the case, their moral obliquities ran parallel with their er- rors in opinion. They swore, gambled genteelly, and drank. It is not strange that in this icy at- mosphere the growth of my young friend in the Christian life was stunted. Such influences are like the dreaded north wind that at times sweeps over the valleys of California in the spring and early summer, blighting and withering the vegeta- tion it does not kill. The brightness of his hope was dimmed, and his soul knew the torture of doubt — a torture that is always keenest to him who allows himself to sink in the region of fogs after he has once stood upon the sunlit summit of faith. Just at this crisis, a thing little in itself deepened the shadow that was falling upon his life. A personal misunderstanding with the pastor kept him from attending church. Thus he lost, the most effectual defense against the assaults that were being made upon his faith and hope, in being separated from the fellowship and cut off from the activities of the Church of God. Have you not noted these malign coincidences in life? There are times when it seems that the tide of events sets against us — when, like the princely sufferer of the land of Uz, every messenger that crosses the
66 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
threshold brings fresh tidings of ill, and our whole destiny seems to be rushing to a predoomed perdi- tion. The worldly call it bad luck; the supersti- tious call it fate; the believer in God calls it by another name. Always of a delicate constitution, my friend now exhibited symptoms of serious pul- monary disease. It was at that time the fashion in California to prescribe whisky as a specific for that class of ailments. It is possible that there is virtue in the prescription, but I am sure of one thing, namely, that if consumption diminished, drunkenness increased ; if fewer died of phthisis, more died of delirium tremens. The physicians of California have sent a host of victims raving and gibbering in drunken frenzy or idiocy down to death and hell ! I have reason to believe that rny friend inherited a constitutional weakness at this point. As flame to tinder, was the medicinal whisky to him. It grew upon him rapidly, and soon this cloud overshadowed all his life. He struggled hard to break the serpent-folds that were tightening around him ; but the fire that had been kindled seemed to be quenchless. An uncontrolled evil passion is hell-fire. He writhed in its burn- ings in an agony that could be understood only by such as knew how almost morbidly sensitive was his nature, and how vital was his conscience. I became a pastor in the town where he lived, and
THE REBLOOMING. 67
renewed my association with him as far as I could. But there was a constraint unlike the old times. When under the influence of liquor, he would pass me in the streets with his head down, a deeper flush mantling his cheek as he hurried by with unsteady step. Sometimes I met him staggering homeward through a back street, hiding from the gaze of men. He was at first shy of me when sober, but gradually the constraint wore off, and he seemed disposed to draw nearer to me, as in the old days. His struggle went on, days of drunkenness follow- ing weeks of soberness, his haggard face after each debauch wearing a look of unspeakable weariness and wretchedness. One of the lawyers who had led him into the mazes of doubt — a man of large and versatile gifts, whose lips were touched with a noble and persuasive eloquence — sunk deeper and deeper into the black depths of drunkenness, until the tragedy ended in a horror that lessened the gains of the saloons for at least a few days. He was found dead in his bed one morning in a pool of blood, his throat cut by his own guilty hand.
My friend had married a lovely girl, and the cottage in which they lived was one of the cosiest, and the garden in front was a little paradise of neatness and beauty. Ah! I must drop a veil over a part of this true tale. All along I have written under half protest, the image of a sad,
68 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
wistful face rising at times between my eyes and the sheet on which these words are traced. They loved each other tenderly and deeply, and both were conscious of the presence of the devil that was turning their heaven into hell.
" Save him, Doctor, save him ! He is the noblest of men, and the tenderest, truest husband. He loves you, and he will let you talk to him. Save him, O save him ! Help me to pray for him ! My heart will break ! "
Poor child ! her loving heart was indeed break- ing; and her fresh young life was crushed under a weight of grief and shame too heavy to be borne.
What he said to me in the interviews held in his sober intervals I have not the heart to repeat now. He still fought against his enemy ; he still buffeted the billows that were going over him, though with feebler stroke. When their little child died, her tears fell freely, but he was like one stunned. Stony and silent he stood and saw the little grave filled up, and rode away tearless, the picture of hopelessness.
By a coincidence, after my return to San Fran- cisco, he came thither, and again became my neigh- bor at North Beach. I went up to see him one evening. He was very feeble, and it was plain that the end was not far off. At the first glance I saw that a great change had taken place in him.
THE REBLOOMING. 69
He had found his lost self. The strong drink was shut out from him, and he was shut in with his better thoughts and with God. His religious life rebloomed in wondrous beauty and sweetness. The blossoms of his early joy had fallen off, the storms had torn its branches and stripped it of its foliage, but its root had never perished, because he had never ceased to struggle for deliverance. Aspira- tion and hope live or die together in the human soul. The link that bound my friend to God was never wholly sundered. His better nature clung to the better way with a grasp that never let go altogether.
"O Doctor, I am a wonder to myself! It does seem to me that God has given back to me every good thing I possessed in the bright and blessed past. It has all come back to me. I see the light and feel the joy as I did when I first entered the new life. O it is wonderful ! Doctor, God never gave me up, and I never ceased to yearn for his mercy and love, even in the darkest season of my unhappy life."
His very face had recovered its old look, and his voice its old tone. There could be no doubt of it — his soul had rebloomed in the life of God.
The last night came — they sent for me with the message,
" Come quickly ! he is dying."
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I found him with that look which I have seen on the faces of others who were nearing death — a radiance and a rapture that awed the beholder. O solemn, awful mystery of death ! I have stood in its presence in every form of terror and of sweetness, and in every case the thought has been impressed upon me that it was a passage into the Great Realities.
"Doctor/' he said, smiling, and holding my hand ; " I had hoped to be with you in your office again, as in the old days — not as a business ar- rangement, but just to be with you, and revive old memories, and to live the old life over again. But that cannot be, and I must wait till we meet in the world of spirits, whither I go before you. It seems to be growing dark. I cannot see your face — hold my hand. I am going — going. I am on the waves — on the waves — ." The radiance Avas still upon his face, but the hand I held no longer clasped mine — the wasted form was still. It was the end. \He was launched upon the Infinite Sea for the endless voyage, j
THE EMPEEOK NOBTON.
THAT was his title. He wore it with an air that was a strange mixture of the mock- heroic and the pathetic. He was mad on this one point, and strangely shrewd and well-informed on almost every other. Arrayed in a faded-blue uni- form, with brass buttons and epaulettes, wearing a cocked-hat with an eagle's feather, and at times with a rusty sword at his side, he was a conspicu- ous figure in the streets of San Francisco, and a regular habitue of all its public places. In person he was stout, full-chested, though slightly stooped, with a large head heavily coated with bushy black hair, an aquiline nose, and dark gray eyes, whose mild expression added to the benignity of his face. On the end of his nose grew a tuft of long hairs, which he seemed to prize as a natural mark of royalty, or chieftainship. Indeed, there was a popular legend afloat that he was of true royal blood — a stray Bourbon, or something of the sort.
(71)
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His speech was singularly fluent and elegant. The -Emperor was one of the celebrities that no visitor failed to see. It is said that his mind was un- hinged by a sudden loss of fortune in the early days, by the treachery of a partner in trade. The sudden blow was deadly, and the quiet, thrifty, affable man of business became a wreck. By nothing is the inmost quality of a man made more manifest than by the manner in which he meets misfortune. One, when the sky darkens, having strong impulse and weak will, rushes into suicide ; another, with a large vein of cowardice, seeks to drown the sense of disaster in strong drink; yet another, tortured in every fiber of a sensitive or- ganization, flees from the scene of his troubles and the faces of those that know him, preferring exile to shame. The truest man, when assailed by sud- den calamity, rallies all the reserved forces of a splendid manhood to meet the shock, and, like a good bhip, lifting itself from the trough of the swelling sea, mounts the wave and rides on. It was a curious idiosyncrasy that led this man, when fortune and reason were swept away at a stroke, to fall back upon this imaginary imperialism. The nature that could thus, when the real fabric of life was wrecked, construct such another by the exer- cise of a disordered imagination, must have been originally of a gentle and magnanimous type. The
THE EMPEROR NORTON. 73
broken fragments of mind, like those of a statue, reveal the quality of the original creation. It may be that he was happier than many who have worn^ real crowns. Napoleon at Chiselhurst, or his greater uncle at St. Helena, might have been gain- er by exchanging lots with this man, who had the inward joy of conscious greatness without its bur- den and its perils. To all public places he had free access, and no pageant was complete without his presence. From time to time he issued procla- mations, signed "Norton I.," which the lively San Francisco dailies were always ready to print con- spicuously in their columns. The style of these proclamations was stately, the royal first person plural being used by him with all gravity and dig- nity. Ever and anon, as his uniform became di- lapidated or ragged, a reminder of the condition of the imperial wardrobe would be given in one or more of the newspapers, and then in a few days he would appear in a new suit. He had the entree of all the restaurants, and he lodged — nobody knew where. It was said that he was cared for by mem- . bers of the Freemason Society to which he be- longed at the time of his fall. I saw him often in my congregation in the Pine-street church, along in 1858, and into the sixties. He was a respectful and attentive listener to preaching. On the oc- casion of one of his first visits he spoke to me,
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after the service, saying, in a kind and patronizing tone:
" I think it my duty to encourage religion and morality by showing myself at church, and to avoid jealousy I attend them all in turn."
He loved children, and would come into the Sunday-school, and sit delighted with their sing- ing. When, in distributing the presents on a Christmas-tree, a necktie was handed him as the gift of the young ladies, he received it with much satisfaction, making a kingly bow of gracious ac- knowledgment. Meeting him one day, in the spring-time, holding my little girl by the hand, he paused, looked at the child's bright face, and tak- ing a rose-bud from his button-hole, he presented it to her with a manner so graceful, and a smile so benignant, as to show that under the dingy blue uniform there beat the heart of a gentleman. He kept a keen eye on current events, and sometimes expressed his views with great sagacity. One day he stopped me on the street, saying •
"I have just read the report of the political
sermon of Dr. (giving the name of a noted
sensational preacher, who was in the habit, at times, of discussing politics from his pulpit). I disapprove political - preaching. What do you think?"
I expressed my cordial concurrence.
THE EMPEROR NORTON. 75
" I will put a stop to it. The preachers must stop preaching politics, or they must all come into one State Church. I will at once issue a decree to that effect."
For some unknown reason, that decree never was promulgated.
After the war, he took a deep interest in the re- construction of the Southern States. I met him one day on Montgomery street, when he asked me in a tone and with a look of earnest solicitude:
"Do you hear any complaint or dissatisfaction concerning me from the South?"
I gravely answered in the negative.
"I was for keeping the country undivided, but I have the kindest feeling for the Southern people, and will see that they are protected in all their rights. Perhaps if I were to go among them in person, it might have a good effect. What do you think?"
I looked at him keenly as I made some suitable reply, but could see nothing in his expression but simple sincerity. He seemed to feel that he was indeed the father of his people. George Washing- ton himself could not have adopted a more pater- nal tone.
Walking along the street behind the Emperor one day, my curiosity was a little excited by see- ing him thrust his hand into the hip-pocket of his
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blue trousers with sudden energy. The hip-pocket, by the way, is a modern American stupidity, asso- ciated in the popular mind with rowdyism, pistol- shooting, and murder. Hip -pockets should be abolished wherever there are courts of law and civilized men and women. But what was the Emperor after? Withdrawing his hand just as I overtook him, the mystery was revealed — it grasped a thick Bologna sausage, which he began to eat with unroyal relish. It gave me a shock, but he was not the first royal personage who has exhibited low tastes and carnal hankerings.
He was seldom made sport of or treated rudely. I saw him on one occasion when a couple of pass- ing hoodlums jeered at him. He turned and gave them a look so full of mingled dignity, pain, and surprise, that the low fellows were abashed, and uttering a forced laugh, with averted faces they hurried on. . The presence that can bring shame to a San Francisco hoodlum must indeed be kingly, or in some way impressive. In that genus the beastliness and devilishness of American city-life reach their lowest denomination. When the bru- tality of the savage and the lowest forms of civil- ized vice are combined, human nature touches bottom.
The Emperor never spoke of his early life. The veil of mystery on this point increased the popu-
THE EMPEROR NORTON. 77
lar curiosity concerning him, and invested him with something of a romantic interest. There was one thing that excited his disgust and indignation. The Bohemians of the San Francisco press got into the practice of attaching his name to their satires and hits at current follies, knowing that the well-known " Norton I." at the end would in- sure a reading. This abuse of the liberty of the press he denounced with dignified severity, threat- ening extreme measures unless it were stopped. But nowhere on earth did the press exhibit more audacity, or take a wider range, and it would have required a sterner heart and a stronger hand than that of Norton I. to put a hook into its jaws.
The end of all human grandeur, real or imagi- nary, comes at last. The Emperor became thinner and more stooped as the years passed. The humor of his hallucination retired more and more into the background, and its pathetic side came out more strongly. His step was slow and feeble, and there was that look in his eyes so often seen in the old and sometimes in the young, just before the great change comes — a rapt, far-away look, sug- gesting that the invisible is coming into view, the shadows vanishing and the realities appearing. The familiar face and form were missed on the streets, and it was known that he was dead. He had gone to his lonely lodging, and quietly lain
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CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
down and died. The newspapers spoke of him with pity and respect, and all San Francisco took time, in the midst of its roar -and -rush fever of perpetual excitement, to give a kind thought to the dead man who had passed over to the life where all delusions are laid aside, where the mys- tery of life shall be revealed, and where we shall see that through all its tangled web ran the golden thread of mercy. His life was an illusion, and the thousands who sleep with him in Lone Mount- ain waiting the judgment-day were his brothers.
CAMILLA CAIN.
SHE was from Baltimore, and had the fair face and gentle voice peculiar to most Baltimore women. Her organization was delicate but elas- tic— one of the sort that bends easily, but is hard to break. In her eyes was that look of wistful sadness so often seen in holy women of her type. Timid as a fawn, in the class-meeting she spoke of her love to Jesus and delight in his service in a voice low and a little hesitating, but with strangely thrilling effect. The meetings were sometimes held in her own little parlor in the cottage on Dupont street, and then we always felt that we had met where the Master himself was a constant and wel- come guest. She was put into the crucible. For more than fifteen years she suffered unceasing and intense bodily pain. Imprisoned in her sick-cham-
I" er, she fought her long, hard battle. The pain- istorted limbs lost their use, the patient face axed more wan, and the traces of agony were on ""
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it always; the soft, loving eyes were often tear- washed. The fires were hot, and they burned on through the long, long years without respite. The mystery of it all was too deep for me; it was too deep for her. But somehow it does seem that the highest suffer most:
The sign of rank in Nature
Is capacity for pain, And the anguish of the singer
Makes the sweetness of the strain.
The victory of her faith was complete. If the inevitable whyf sometimes was in her thought, no shadow of distrust ever fell upon her heart. Her sick-room was the quietest, brightest spot in all the city. How often did I go thither weary and faint with the roughness of the way, and leave feeling that I had heard the voices and inhaled the odors of paradise! A little talk, a psalm, and then a prayer, during which the room seemed to be filled with angel-presences; after which the thin, pale face was radiant with the light reflected from our Im manual's face. I often went to see her, not so much to convey as to get a blessing. Her heart was kept fresh as a rose of Sharon in the dew of the morning. The children loved to be near her; and the pathetic face of the dear crippled boy, the pet of the family, was always brighter in her pres- ence. Thrice death came into the home-circle with
CAMILLA CAIN. 81
its shock and mighty wrench ings of the heart, but the victory was not his, but hers. Neither death nor life could separate her from the love of her Lord. She was one of the elect. The elect are those who know, having the witness in themselves She was conqueror of both — life with its pain and its weariness, death with its terror and its tragedy. She did not endure merely, she triumphed. Borne on the wings of a mighty faith, her soul was at times lifted above all sin, and temptation, and pain, and the sweet, abiding peace swelled into an ec- stasy of sacred joy. Her swimming eyes and rapt look told the unutterable secret. She has crossed over the narrow stream on whose margin she lingered so long ; and there was joy on the other side when the gentle, patient, holy Camilla Cain joined the glorified throng.
O though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died !
LONE MOUNTAIN.
THE sea-wind sweeps over the spot at times in gusts like the frenzy of hopeless grief, and at times in sighs as gentle as those heaved by aged sorrow in sight of eternal rest- The voices of the great city come faintly over the sand-hills, with subdued murmur like a lullaby to the pale sleepers that are here lying low. When the winds are quiet, which is not often, the moan of the mighty Pacific can be heard day or night, as if it voiced in muffled tones the unceasing woe of a world under the reign of death. Westward, on the summit of a higher hill, a huge cross stretches its arms as if embracing the living and the dead — the first object that catches the eye of the weary voyager as he nears the Golden Gate, the last that meets his lingering gaze as he goes forth upon the great waters. O sacred emblem of the faith with which we launch upon life's stormy main — of the hope that assures that we shall reach (82)
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the port when the night and the tempest are past! When the winds are high, the booming of the breakers on the cliff sounds as if nature were im- patient of the long, long delay, and had antici- pated the last thunders that wake the sleeping dead. On a clear day, the blue Pacific, stretching away beyond the snowy surf-line, symbolizes the shoreless sea that rolls through eternity. The Cliff House road that runs hard by is the chief drive of the pleasure -seekers of San Fraji Cisco. Gayety, and laughter, and heart-break, and tears, meet on the drive; the wail of agony and the laugh of gladness mingle as the gay crowds dash by the slow-moving procession on its way to the grave. How often have I made that slow, sad jour- ney to Lone Mountain — a Via Doloroso to many who have never been the same after they had gone thither, and coming back found the light quenched and the music hushed in their homes! Thither the dead Senator was borne, followed by the tramping thousands, rank on rank, amid the booming of min- ute-guns, the tolling of bells, the measured tread of plumed soldiers, and the roll of drums. Thither was carried, in his rude coffin, the " unknown man " found dead in the streets, to be buried in potter's-field. Thither was borne the hard and grasping idolater of riches, who clung to his coin, and clutched for more, until he was dragged away
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by the one hand that was colder and stronger than his own. Here was brought the little child, out of whose narrow grave there blossomed the begin- nings of a new life to the father and mother, who in the better life to come will be found among the blessed company of those whose only path to par- adise lay through the valley of tears. Here were brought the many wanderers, whose last earthly wish was to go back home, on the other side of the mountains, to die, but were denied by the stern messenger who never waits nor spares. And here was brought the mortal part of the aged disci-* pie of Jesus, in whose dying -chamber the two worlds met, and whose death-throes were demon^ strably the birth of a child of God into the life of glory.
The first time I ever visited the place was to at' tend the funeral of a suicide. The dead man I had known in Virginia, when I was a boy. He was a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, and when I first knew him he was the captain of a famous volunteer company. He was as hand- some as a picture — the admiration of the girls, and the envy of the young men of his native town. He was among the first who rushed to California on the discovery of gold, and of all the heroic men who gave early California its best bias none was knightlier than this handsome Virginian;
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none won stronger friends, or had brighter hopes. He was the first State Senator from San Francisco. He had the magnetism that won and the nobility that retained the love of men. Some men push themselves forward by force of intellect or of will — this man was pushed upward by his friends be- cause he had their hearts. He married a beauti- ful woman, whom he loved literally unto death. I shall not recite the whole story. God only knows it fully, and he will judge righteously. There was trouble, rage, and tears, passionate partings and penitent reunions — the old story of love dying a lingering yet violent death. On the fatal morning I met him on Washington street. I noticed his manner was hurried and his look peculiar, as I gave him the usual salutation and a hearty grasp of the hand. As he moved away, I looked after him with mingled admiration and pity, until his faultless figure turned the corner and disap- peared.
Ten minutes afterward he lay on the floor of his room dead, with a bullet through his brain, his hair dabbled in blood. At the funeral-service, in the little church on Pine street, strong men bowed their heads and sobbed. His wife sat on a front seat, pale as marble and as motionless, her lips compressed as with inward pain ; but I saw no tears on the beautiful face. At the grave the
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body had been lowered to its resting-place, and all being ready, the attendants standing with uncovered heads, I wras just about to begin the reading of the solemn words of the burial-service, when a tall, blue-eyed man with gray side-whiskers pushed his way to the head of the grave, and in a voice choked with passion, exclaimed:
" There lies as noble a gentleman as ever breathed, and he owes his death to that fiend ! " pointing his finger at the wife, who stood pale and silent looking down into the grave.
She gave him a look that I shall never forget, and the large steely-blue eyes flashed fire, but she spoke no word. I spoke :
" Whatever may be your feelings, or whatever the occasion for them, you degrade yourself by such an exhibition of them here."
"That is so, sir; excuse me, my feelings over- came me," he said, and retiring a few steps, he leaned upon a branch of a scrub-oak and sobbed like a child.
The farce and the tragedy of real life were here exhibited on another occasion. Among my ac- quaintances in the city were a man and his wife who were singularly mismatched. He was a plain, unlettered, devout man, who in a prayer-meeting or class-meeting talked with a simple-hearted ear- nestness that always produced a happy effect.
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She was a cultured woman, ambitious and worldly, and so fine-looking that in her youth she must have been a beauty and a belle, They lived in different worlds, and grew wider apart as time passed by — he giving himself to religion, she giving her- self to the wrorld. In the gay city circles in which she moved she was a little ashamed of the quiet, humble old man, and he did not feel at home among them. There was no formal separa- tion, but it was known to the friends of the family that for months at a time they never lived together. The fashionable daughters went with their mother. The good old man, after a short sickness, died in great peace. I was sent for to officiate at the funeral-service. There was a large gathering of people, and a brave parade of all the externals of grief, but it was mostly dry-eyed grief, so far as I could see. At the grave, just as the sun that was sinking in the ocean threw his last rays upon the spot, and the first shovelful of earth fell upon the coffin that had been gently lowered to its resting- place, there was a piercing shriek from one of the carriages, followed by the exclamation:
"What shall I do? How can I live? I have lost my all! O! O! O!"
It was the dead man's wife. Significant glances and smiles were interchanged by the by-standers. Approaching the carriage in wThich the woman
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was sitting, I laid my hand upon her arm, looked her in the face, and said :
"Hush!"
She understood me, and not another sound did she utter. Poor woman ! She was not perhaps as heartless as they thought she was. There was at least a little remorse in those forced exclamations, when she thought of the dead man in the coffin; but her eyes were dry, and she stopped very short.
Another incident recurs to me that points in a different direction. One day the most noted gam- bler in San Francisco called on me with the re- quest that I should attend the funeral of one of his friends, who had died the night before. A splendid- looking fellow was this knight of the faro-table. More than six feet in height, with deep chest and perfectly rounded limbs, jet black hair, brilliant black eyes, clear olive complexion, and easy man- ners, he might have been taken for an Italian no- bleman or a Spanish Don. He had a tinge of Cherokee blood in his veins. I have noticed that this cross of the white and Cherokee blood often results in producing this magnificent physical de- velopment. I have known a number of women of this lineage, who were very queens in their beauty and carriage. But this noted gambler was illiter- ate. The only book of which he knew or cared much was one that had fifty-two pages, with twelve
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pictures. If he had been educated, he might have handled the reins of government, instead of pre- siding over a nocturnal banking institution.
" Parson, can you come to number , on Kear- ney street, to-morrow at ten o'clock, and give us a few words and a prayer over a friend of mine, who died last night?"
I promised to be there, and he left.
His friend, like himself, had been a gambler. He was from New York. He was well educated, gentle in his manners, and a general favorite with the rough and desperate fellows with whom he as- sociated, but with whom he seemed out of place. The passion for gambling had put its terrible spell on him, and he was helpless in its grasp. But though he mixed with the crowds J;hat thronged the gambling-hells, he was one of them only in the absorbing passion for play. There was a certain respect shown him by all that venturesome frater- nity. He went to Frazer River during the gold excitement. In consequence of exposure and pri- vation in that wild chase after gold, which proved fatal to so many eager adventurers, he contracted pulmonary disease, and came back to San Fran- cisco to die. He had not a dollar. His gambler friend took charge of him, placed him in a good boarding-place, hired a nurse for him, and for nearly a year provided for all his wants.
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"I knew him when he was in better luck/' said he, "and felt like I ought to stand by him."
At the funeral there was a large attendance of gamblers, with a sprinkling of women whose social status was not clearly defined to my rnind. During the solemn service there was deep feeling. Down the bronzed face of the noted gambler the tears flowed freely, as he stood near the foot of the coffin. As he listened to those thrilling words from the fifteenth chapter of First Corinthians, there was a look of wonder, and inquiry, and awe on his face. What were his thoughts ? At the cemetery they low- ered the body tenderly into the grave, listened with uncovered heads to the closing words of the ritual for the burial of the dead, and then dispersed, doubtless going back to the old life, but it may be with some better thoughts.
I was sitting in my office at work on the same afternoon, when the tall and portly form of the gambler presented itself.
"Parson, you went through that funeral this morning in a way that suited me. Take this, with my thanks."
As he spoke he extended his hand with ever so many shining gold pieces — twenties, tens, and fives.
" No," I said ; "it is contrary to the usage of my Church and to my own taste to take pay for bury- ing a fellow-man."
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After thoughtfully considering a moment, he said :
"That suits me. But would you object to wear- ing a little trinket on your watch-chain, coming from a man like me ?"
Seeing his heart was set on it, I told him I would not decline taking such a token of his good-will. The gift of a most beautiful and costly Japanese crystal was the result. I wore it for many years, and when it was lost at Los Angeles, in 1877, I felt quite sorry. It reminded me of an incident that showed the good side of human nature in a circle in which the other side is usually uppermost.
My pencil lingers, as I think of this far-away resting-place of the dead, and as I lay it down, I seem to hear the ocean's moan and the dirge of the winds ; and the pale images of many, many faces that have faded away into the darkness of death rise before me, some of them with radiant smiles and beckoning hands.
NEWTON.
THE miners called him the " Wandering Jew." That was behind his back. To his face they addressed him as Father Newton. He walked his circuits in the northern mines. No pedestrian could keep up with him, as with his long form bending forward, his immense yellow beard that reached to his breast floating in the wind, he strode from camp to cainp with the message of salvation. It took a good trotting - horse to keep pace with him. Many a stout prospector, meeting him on a highway, after panting and straining to bear him. company, had to fall behind, gazing after him in wonder, as he swept out of sight at that marvelous gait. There was a glitter in his eye, and an in- tensity of gaze that left you in doubt whether it was genius or madness that it bespoke. It was, in truth, a little of both. He had genius. Nobody ever talked with him, or heard him preach, with- out finding it out. The rough fellow who offended '(92)
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him at a camp-meeting, near "Yankee Jim's/' no doubt thought him mad. He was making some disturbance just as the long-bearded old preacher was passing with a bucket of water in his hand.
"What do you mean?" he thundered, stopping and fixing his keen eye upon the rowdy.
A rude and profane reply was made by the jeer- ing sinner.
Quick as thought Newton rushed upon him with flashing eye and uplifted bucket, a picture of fiery wrath that was too much for the thoughtless scof- fer, who fled in terror amid the laughter of the crowd. The vanquished son of Belial had no sympathy from anybody, and the plucky preacher was none the less esteemed because he was ready to defend his Master's cause with carnal weapons. The early Californians left scarcely any path of gin unexplored, and were a sad set of sinners, but for virtuous women and religion they never lost their reverence. Both wrere scarce in those days, when it seemed to be thought that gold-digging and the Decalogue could not be made to harmon- ize. The pioneer preachers found that one good woman made a better basis for evangelization than a score of nomadic bachelors. The first accession of a woman to a church in the mines was an epoch in its history. The church in the house of Lydia was the normal type — it must be anchored
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to woman's faith, and tenderness, and love, in the home.
He visited San Francisco during my pastorate in 1858. On Sunday morning he preached a ser- mon of such extraordinary beauty and power that at the night-service the house was crowded by a curious congregation, drawn thither by the report of the forenoon effort. His subject was the faith of the mother of Moses, and he handled it in his own way. The powerful effect of one passage I shall never forget. It was a description of the mother's struggle, and the victory of her faith in the crisis of her trial. No longer able to protect her child, she resolves to commit him to her God. He drew a picture of her as she sat weaving to- gether the grasses of the little ark of bulrushes, her hot tears falling upon her work, and pausing from time to time with her hand pressed upon her throbbing Ifeart. At length, the little vessel is finished, and she goes by night to the bank of the Nile, to take the last chance to save her boy from the knife of the murderers. Approaching the river's edge, with the ark in her hands, she stoops a moment, but her mother's heart fails her. How can she give up her child? In frenzy of grief she sinks upon her knees, and lifting her gaze to the heavens, passionately prays to the God of Israel. That prayer ! It was the wail of a breaking heart,
a cry out of the depths of a mighty agony. But as she prays the inspiration of God enters her soul, her eyes kindle, and her face beams with the holy light of faith. She rises, lifts the little ark, looks upon the sleeping face of the fair boy, prints a long, long kiss upon his brow, and then with a firm step she bends down, and placing the tiny vessel upon the waters, lets it go. "And away it went," he said, "rocking upon the waves as it swept beyond the gaze of the mother's straining eyes. The monsters of the deep were there, the serpent of the Nile was there, behemoth was there, but the child slept as sweetly and as safely upon the rocking waters as if it were nestled upon its mother's breast — far God was there!" The effect was electric. The concluding words, "for God was there! " were uttered with upturned face and lifted hands, and in a tone of voice that thrilled the hearers like a sudden clap of thunder from a cloud over whose bosom the lightnings had rippled in gentle flashes, It was true eloquence.
In a revival - meeting, on another occasion, he said, in a sermon of terrific power: "O the hard- ness of the human heart! Yonder is a man in hell. He is told that there is one condition on which he may be delivered, and that is that he must get the consent of every good being in the universe. A ray of hope enters his soul, and he
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sets out to comply with the condition. He visits heaven and earth, and finds sympathy and consent from all. All the holy angels consent to his par- don ; all the pure and holy on earth consent; God himself repeats the assurance of his willingness that he may be saved. Even in hell, the devils do not object, knowing that -his misery only heightens theirs. All are willing, all are ready — all but one man. He refuses; he will not consent. A monster of cruelty and wickedness, he refuses his simple consent to save a soul from an eternal hell ! Surely a good God and all good beings in the uni- verse would turn in horror from such a monster. Sinner, you are that man! The blessed God, the Holy Trinity, every angel in heaven, every good man and woman on earth, are not only willing but anxious that you shall be saved. But you will not consent. You refuse to come to Jesus that you may have life. You are the murderer of your own immortal soul. You drag yourself down to hell. You lock the door of your own dungeon of eternal despair, and throw the key into the bot-' to in less pit, by rejecting the Lord that bought you with his blood! You will be lost! you must be lost! you ought to be lost!"
The words were something like these, but the energy, the passion, the frenzy of the speaker must be imagined. Hard and stubborn hearts were
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moved under that thrilling appeal. They were made to feel that the preacher's picture of a self- doomed soul described their own cases. There was joy in heaven that night over repenting sinners.
This old man of the mountains was a walking encyclopedia of theological and other learning. He owned books that could not be duplicated in California ; and he read them, digested their con- tents, and constantly surprised his cultivated hear- ers by the affluence of his knowledge, and the fer- tility of his literary and classic allusion. He wrote with elegance and force. His weak point was or- thography. He would trip sometimes in the spell- ing of the most common words. His explanation of this weakness was curious: He was a printer in Mobile, Alabama. On one occasion a thirty- two-page book-form of small type was " pied/' " I undertook," said he, "to set that pied form to rights, and, in doing so, the words got so mixed in my brain that my spelling was spoiled forever!"
He went to Oregon, and traveled and preached from the Cascade Mountains to Idaho, thrilling, melting, and amusing, in turn, the crowds that came out to hear the wild-looking man whose com- ing was so sudden, and whose going was so rapid, that they were lost in wonder, as if gazing at a meteor that flashed across the sky.
He was a Yankee from New Hampshire, who,
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going to Alabama, lost his heart, and was ever afterward intensely Southern in all his convictions and affections. His fiery soul found congenial spirits among the generous, hot-blooded people of the Gulf States, whose very faults had a sort of charm for this impulsive, generous, erratic, gifted, man. He made his way back to his New England hills, where he is waiting for the sunset, often turn- ing a longing eye southward, and now and then sending a greeting to Alabama.
THE CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN.
THE California politician of the early days was plucky. He had to be so, for faint heart won no votes in those^rough times. One of the Marshalls (Tom or Ned — I forget which), at the beginning of a stump -speech one night in the mines, was interrupted by a storm of hisses and execrations from a turbulent crowd of fellows, many of whom were full of whisky. He paused a moment, drew himself up to his full height, coolly took a pistol from his pocket, laid it on the stand before him, and said :
" I have seen bigger crowds than this many a time. I want it to be fully understood that I came here to make a speech to-night, and I am going to do it, or else there will be a funeral or two."
That touch took with that crowd. The one thing they all believed in was courage. Marshall made one of his grandest speeches, and at the close
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the delighted miners bore him in triumph from the rostrum.
That was a curious exordium of "Uncle Peter Mehan," when he made his first stump-speech at Sonora : " Fellow-citizens, I was born an orphin at a very early period of my life." He was a candidate for supervisor, and the good-natured miners elected him triumphantly. He made a good supervisor, which is another proof that book-learning and ele- gant rhetoric are not essential where there are in- tegrity and native good sense. Uncle Peter never stole any thing, and he was usually on the right side of all questions that claimed the attention of the county-fathers of Tuolumne.
In the early days, the Virginians, New Yorkers, and Tennesseans, led in politics. Trained to the stump at home, the Virginians and Tennesseans were ready on all occasions to run a primary- meeting, a convention, or a canvass. There was scarcely a mining-camp in the State in which there was not a leading local politician from one or both of these States. The New Yorker understood all the inside management of party organization, and was up to all the smart tactics developed in the live- ly struggles of parties in the times when Whiggery and Democracy fiercely fought for rule in the Em- pire State. Broderick was a New Yorker, trained by Tammany in its palmy days. He was a chief,
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who rose from the ranks, and ruled by force of will. Thick-set, strong-limbed, full-chested, with immense driving -power in his back -head, he was an athlete whose stalwart physique wras of more value to him than the gift of eloquence, or even the power of money. The sharpest lawyers and the richest money-kings alike went down before this uncultured and moneyless man, who domi- nated the clans of San Francisco simply by right of his manhood. He was not without a sort of eloquence of his own. He spoke right to the point, and his words fell like the thud of a shillalah, or rang like the clash of steel. He dealt with the rough elements of politics in an exciting and tur- bulent period of California politics, and was more of a border chief than an Ivanhoe in his modes of warfare. He reached the United States Senate, and in his first speech in that august body he hon- ored his manhood by an allusion to his father, a stone - mason, whose hands, said Broderick, had helped to erect the very walls of the chamber in which he spoke. When a man gets as high as the United States Senate, there is less tax upon hi? magnanimity in acknowledging his humble origin than while he is lower down the ladder. You sel- dom hear a man boast how low he began until he is far up toward the summit of his ambition. Ninety-nine out of every hundred self-made men
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are at first more or less sensitive concerning their low birth ; the hundredth man who is not is a man indeed.
Broderick's great rival was Gwin. The men were antipodes in every thing except that they be- longed to the same party. Gwin still lives, the most colossal figure in the history of California. He looks the man he is. Of immense frame, rud- dy complexion, deep-blue eyes that almost blaze when he is excited, rugged yet expressive features, a massive head crowned with a heavy suit of sil- ver-white hair, he is marked by Nature for leader- ship. Common men seem dwarfed in his presence. After he had dropped out of California politics for awhile, a Sacramento hotel-keeper expressed what many felt during a legislative session: "I find my- self looking around for Gwin. I miss the chief."
My first acquaintance with Dr. Gwin began with an incident that illustrates the man and the times. It was in 1856. The Legislature was in session at Sacramento, and a United States Senator was to be elected. I was making a tentative movement toward starting a Southern Methodist newspaper, and visited Sacramento on that business. My friend Major P. L. Solomon was there, and took a friendly interest in my enterprise. He proposed to introduce me to the leading men of both parties, and I thankfully availed myself of his courtesy.
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Among the first to whom he presented me was a noted politician who, both before and since, has enjoyed a national notoriety, and who still lives, and is as ready as ever to talk or fight. His name I need not give. I presented to him my mission, and he seemed embarrassed.
"I am with you, of course. My mother was a Methodist, and all my sympathies are with the Methodist Church. I am a Southern man in all my convictions and impulses, and I am a Southern Methodist in principle. But you see, sir, I am a candidate for United States Senator, and sectional feeling is likely to enter into the contest, and if it were known that my name was on your list of sub- scribers, it might endanger my election."
He squeezed my arm, told me he loved me and my Church, said he would be happy to see me often, and so forth — but he did not give me his name. I left him, saying in my heart, Here is a politician.
Going on together, in the corridor we met Gwin. Solomon introduced me, and told him my business.
"I am glad to know that you are going to start a Southern Methodist newspaper. No Church can do without its organ. Put me down on your list, and come with me, and I will make all these fellows subscribe. There is not much religion among them, I fear, but we will make them take the paper."
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This was said in a hearty and pleasant way, and he took me from man to man, until I had gotten more than a dozen names, among them two or three of his most active political opponents.
This incident exhibits the two types of the poli- tician, and the two classes of men to be found in all communities — the one all " blarney " and self- ishness, the other with real manhood redeeming poor human nature, and saving it from utter con- tempt. The senatorial prize eluded the grasp of both aspirants, but the reader will not be at a loss to guess whose side I was on. Dr. Gwin made a friend that day, and never lost him. It was this sort of fidelity to friends that, when fortune frowned on the grand old Senator after the collapse at Ap- pomattox, rallied thousands of true hearts to his side, among whom were those who had fought him in many a fierce political battle. Broderick and Gwin were both, by a curious turn of political fortune, elected by the same Legislature to the United States Senate. Broderick sleeps in Lone Mountain, and Gwin still treads the stage of his former glory, a living monument of the days when California politics was half romance and half tragedy. The friend and protege of General An- drew Jackson, a member of the first Constitutional Convention of California, twice United States Sen- ator, a prominent figure in the civil war, the father
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of the great Pacific Railway, he is the front figure on the canvas of California history.
Gwin was succeeded by McDougall. What a man was he! His face was as classic as a Greek statue. It spoke the student and the scholar in every line. His hair was snow-white, his eyes bluish-gray, and his form sinewy and elastic. He went from Illinois, with Baker and other men of genius, and soon won a high place at the bar of San Francisco. I heard it said, by an eminent jurist, that when McDougall had put his whole strength into the examination of a case, his side of it was exhausted. His reading was immense, his learning solid. His election was doubtless a surprise to himself as well as to the California public. The day before he left for Washington City, I met him in the street, and as we parted I held his hand a moment, and said :
" Your friends will watch your career with hope and with fear/'
He knew what I meant, and said, quickly :
"I understand you. You are afraid that I will yield to my weakness . for strong drink. But you may be sure I will play the man, and California shall have no cause to blush on my account."
That was his fatal weakness. No one, looking upon his pale, scholarly face, and noting his fault-
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lessly neat apparel, and easy, graceful manners, would have thought of such a thing. Yet he was a- — I falter in writing it — a drunkard. At times he drank deeply and madly. When half intoxi- cated he was almost as brilliant as Hamlet, and as rollicking as FalstafF. It was said that even when fully drunk his splendid intellect never entirely gave way.
"McDouerall commands as much attention in
o
the Senate when drunk as any other Senator does when sober," said a Congressman in Washington in 1866. It is said that his great speech on the question of "confiscation/' at the beginning of the war, was delivered when he was in a state of semi- intoxication. Be that as it may, it exhausted the whole question, and settled the policy of the Gov- ernment.
"No one will watch your senatorial career with more friendly interest than myself; and if you will abstain wholly from all strong drink, we shall all be proud of you, I knovy."
" Not a drop will I touch, my friend ; and I '11 make you proud of me."
He spoke feelingly, and I think there was a moisture about his eye as he pressed iny hand and walked away.
I never saw7 him again. For the first few months he wrote to me often, and then his letters came at
THE CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN. 107
longer intervals, and then they ceased. And then the newspapers disclosed the shameful secret — Cal- ifornia's brilliant Senator was a drunkard. Tn£ temptations of the Capital were too strong for him. He went down into the black waters a complete wreck. He returned to the old home of his boy- hood in New Jersey to die. I learned that he was lucid and penitent at the last. They brought his body back to San Francisco to be buried, and when at his funeral the words "I know that my Re- deemer liveth," in clear soprano, rang through the vaulted cathedral like a peal of triumph, I in- dulged the hope that the spirit of my gifted and fated friend had, through the mercy of the Friend of sinners, gone from his boyhood hills up to the hills of God.
The typical California politician was Coifroth. The "boys" fondly called him "Jim" Coffroth. There is no surer sign of popularity than' a popular abbreviation of this sort, unless it is a pet nick- name. Coffroth was from Pennsylvania, where he had gained an inkling of politics and general liter- ature. He gravitated into California politics by the law of his nature. He was born for this, hav- ing what a friend calls the gift of popularity. His presence was magnetic; his laugh was contagious; his enthusiasm irresistible. Nobody ever thought of taking offense at Jim Coffroth. He could
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change his politics with impunity without losing a friend — he never had a personal enemy; but J believe he only made that experiment once. He went off with the Know-nothings in 1855, and was elected by them to the State Senate, and was called to preside over their State Convention. He has- tened back to his old party associates, and at the first convention that met in his county on his re- turn from the Legislature, he rose and told them how lonesome he had felt while astray from the old fold, how glad he was to get back, and how humble he felt, concluding by advising all his late supporters to do as he had done by taking "a straight chute" for the old party. He ended amid a storm of applause, was reinstated at once, and was made President of the next Democratic State Convention. There he was in his glory. His tact and good humor were infinite, and he held those hundreds of excitable and explosive men in the hollow of his hand. He would dismiss a danger- ous motion with a witticism so apt that the mover himself would join in the laugh, and give it up. His broad face in repose was that of a Quaker, at other times that of a Bacchus. There was a relig- ious streak in this jolly partisan, and he published several poems that breathed the sweetest and loft- iest religious sentiment. The newspapers were a little disposed to make a joke of these ebullitions
THE CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN. 109
of devotional feeling, but they now make the light that casts a gleam of brightness upon the back- ground of his life. I take from an old volume of the Christian Spectator one of these poems as a lit- erary curiosity. Every man lives two lives. The rollicking politician, "Jim Coffroth," every Cali- fornian knew; the author of these lines was an- other man by the same name:
AMID THE SILENCE OF THE NIGHT.
" Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." Psalm cxxi,.
Amid the silence of the night, Amid its lonely hours and dreary,
When we close the aching sight, Musing sadly, lorn and weary,
Trusting that to-morrow's light May reveal a day more cheery ;
Amid affliction's darker hour,
When no hope beguiles our sadness,
When Death's hurtling tempests lower, And forever shroud our gladness,
While Grief's unrelenting power
Goads our stricken hearts to madness ;
When from friends beloved we 're parted,
And from scenes our spirits love, And are driven, broken-hearted,
O'er a heartless world to rove; When the woes by which we 've smarted,
Vainly seek to melt or move ;
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When we trust and are deluded,
When we love and are denied, When the schemes o'er which we brooded
Burst like mist on mountain's side, And, from every hope excluded,
We in dark despair abide ;
Then, and ever, God sustains us, He whose eye no slumber knows,
Who controls each throb that pains us, And in mercy sends our woes,
And by love severe constrains ms To avoid eternal throes.
Happy he whose heart obeys him \
Lost and ruined who disown ! O if idols e'er displace him,
Tear them from his chosen throne ! May our lives and language praise him !
May our hearts be his alone !
He took defeat with a good nature that robbed it of its sting, and made his political opponents half sorry for having beaten him. He was talked of for Governor at one time, and he gave as a reason why he would like the office that " a great many of his friends were in the State-prison, and he wanted to use the pardoning power in their be- half." This was a jest, of course, referring to the fact that as a lawyer much of his practice was in tbe criminal courts. He was never suspected of treachery or dishonor in public or private life.
TITE CALIFORNIA POLITICIAN. Ill
His very ambition was unselfish: lie was always ready to sacrifice himself in a hopeless candidacy if lie could thereby help his party or a friend.
His good nature was tested once while presiding over a party convention at Sonora for the nomina- tion of candidates for legislative and county of- fices. Among the delegates was the eccentric John Vallew, whose mind was a singular compound of shrewdness and flightiness, and was stored with the most out-of-the-way scraps of learning, philosophy, and poetry. Some one proposed Vallew's name as a candidate for the Legislature. He rose to his feet with a clouded face, and in an angry voice said :
"Mr. President, I am surprised and mortified. I have lived in this county more than seven years, and I have never had any difficulty with my neigh- bors. I did not know that I had an enemy in the world. What have I done, that it should be pro- posed to send me to the Legislature? What reason has anybody to think I am that sort of a man? To think I should have come to this! To propose to send me to the Legislature, when it is a notorious fact that you have never sent a man thither from this county who did not come back morally and pe- cuniarily ruined ! "
The crowd saw the point, and roared with laugh- ter, Ooffroth, who had served in the previous ses-
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sion, joining heartily in the merriment. Vallew was excused.
Coffroth grew fatter and jollier; his strong intel- lect struggled against increasing sensual tenden- cies. What the issue might have been, I know not. He died suddenly, and his destiny was transferred to another sphere. So there dropped out of Cali- fornia-life a partisan without bitterness, a satirist without malice, a wit without a sting, the jolliest, freest, readiest man that ever faced a California audience on the hustings — the typical politician of California.
OLD MAN LOWRY.
I HAD marked his expressive physiognomy among my hearers in the little church in So- nora for some weeks before he made himself known to me. As I learned afterward, he was weighing the young preacher in his critical bal- ances. He had a shrewd Scotch face, in which there was a mingling of keenness, benignity, and humor. His age might be sixty, or it might be more. He was an old bachelor, and wide guesses are sometimes made as to the ages of that class of men. They may not live longer than married men, but they do not show the effects of life's wear and tear so early. He came to see us one evening. He fell in love with the mistress of the parsonage, just as he ought to have clone, and we were charmed with the quaint old bachelor. There was a piquancy, a sharp flavor, in his talk that was delightful. His aphorisms often crystallized a neg- lected truth in a form all his own. He was an 8 (113)
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original character. There was nothing common- place about him. He had his own way of saying and doing every thing.
Society in the mines was limited in that clay, and we felt that we had found a real tjiesaurus in this old man of unique mold. His visits were re- freshing to us, and his plain-spoken criticisms were helpful to me.
He had left the Church because he did not agree with the preachers on some points of Chris- tian ethics, and because they used tobacco. But he was unhappy on the outside, and finding that my views and habits did not happen to cross his pecul- iar notions, he came back. His religious experience was out of the common order. Bred a Calvin ist, of the good old Scotch-Presbyterian type, he had swung away from that faith, and was in danger of rushing into Universalism, or infidelity. That once famous and much-read little book, "John Nelson's Journal,*' fell into his hands, and changed his whole life. It led him to Christ, and to the Methodists. He was a true spiritual child of the unflinching Yorkshire stone-cutter. Like him he despised half-way measures, and like him he was aggressive in thought and action. What he liked he loved, what he disliked he hated. Calvinism he abhorred, and he let no occasion pass for pouring into it the hot shot of his scorn and wrath. One
OLD MAN LOWRY. lib
night I preached from the text, Should it be accord- ing to thy mind?
"The first part of your sermon," he said to me as we passed out of the church, " distressed me greatly. For a full half hour you preached straight- out Calvinism, and I thought you had ruined every thing ; but you had left a little slip-gap, and crawled out at the last."
His ideal of a minister of the gospel was Dr. Keener, whom he knew at New Orleans before coming to California. He was the first man I ever heard mention Dr. Keener's name for the episcopacy. There was much in common between them. If my eccentric California bachelor friend did not have as strong and cool a head, he had as brave and true a heart as the incisive and chival- rous Louisiana preacher, upon whose head the miter was placed by the suffrage of his brethren at Memphis in 1870.
He became very active as a worker in the Church. I made him class-leader, and there have been few in that office who brought to its sacred duties as much spiritual insight, candor, and ten- derness. At times his words flashed like diamonds, showing what the Bible can reveal to a solitary thinker who makes it his chief study day and night. When needful, he could apply caustic that burned to the very core of an error of opinion or of
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practice. He took a class in the Sunday-school, and his freshness, acuteness, humor, and deep knowledge of the Scriptures, made him far more than an ordinary teacher. A fine pocket Bible was offered as a prize to the scholar who should, in three months, memorize the greatest number of Scripture verses. The wisdom of such a contest is questionable to me now, but it was the fashion then, and I was too young and self-distrustful to set myself against the current in such matters. The contest was an exciting one — two boys, Robert A — - and Jonathan R , and one girl, An- nie P , leading all the school. Jonathan
suddenly fell behind, and was soon distanced by his two competitors. Lowry, v/ho was his teacher, asked him what was the reason of his sudden breakdown. The boy blushed, and stammered out :
" I did n't want to beat Annie."
Robert won the prize, and the day came for its presentation. The house was full, and everybody was in a pleasant mood. After the prize had been presented in due form and with a little flourish, Lowry arose, and producing a costly Bible, in a few words telling how magnanimously and gallantly Jonathan had retired from the contest, presented it to the pleased and blushing boy. The boys and girls applauded California fashion, and the old man's face glowed with satisfaction. He had in
OLD MAN LOWRY. Ill
him curiously mingled the elements of the Puritan and the Cavalier — the uncompromising persistency of the one, and the chivalrous impulse and open- handedness of the other,
The old man had too many crotchets and too much combativeness to be popular. He spared no opinion or habit he did not like. He struck every angle within reach of him. In the state of so- ciety then existing in the mines there were many things to vex his soul, and keep him on the war- path. The miners looked upon him as a brave, good man, just a little daft. He worked a mining- claim on Wood's Creek, north of town, and lived alone in a tiny cabin on the hill above. That was the smallest of cabins, looking like a mere box from the trail which wound through the flat be- low. Two little scrub-oaks stood near it, under which he sat and read his Bible in leisure mo- ments. There, above the world, he could com- mune with his own heart and with God undis- turbed, and look down upon a race he half pitied and half despised. From the spot the eye took in a vast sweep of hill and dale : Bald Mountain, the most striking object in the near background, and beyond its dark, rugged mass the snowy sum- mits of the Sierras, rising one above another, like gigantic stair-steps, leading up to the throne of the Eternal. This lonely height suited Lowry's strange-
118 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES*
ly compounded nature. As a cynic, he looked down with contempt upon the petty life that seethed and frothed in the camps below ; as a saint, he looked forth upon the wonders of God's handiwork around and above him.
There was an intensity in all that he did. Pass- ing his mining -claim on horseback one day, I paused to look at him in his work. Clad in a blue flannel mining -suit, he was digging as for life. The embankment of red dirt and gravel melted away rapidly before his vigorous strokes, and he seemed to feel a sort of fierce delight in his work. Pausing a moment, he looked up and saw me.
" You dig as if you were in a hurry," I said.
" Yes, I have been digging here three years. I have a notion that I have just so much of the earth to turn over before I am turned under," he replied with a sort of grim humor.
He was still there when we visited Sonora in 1857. He invited us out to dinner, and we went. By skillful circling around the hill, we reached the little cabin on the summit with horse and buggy. The old man had made preparations for his ex- pected guests. The floor of the cabin had been swept, and its scanty store of furniture put to rights, and a dinner was cooking in and on the little stove. His lady-guest insisted on helping in the preparation of the dinner, but was allowed to
OLD MAN LOWRY* 119
do nothing further than to arrange the dishes on the primitive table, which was set out under one of the little oaks in the yard. It was a miner's feast — can-fruits, can-vegetables, can-oysters, can-pickles, can-every thing nearly, with tea distilled from the Asiatic leaf by a receipt of his own. It was a hot day, and from the cloudless heavens the sun flooded the earth with his glory, and the shimmer of the sunshine was in the still air. We tried to be cheerful, but there was a pathos about the affair that touched us. He felt it too. More than once there was a tear in his eye. At parting, he kissed little Paul, and gave us his hand in silence. As we drove down the hill, he stood gazing after us with a look fixed and sad. The picture is still be- fore me — the lonely old man standing sad and si- lent, the little cabin, the rude dinner-service under the oak, and the overarching sky. That was our last meeting. The next will be on the Other Side.
SUICIDE IN CALIFOENIA.
A HALF protest rises within me as I be- gin this Sketch. The page almost turns crimson under my gaze, and shadowy forms come forth out of the darkness into which they wildly plunged out of life's misery into death's mystery. Ghostly lips cry out, "Leave us alone! Why call us back to a world where we lost all, and in quit- ting which we risked all? Disturb us not to gratify the cold curiosity of unfeeling strangers. We have passed on beyond human jurisdiction to the realities we dared to meet. Give us the pity and courtesy of your silence, O living brother, who didst escape the wreck ! " The appeal is not without effect, and if I lift the shroud that covers the faces of these dead self-destroyed, it will be tenderly, pityingly. These simple Sketches of real California-life would be imperfect if this characteristic feature were en- tirely omitted ; for California was (and is yet) the land of suicides. In a single year there were one hun- (120)
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA. 121
dred aud six in San Francisco alone. The whole number of suicides in the State would, if the horror of each case could be even imperfectly imagined, appal even the dryest statistician of crime. The causes for this prevalence of self-destruction are to be sought in the peculiar conditions of the country, and the habits of the people. California, with all its beauty, grandeur, and riches, has been to the many who have gone thither a land of great expectations, but small results. This was specially the case in the earlier period of its history, after the discovery of gold and its settlement by "Amer- icans," as we call ourselves, par excellence. Hurled from the topmost height of extravagant hope to the lowest deep of disappointment, the shock is too great for reaction; the rope, razor, bullet, or deadly drug, finishes the tragedy. Materialistic infidelity in California is the avowed belief of multitudes, and its subtle poison infects the minds and unconsciously the actions of thousands who recoil from the dark abyss that yawns at the feet of its adherents with its fascination of horror. Under some circumstances, suicide becomes logical to a man who has neither hope nor dread of a hereafter. Sins against the body, and especially the nervous system, were prevalent; and days of pain, sleepless nights, and weakened wills, were the precursors of the tragedy that promised change,
122 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
if not rest. The devil gets men inside a fiery cir- cle, made by their own sin and folly, from which there seems to be no escape but by death, and they will unbar its awful door with their own trembling hands. There is another door of escape for the worst and most wretched, and it is opened to the penitent by the hand that was nailed to the rugged cross. These crises do come, when the next step must be death or life — penitence or perdition. Do sane men and women ever commit suicide? Yes — and, No. Yes, in the sense that they sometimes do it with even pulse and steady nerves. No, in the sense that there cannot be perfect soundness in the brain and heart of one who violates a primal instinct of human nature. Each case has its own peculiar features, and must be left to the all-seeing and all-pitying Father. Suicide, where it is not the greatest of crimes, is the greatest of misfort- unes. The righteous Judge will classify its vic- tims.
A noted case in San Francisco was that of a French Catholic priest. He was young, brilliant, and popular — beloved by his flock, and admired by a large circle outside. He had taken the sol- emn vows of his. order in all sincerity of purpose, and was distinguished as well for his zeal in his pastoral work* as for his genius. But temptation met him, and he fell. It came in the shape in
SUICIDE L\r CAUFotwtA* 123
which it assailed the young Hebrew in Potiplmr's house, and in which it overcame the poet-king of Israel. He was seized with horror and remorse, though he had no accuser save that voice within, which cannot be hushed while the soul lives. He ceased to perform the sacred functions of his office, making some plausible pretext to his superiors, not daring to add sacrilege to mortal sin. Shut- ting himself in his chamber, he brooded over his crime; or, no longer able to endure the agony he felt, he would rush forth, and walk for hours over the sand-dunes, or along the sea-beach. But no answer of peace followed his prayers, and the voices of nature soothed him not. He thought his sin unpardonable — at least, he would not par- don himself. He was found one morning lying dead in his bed in a pool of blood. He had sev- ered the jugular-vein with a razor, which was still clutched in his stiffened fingers. His handsome and classic face bore no trace of pain. A sealed letter, lying on the table, contained his confession and his farewell.
Among the lawyers in one of the largest mining towns of California was H. B . He was a na- tive of Virginia, and an alumnus of its noble Univer- sity. He was a scholar, a fine lawyer, handsome and manly in person and bearing, and had the gift of popularity. Though the youngest lawyer in the
124 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
town, he took a front place at the bar at once. Over the heads of several older aspirants, he was elected county judge. There was no ebb in the tide of his general popularity, and he had quali- ties that won the warmest regard of his inner cir- cle of special friends. But in this case, as in many others, success had its danger. Hard drink- ing was the rule in those days. Horace B
had been one of the rare exceptions. There was a reason for this extra prudence. He had that pe- culiar susceptibility to alcoholic excitement which has been the ruin of so many gifted and noble men. He knew his weakness, and it is strange that he did not continue to guard against the dan- ger that he so well understood. Strange? ISTo ; this infatuation is so common in every-day life that we cannot call it strange. There is some sort of fatal fascination that draws men with their eyes wide open into the very jaws of this hell of strong drink. The most brilliant physician in San Fran- cisco, in the prime of his magnificent young manhood, died of delirium tremens, the victim of a .^elf-inflicted disease, whose horrors no one knew or could picture so well as himself. Who says man is not a fallen, broken creature, and that there is not a devil at hand to tempt him ? This devil, under the guise of sociability, false pride, or moral cowardice, tempted Horace B , and he yielded.
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA. 125
Like tinder touched by flame, he blazed into drunkenness, and again and again the proud-spir- ited, manly, and cultured young lawyer and jurist was seen staggering along the streets, maudlin or mad with alcohol. When he had slept off his madness, his humiliation was intense, and he walked the streets with pallid face and downcast eyes. The coarser-grained men with whom he was thrown in contact had no conception of the mental tortures he suffered, and their rude jests stung him to the quick. He despised himself as a weakling and a coward, but he did hot get more than a transient victory over his enemy. The spark had struck a sensitive organization, and the fire of hell, smothered for the time, would blaze out again. He was fast becoming a common drunkard, the accursed appetite growing stronger, and his will weakening in accordance with that terrible law by which man's physical and moral nature visits ret- ribution on all who cross its path. During a term of the court over which he presided, he was taken home one night drunk. A pistol-shot was heard by persons in the vicinity some time before day- break ; but pistol-shots, at all hours of the night, were then too common to excite special attention. Horace B — — was found next morning lying on the floor with a bullet through his head. Many a gtout, heavy-bearded man had wet eyes when the
126 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES,
body of the ill-fated and brilliant young Virginian was let down into the grave, which had been dug for him on the hill overlooking the town from the south-east.
In the same town there was a portrait-painter, a quiet, pleasant fellow, with a good face and easy, gentlemanly ways. As an artist, he was not without merit, but his gift fell short of genius. He fell in love with a charming girl, the eldest daughter of a leading citizen. She could not return his passion. The enamored artist still loved, and hoped against hope, lingering near her like a moth around a candle. There was another and more favored suitor in the case, and the rejected lover had all his hopes killed at one blow by her marriage to his rival. He felt that without her life was not worth living. He resolved to kill himself, and swallowed the contents of a two-ounce bottle of laudanum. After he had done the rash deed, a reaction took place. He told what he had done, and a physician was sent for. Before the doctor's arrival, the deadly drug asserted its power, and this repentant suicide began to show signs of going into a sleep from which it was certain he would never awake.
"My God! What have I done?" he exclaimed in horror. " Do your best, boys, to keep me from going to sleep before the doctor gets here."
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA. 127
The doctor came quickly, and by the prompt and very vigorous use of the stomach-pump he was saved. I was sent for, and found the would-be suicide looking very weak, sick, silly, and sheepish. He got well, and went on making pictures ; but the picture of the fair, sweet girl, for love of whom he came so near dying, never faded from his mind. His face always wore a sad look, and he lived the life of a recluse, but he never attempted suicide again — he had had enough of that.
<(It always makes me shudder to look at that place," said a lady, as wre passed an elegant cottage on the western side of Russian Hill, San Fran- cisco.
''Why so? The place to me looks specially cheerful and attractive, with its graceful slope, its shrubbery, flowers, and thick greensward."
" Yes, it is a lovely place, but it has a history that it shocks me to think of. Do you see that tall pumping-apparatus, with water-tank on top, in the rear of the house?"
"Yes; what of it?"
"A woman hanged herself there a year ago. The family consisted of the husband and wife, and two bright, beautiful children, He was thrifty and prosperous, she was an excellent housekeeper, and the children were healthy and well-behaved. In appearance a happier family could not be found
128 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
on the hill. One day Mr. P — - came home at the usual hour, and, missing the wife's customary greeting, he asked the children where she was. The children had not seen their mother for two or three hours, and looked startled when they found she was missing. Messengers were sent to the nearest neighbors to make inquiries, but no one
had seen her. Mr. P Js face began to wear a
troubled look as he walked the floor, from time to time going to the door and casting anxious glances about the premises.
About dusk a sudden shriek was heard, issuing from the water-tank in the yard, and the Irish servant-girl came rushing from it, with eyes dis- tended and face pale with terror.
"Holy Mother of God! It's the Missus that's hanged herself! "
The alarm spread, and soon a crowd, curious and sympathetic, had collected. They found the poor lady suspended by the neck from a beam at the head of the staircase leading to the top of the inclosure. She was quite dead, and a horrible sight to see. At the inquest no facts were devel- oped throwing any light on the tragedy. There had been no cloud in the sky portending the light- ning-stroke that laid the happy little home in ruins. The husband testified that she was as bright and happy the morning of the suicide as he
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA. 129
had ever seen her, and had parted with him at the door with the usual kiss. Every thing about the house that day bore the marks of her deft and skillful touch. The two children were dressed with accustomed neatness and good taste. And yet the bolt was in the cloud, and it fell before the sun had set! What was the mystery? Ever afterward I felt something of the feeling expressed by my lady friend when, in passing, I looked upon the structure which had been the scene of this singular tragedy.
One of the most energetic business men living in one of the foot-hill towns, on the northern edge of the Sacramento Valley, had a charming wife, whom he loved with a deep and tender devotion. As in all true love-matches, the passion of youth had ripened into a yet stronger and purer love with the lapse of years and participation in the joys and sorrows of wedded life. Their union had been blessed with five children, all intelligent, sweet, and full of promise. It was a very affec- tionate and happy household. Both parents pos- sessed considerable literary taste and culture, and the best books and current magazine literature were read, discussed, and enjoyed in that quiet and elegant home amid the roses and evergreens. It was a little paradise in the hills, where Love, the home-angel, brightened every room and blessed 9
130 CALIFORNIA SKETCHES.
every heart. But trouble carme in the shape of business reverses, and the worried look and wake- ful nights of the husband told how heavy were the blows that had fallen upon this hard and willing worker. The course of ruin in California was fearfully rapid in those days. When a man's financial supports began to give way, they went with a crash. The movement downward was with a rush that gave no time for putting on the brakes. You were at the bottom, a wreck, almost before you knew it. So it was in this case. Every thing was swept away, a mountain of unpaid debts was piled up, credit was gone, clamor of creditors deaf- ened him, and the gaunt wolf of actual want looked in through the door of the cottage upon the dear wife and little ones. Another %hadow, and a yet darker one, settled upon them. The unhappy man had been tampering with the delu- sion of spiritualism, and his wife had been drawn with him into a partial belief in its vagaries. In their troubles they sought the aid of the "familiar spirits" that peeped and muttered through speak- ing, writing, and rapping mediums. This kept them in a state of morbid excitement that increased from day to day until they were wrought up to a tension that verged on insanity. The lying spirits, or the frenzy of his own heated brain, turned his thought to death as the only escape from want.
SUICIDE IN CALIFORNIA. 131
" I see our way out of these troubles, wife," lie said one night, as they sat hand in hand in the bed- chamber, where the children were lying asleep. "We will all die together! This has been re- vealed to me as the solution of all our difficulties. Yes, we will enter the beautiful spirit -world to- gether ! This is freedom ! It is only getting out of prison. Bright spirits beckon and call us. I am ready."
There was a gleam of madness in his eyes, and, as he took a pistol from a bureau-drawer, an an- swering gleam flashed forth from the eyes of the wife, as she said :
" Yes, love, we will all go together. I too am ready."
The sleeping children were breathing sweetly, unmindful of the horror that the devil was hatch- ing.
"The children first, then you, and then me," he said, his eye kindling with increasing excite- ment.
He penciled a short note addressed to one of his old friends, asking him to attend to the burial of the bodies, then they kissed each of the sleeping children, and then — but let the curtain fall on the scene that followed. The seven were found next day lying dead, a bullet through the brain of each, the murderer, by the side of the wife, still holding
132
CALIFORNIA -SKETCHES.
the weapon of death in his hand, its muzzle against his right temple.
Other pictures of real life and death crowd up- on my mind, among them noble forms and faces that were near and dear to me ; but again I hear the appealing voices. The page before me is wet with tears — I cannot see to write.
FATHER FISHEE.
HE came to California in 1855. The Pacific Conference was in session at Sacramento. It was announced that the new preacher from Texas would preach at night. The boat was de- tained in some way, and he just had time to reach the church, where a large and expectant congrega- tion were in waiting. Below medium height, plain- ly dressed, and with a sort of peculiar shuffling movement as he went down the aisle, he attracted no special notice except for the profoundly rever- ential manner that never left him anywhere. But the moment he faced his audience and spoke, it was evident to them that a man of mark stood be- fore them. They were magnetized at once, and every eye was fixed upon the strong yet benignant face, the capacious blue eyes, the ample forehead, and massive head, bald on top, with silver locks on either side. His tones in reading the Scripture and the hymns were unspeakably solemn and very
(133)
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musical. The blazing fervor of the prayer that followed was absolutely startling to some of the preachers, who had cooled down under the depress- ing influence of the moral atmosphere of the coun- try. It almost seemed as if we could hear the rush of the pentecostal wind, and see the tongues of flame. The very house seemed to be rocking on its foundations. By the time the prayer had ended, all were in a glow, and ready for the ser- mon. The text I do not now call to mind, but the impression made by the sermon remains. I had seen and heard preachers who glowed in the pul- pit— this man burned. His words poured forth in a molten flood, his face shone like a furnace heat- ed from within, his large blue eyes flashed with the lightning of impassioned sentiment, and anon swam in pathetic appeal that no heart could resist. Body, brain, and spirit, all seemed to feel the mighty afflatus. His very frame seemed to ex- pand, and the little man who had gone into the pulpit with shuffling step and downcast eyes was transfigured before us. When, with radiant face, upturned eyes, an upward sweep of his arm, and trumpet-voice, he shouted, " Halleluiah to God ! " the tide of emotion broke over all barriers, the people rose to their feet, and the church reechoed with their responsive halleluiahs. The new preacher from Texas that night gave some Californians a
FATHER FISHES. 135
new idea of evangelical eloquence, and took his place as a burning and a shining light among the ministers of God on the Pacific Coast.
" He is the man we want for San Francisco ! " exclaimed the impulsive B. T. Crouch, who had kindled into a generous enthusiasm under that marvelous discourse.
He was sent to San Francisco. He was one of a company of preachers who have successively had charge of the Southern Methodist Church in that wondrous city inside the Golden Gate — Boring, Evans, Fisher, Fitzgerald, Gober, Brown, Bailey, Wood, Miller, Ball, Hoss, Chamberlin, Mahon, Tuggle, Simmons, Henderson. There was an al- most unlimited diversity of temperament, culture, and gifts among these men ; but they all had a sim- ilar experience in this, that San Francisco gave them new revelations of human nature and of themselves. Some went away crippled and scarred, •some sad, some broken ; but perhaps in the Great Day it may be found that for each and all there was a hidden blessing in the heart-throes of a serv- ice that seemed to demand that they should sow in bitter tears, and know no joyful reaping this side of the grave. O my brothers, who have felt the fires of that furnace heated seven times hotter than usual, shall we not in the resting-place beyond the river realize that these fires burned out of us
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the dross that we did not know wras in our souls ? The bird that comes out of the tempest with bro- ken wing may henceforth take a lowlier flight, but will be safer because it ventures no more into the region of storms.
Fisher did not succeed in San Francisco, be- cause he could not get a hearing. A little hand- ful would meet him on Sunday mornings in one of the upper-rooms of the old City Hall, and listen to sermons that sent them away in a religious glow, but he had no leverage for getting at the masses. He was no adept in the methods by which the modern sensational preacher compels the attention of the novelty -loving crowrds in our cities. An evangelist in every fiber of his being, he chafed under the limitations of his charge in San Fran- cisco, and from time to time he would make a dash into the country, where, at camp-meetings and on other special occasions, he preached the gospel with a power that broke many a sinner's heart, and with a persuasiveness that brought many a wanderer back to the Good Shepherd's fold. His bodily en- ergy, like his religious zeal, was unflagging. It seemed little less than a miracle that he could, day after day, make such vast expenditure of nervous energy without exhaustion. He put all his strength into every sermon and exhortation, whether ad- dressed to admiring and weeping thousands at a
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great camp-meeting, or to a dozen or less "stand- bys" at the Saturday-morning service of a quar- terly-meeting.
He had his trials and crosses. Those/ who knew him intimately learned to expect his mightiest pul- pit efforts when the shadow on his face and the unconscious sigh showed that he was passing through the waters and crying to God out of the depths. In such experiences, the strong man is revealed and gathers new strength; the weak one goes under. But his strength was more than mere natural force of will, it was the strength of a mighty faith in God — that unseen force by which the saints work righteousness, subdue kingdoms, escape the violence of fire, and stop the mouths of lions.
As a flame of fire, Fisher itinerated all over Cal- ifornia and Oregon, kindling a blaze of revival in almost every place he touched. He was mighty in the Scriptures, and seemed to know the Book by heart. His was no rose-water theology. He be- lieved in a hell, and pictured it in Bible language with a vividness and awfulness that thrilled the stoutest sinner's heart ; he believed in heaven, and spoke of it in such a way that it seemed that with him faith had already changed to sight. The gates of pearl, the crystal river, the shining ranks of the white-robed throngs, their songs swelling as the
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sound of many waters, the holy love and rapture of the glorified hosts of the redeemed, were made to pass in panoramic procession before the listen- ing multitudes, until the heaven he pictured seemed to be a present reality. He lived in the atmos- phere of the supernatural; the spirit-world was to him most real.
"I have been out of the body," he said to me one day. The words were spoken softly, and his countenance, always grave in its aspect, deepened in its solemnity of expression as he spoke.
"How was that?" I inquired.
"It was in Texas. I was returning from a quar- terly-meeting where I had preached one Sunday morning with great liberty and with unusual ef- fect. The horses attached to my vehicle became frightened, and ran away. They were wholly be- yond control, plunging down the road at a fearful speed, when, by a slight turn to one side, the wheel struck a large log. There was a concussion, and then a blank. The next thing I knew I was float- ing in the air above the road. I saw every thing as plainly as I see your face at this moment. There lay my body in the road, there lay the log, and there were the trees, the fence, the fields, and every thing, perfectly natural. My motion, which had been upward, was arrested, and as, poised in the air, I looked at rny body lying there in the road
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so still, I felt a strong desire to go back to it, and found myself sinking toward it. The next thing I knew I was lying in the road where I had been thrown out, with a number of friends about me, some holding up my head, others chafing my hands, or looking on with pity or alarm. Yes, I was out of the body for a little, and I know there is a spirit- world."
His voice had sunk into a sort of whisper, and the tears were in his eyes. I was strangely thrilled. Both of us were silent for a time, as if we heard the echoes of voices, and saw the beckonings of shadowy hands from that Other World which sometimes seems so far away, and yet is so near to each one of us.
Surely yon heaven, where angels see God's face,
Is not so distant as we deem From this low earth. ?Tis but a little space, 'Tis but a veil the winds might blow aside; Yes, this all that us of earth divide From the bright dwellings of the glorified, The land of which I dream.
But it was no dream to this man of mighty faith, the windows of whose soul opened at all times Godward. To him immortality was a demon- strated fact, an experience. He had been out of the body.
Intensity was his dominating quality. He wrote
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verses, and whatever they may have lacked of the subtle element that marks poetical genius, they were full of his ardent personality and devotional abandon. He compounded medicines whose vir- tues, backed by his own unwavering faith, wrought wondrous cures. On several occasions he accepted challenge to polemic battle, and his opponents found in him a fearless warrior, whose onset was next to irresistible. In these discussions it was no uncommon thing for his arguments to close with such bursts of spiritual power that the doctrinal duel would end in a great religious excitement, bearing disputants and hearers away on mighty tides of feeling that none could resist.
I saw in the Texas Christian Advocate an inci- dent, related by Dr. F. A. Mood, that gives a good idea of what Fisher's eloquence was when in full tide :
"About ten years ago," says Dr. M., "when the train from Houston, on the Central Railroad, on one occasion reached Hempstead, it was perempto- rily brought to a halt. There was a strike. among the employes of the road, on what was significantly called by the strikers 'The Death-warrant/ The road, it seems, had required all of their employes to sign a paper renouncing all claims to moneyed reparation in case of their bodily injury while in the service of the road. The excitement incident
FATHER FISHES. 141
to a strike was at its height at Hempstead when our train reached there. The tracks were blocked Avith trains that had been stopped as they arrived from the different branches of the road, and the employes were gathered about in groups, discussing the situation — the passengers peering around with hopeless curiosity. When our train stopped, the conductor told us that we would have to lie over all night, and many of the passengers left to find accommodations in the hotels of the town. It was now night, when a man came into the car and ex- claimed,'The strikers are tarring and feathering a poor wretch out here, who has taken sides witli the road — come out and see it!7 Nearly every one in the car hastened out. I had risen, when a gen- tleman behind me gently pulled my coat, and said to me, 'Sit down a moment/ He went on to say: 'I judge, sir, you are a clergyman; and I advise you to remain here. You may be put to much in- convenience by having to appear as a witness; in a mob of that sort, too, there is no telling what may follow/ I thanked him, and resumed my seat. He then asked me to what denomination I belonged, and upon my telling him I was a Meth- odist preacher, he asked eagerly and promptly if I had ever met a Methodist preacher in Texas by the name of Fisher, describing accurately the ap- pearance of our glorified brother. Upon my tell-
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ing him I knew him well, he proceeded to give the following incident. I give it as nearly as I can in his own words. Said he :
" ' I am a California!!, have practiced law for years in that State, and, at the time I allude to, was district judge. I was holding court at [I can- not now recall the name of the town he mentioned], and on Saturday was told that a Methodist camp- meeting was being held a few miles from town. I determined to visit it, and reached the place of meeting in good time to hear the great preacher of the occasion — Father Fisher. The meeting was held in a river canon. The rocks towered hun- dreds of feet on either side, rising over like an arch. Through the ample space over which the rocks hung the river flowed, furnishing abundance of cool water, while a pleasant breeze fanned a shaded spot. A great multitude had assembled— hundreds of very hard cases, who had gathered there, like myself, for the mere novelty of the thing. I am not a religious man — never have been thrown under religious influences. I respect religion, and respect its teachers, but have been very little in contact with religious things. At the appointed time, the preacher rose. He was small, with white hair combed back from his fore- head, and he wore a venerable beard. I do not know much about the Bible, and I cannot quote
FATHER FISIIEK. 143
from his text, but he preached on the Judgment. I tell you, sir, I have heard eloquence at the bar and on the hustings, but I never heard such elo- quence as that old preacher gave us that day. At the last, when he described the multitudes calling on the rocks and mountains to fall on them, I in- stinctively looked up to the arching rocks above me. Will you believe it, sir? — as I looked up, to my horror I saw the walls of the canon swaying as if they wrere coming together! Just then the preacher called on all that needed mercy to kneel down. I recollect he said something like this: "' Every knee shall bow, and every tongue shall confess;' and you might as well do it now as then." The whole multitude fell on their knees — every one of them. Although I had never done so be- fore, I confess to you, sir, I got down on my knees. I did not want to be buried right then and there by those rocks that seemed to be swaying to de- stroy me. The old man prayed for us ; it was a wonderful prayer! I want to see him once more ; where will I be likely to find him?'
"When he had closed his narrative, I said to him: 'Judge, I hope you have bowed frequently since that day.' 'Alas ! no, sir/ he replied ; ' not much ; but depend upon it, Father Fisher is a wonderful orator — he made me think that day that the walls of the canon were falling.' "
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He went back to Texas, the scene of his early labors and triumphs, to die. His evening sky was not cloudless — he suffered much — but his sunset was calm and bright ; his waking in the Morning Land was glorious. If it wras at that short period of silence spoken of in the Apocalypse, we may be sure it was broken when Fisher went in.
JACK WHITE.
THE only thing white about him was his name. He was a Piute Indian, and Piutes are nei- ther white nor pretty. There is only one being in human shape uglier than a Piute "buck" — and that is a Piute squaw. One. I saw at the Sink of the Humboldt haunts me yet. Her hideous face, begrimed with dirt and smeared with yellow paint, bleared and leering eyes, and horrid long, flapping breasts — ugh ! it was a sight to make one feel sick. A degraded woman is the saddest spectacle on earth. Shakespeare knew what he was doing when he made the witches in Macbeth of the feminine gender. But as you look at them you almost for- get that these Piute hags are women — they seem a cross between brute and devil. The unity of the human race is a fact which I accept; but some of our brothers and sisters are far gone from original loveliness. If Eve could see these Piute women, she would not be in a hurry to claim them as her 10 (145)
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daughters; and Adam would feel like disowning some of his sous. As it appears to me, however, these repulsive savages furnish an argument in support of two fundamental facts of Christianity. One fact is, God did indeed make of one blood all the nations of the earth; the other is the fact of the fall and depravity of the human race. This unspeakable ugliness of these Indians is owing to their evil living. Dirty as they are, the little In- dian children are not at all repulsive in expression. A boy of ten years, who stood half-naked, shiver- ing in the wind, with his bow and arrows, had well-shaped features and a pleasant expression of countenance, with just a little of the look of ani- mal cunning that belongs to all wild tribes. The ugliness grows on these Indians fearfully fast when it sets in. The brutalities of the lives they lead stamp themselves on their faces ; and no other ani- mal on earth equals in ugliness the animal called man, when he is nothing but an animal.
There was a mystery about Jack White's early life. He was born in the sage-brush desert beyond the Sierras, and, like all Indian babies, doubtless had a hard time at the outset. A Christian's pig or puppy is as well cared for as a Piute papoose. Jack was found in a deserted Indian camp in the mountains. He had been left to die, and was taken charge of by the kind - hearted John M.
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White, who was then digging for gold in the North- ern mines. He and his good Christian wife had mercy on the little Indian boy that looked up at them so pitifully with his wondering black eyes. At first he had the frightened and bewildered look of a captured wild creature, but he soon began to be more at ease. He acquired the English language slowly, and never did lose the peculiar accent of his tribe. The miners called him Jack White, not knowing any other name for him.
Moving to the beautiful San Ramon Valley, not far from the Bay of San Francisco, the Whites took Jack with them. They taught him the lead- ing doctrines and facts of the Bible, and made him useful in domestic service. He grew and thrived. Broad-shouldered, muscular, and straight as an arrow, Jack was admired for his strength and agil- ity by the white boys with whom he was brought into contact. Though not quarrelsome, he had a steady courage that, backed by his great strength, inspired respect and insured good treatment from them. Growing up amid these influences, his features wTere softened into a civilized expression, and his tawny face was not unpleasing. The heavy trader-jaw and square forehead gave him an ap- pearance of hardness which was greatly relieved by the honest look out of his eyes, and the smile which now and then would slowly creep over his
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face, like the movement of the shadow of a thin cloud on a calm day in summer. An Indian smiles deliberately, and in a dignified way — at least Jack did.
I first knew Jack at Santa Rosa, of which beau- tiful town his patron, Mr. White, was then the marshal. Jack came to my Sunday-school, and was taken into a class of about twenty boys taught by myself. They were the noisy element of the school, ranging from ten to fifteen years of age — too large to show7 the docility of the little lads, but not old enough to have attained the self-command and self-respect that come later in life. Though he was much older than any of them, and heavier than his teacher, this class suited Jack. The white boys all liked him, and he liked me. We had grand times with that class. The only way to keep them in order was to keep them very busy. The plan of having them answer in concert was adopted with decided results. It kept them awake — and the whole school with them, for California boys have strong lungs. Twenty boys speaking all at once, with eager excitement and flashing eyes, waked the drowsiest drone in the room. A gentle hint was given now and then to take a little lower key. In these lessons, Jack's deep guttural tones came in with marked effect, and it was delightful to see how he enjoyed it all. And the singing made his
JACK WHITE. 149
swarthy features glow with pleasure, though he rarely joined in it, having some misgiving as to the melody of his voice.
The truths of the gospel took strong hold of Jack's mind, and his inquiries indicated a deep in- terest in the matter of religion. I was therefore not surprised when, during a protracted-meeting in the town, Jack became one of the converts; but there was surprise and delight among the brethren at the class-meeting when Jack rose in his place and told what great things the Lord had done for him, dwelling with special emphasis on the words, "I am happy, because I know Jesus takes my sins away — I know he takes my sins away." His voice melted into softness, and a tear trickled down his cheek as he spoke; and when Dan Duncan, the leader, crossed over the room and grasped his hand in a burst of joy, there was a glad chorus of re- joicing Methodists over Jack White, the Piute convert.
Jack never missed a service at the church, and in the social-meetings he never failed to tell the story of his new-born joy and hope, and always with thrilling effect, as he repeated with trembling voice, "I am happy, because I know Jesus takes my sins away." Sin was a reality with Jack, and the pardon of sin the most wonderful of all facts. lie never tired of telling it ; it opened a new world
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to him, a world of light and joy. Jack White in the class-meeting or prayer-meeting, with beaming face, and moistened eyes, and softened voice, tell- ing of the love of Jesus, seemed almost of a differ- ent race, from the wretched Piutes of the Sierras and sage-brush.
Jack's baptism was a great event. It was by immersion, the first baptism of the kind I ever performed — and almost the last. Jack had been talked to on the subject by some zealous brethren of another "persuasion," who magnified that mode, and though he was willing to do as I advised in the matter, he was evidently a little inclined to the more spectacular way of receiving the ordinance. Mrs. White suggested that it might save future trouble, and "spike a gun." So Jack, with four others, was taken down to Santa Rosa Creek, that went rippling and sparkling along the southern edge of the town, and duly baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. A great crowd covered the bridge just below, and the banks of the stream ; and when Wesley Mock, the Asaph of Santa Rosa Methodism, struck up
O happy day that fixed my choice On thce, my Saviour and my God,
and the chorus —
Happy day, happy day, when Jesus washed my sins away,
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was swelled by hundreds of voices, it was a glad moment for Jack White and all of us. Religiously it was a warm time; but the water was very cold, it being one of the chilliest days I ever felt in that genial climate.
" You were rather awkward, Brother Fitzgerald, in immersing those persons," said my stalwart friend, Elder John McCorkle, of the " Christian " or Campbellite Church, who had critically but not . unkindly watched the proceedings from the bridge. "If you will send for me the next time, I will do it for you," he added, pleasantly.
I fear it was awkwardly done, for the water was very cold, and a shivering man cannot be very graceful in his movements. I would have done better in a baptistery, with warm water and a rub- ber suit. But of all the persons I have welcomed into the Church during my ministry, the reception of no one has given me more joy than that of Jack White, the Piute Indian.
Jack's heart yearned for his own people. He wanted to tell them of Jesus, who could take away their sins; and perhaps his Indian instinct made him long for the freedom of the hills.
" I am going to my people," he said to me ; " I want to tell them of Jesus. You will pray for me?" he added, with a quiver in his voice and a heaving chest.
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He went away, and I have never seen him since. Where he is now, I know not. I trust I may meet him on Mount Sionrwith the harpers harping with their harps, and singing, as it were, a new song be- fore the throne.
Postscript. — Since this Sketch was penciled, the Kev. C. Y. Rankin, in a note dated Santa Rosa, California, August 3, 1880, says: "Mrs. White asked me to send you word of the peaceful death of Jack White (Indian). He died trusting in Jesus."
THE KABBI.
OEATED in his library, enveloped in a faded w3 figured gown, a black velvet cap on his mass- ive head, there was an Oriental look about him that arrested your attention at once. Power and gentleness, child-like simplicity, and scholar! mess, were curiously mingled in this man. His library was a reflex of its owner. In it were books that the great public libraries of the world could not match — black-letter folios that were almost as old as the printing art, illuminated volumes that were once the pride and joy of men who had been in their graves many generations, rabbinical lore, theology, magic, and great volumes of Hebrew literature that looked, when placed beside a modern book, like an old ducal palace along-side a gingerbread cottage of to-day. I d" not think he ever felt at home amid the hurry and rush of San Francisco. Ho could not adjust himself to the people. He wit* devout, and they were intensely worldly. Ho
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thundered this sentence from the teacher's desk in the synagogue one morning : " O ye Jews of San Francisco, you have so fully given yourselves up to material things that you are losing the very in- stinct of immortality. Your only idea of religion is to acquire the Hebrew language, and you do n't know that!" His port and voice were like those of one of the old Hebrew prophets. Elijah him- self was not more fearless. Yet, how deep was his love for his race! Jeremiah was not more tender when he wept for the slain of the daughter of his people. His reproofs were resented, and he had a taste of persecution ; but the Jews of San Fran- cisco understood him at last. The poor and the little children knew him from the start. He lived mostly among his books, and in his school for poor children, whom he taught without charge. His habits were so simple and his bodily wants so few that it cost him but a trifle to live. When the synagogue frowned on him, he was as independent as Elijah at the brook Cherith. It is «hard to starve a man to whom crackers and water are a royal feast.
His belief in God and in the supernatural was startlirigly vivid. The Voice that spoke from Si- nai was still audible to him, and the Arm that de- livered Israel he saw still stretched out over the nations. The miracles of the Old Testament were
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as real to him as the premiership of Disraeli, or the financiering of the Kothschilds. There was, at the same time, a vein of rationalism that ran through his thought and speech. We were speak- ing one day on the subject of miracles, and, with his usual energy of manner, he said :
" There was no need of any literal angel to shut the mouths of the lions to save Daniel ; the awful holiness of the prophet ivas enough. There was so much of God in him that the savage creatures sub- mitted to him as they did to unsinning Adam. Man's dominion over nature was broken by sin, but in the golden age to come it will be restored. A man in full communion with God wields a di- vine power in every sphere that he touches."
His face glowed as he spoke, and his voice wa» subdued into a solemnity of tone that told how his reverent and adoring soul was thrilled with this vision of the coming glory of redeemed hu- manity.
He knew the New Testament by heart, as well as the Old. The sayings of Jesus were often on his lips.
One clay, in a musing, half-soliloquizing way, I heard him say:
"It is wonderful, wonderful ! a Hebrew peasant from the hills of Galilee, without learning, noble birth, or power, subverts all the philosophies of
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the world, and makes himself the central figure of all history. It is wonderful ! "
He half whispered the words, and his eyes had the introspective look of a man who is thinking deeply.
He came to see me at our cottage on Post street one morning before breakfast. In grading a street, a house in which I had lived and had the ill luck to own, on Pine street, had been undermined, and toppled over into the street below, falling on the slate-roof and breaking all to pieces. He came to tell me of it, and to extend his sympathy.
"I thought I would come first, so you might get the bad news from a friend rather than a stranger. You have lost a house; but it is a small matter. Your little boy there might have put out his eye with a pair of scissors, or he might have swallowed a pin and lost his life. There are many things constantly taking place that are harder to bear than the loss of a house."
Many other wise words did the Rabbi speak, and before he left I felt that a house was indeed a small thing to grieve over.
He spoke with charming freedom and candor of all sorts of people.
"Of Christians, the Unitarians have the best heads, and the Methodists -the best hearts. The Roman Catholics hold the masses, because they
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give their people plenty of form. The masses will never receive truth in its simple essence; they must have it in a way that will make it digestible and assimilable, just as their stomachs demand bread, and meats, and fruits, not tneir extracts or distilled essences, for daily food. As to Judaism, it is on the eve of great changes. What these changes will be I know not, except that I am sure the God of our fathers will fulfill his promise to Israel. This generation wrill probably see great things."
" Do you mean the literal restoration of the Jews to Palestine ? "
He looked at me with an intense gaze, and has- tened not to answer. At last he spoke slowly :
"When the perturbed elements of religious thought crystallize into clearness and enduring forms, the chosen people will be one of the chief factors in reaching that final solution of the prob- lems which convulse this age."
He Avas one of the speakers at the great Mortara indignation-meeting in San Francisco. The speech of the occasion was that of Colonel Baker, the orator who went to Oregon, and in a single cam- paign magnetized the Oregonians so completely by his splendid eloquence that, passing by all their old party leaders, they sent him to the United States Senate. No one who heard Baker's pdrora-
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tion that night will ever forget it. His dark eyes blazed, his form dilated, and his voice was like a bugle in battle.
"They tell us that the Jew is accursed of God. This has been the plea of the bloody tyrants and robbers that oppressed and plundered them during the long ages of their exile and agony. Bat the Almighty God executes his own judgments. Woe to him who presumes to wield his thunderbolts! They fall in blasting, consuming vengeance upon his own head. God deals with his chosen people in judgment; but he says to men, Touch them -at your peril! They that spoil them shall be for a spoil ; they that carried them away captive shall themselves go into captivity. The Assyrian smote the Jew, and where is the proud Assyrian Empire? Rome ground them under her iron heel, and where is the empire ,r>f the Csesars? Spain smote the Jew, and where as her glory? The desert sands cover the site of Babylon the-Great. The power that hurled the hosts of Titus against the holy city Jerusalem was shivered to pieces. The ban- ners of Spain, that floated in triumph over, half the world, and fluttered in the breez.es of every sea, is now the emblem of a glory that is gone, and the ensign of a power that has waned. The Jews are in the hands of God. He has dealt with them in judgment, but they are still the children
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of promise. The day of their long exile shall end, and they will return to Zion with songs and ever- lasting joy upon their heads!"
The words were something like these, but who could picture Baker's oratory? As well try to paint a storm in the tropics. Real thunder and lightning cannot be put on canvas.
The Rabbi made a speech, and it was the speech of a man who had come from his books and prayers. He made a tender appeal for the mother and father of the abducted Jewish boy, and ar- gued the question as calmly, and in as sweet a spirit, as if he had been talking over an abstract question in his study. The- vast crowd looked upon that strange figure with a sort of pleased wonder, and the Rabbi seemed almost unconscious of their presence. He was as free from self-con- sciousness as a little child, and iiany a Gentile heart warmed that night to the srnple-hearted sage who stood before them pleading for the rights of human nature.
The old man was often very sad. In such moods he would come round to our cottage on Post street, and sit with us until late at night, unburdening his aching heart, and relaxing by degrees into a playfulness that was charming from its very awk- wardness. He would bring little picture-books for the children, pat them on their heads, and praise
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them. They were always glad to see 'him, and would nestle round him lovingly. We all loved him, and felt glad in the thought that he left our little circle lighter at heart. He lived alone. Once, when I playfully spoke to him of matri- mony, he laughed quietly, and said :
" No, no — my books and my poor school-chil- dren are enough for me."
He died suddenly and alone. He had been out one windy night visiting the poor, came home sick, and before morning was in that world of spirits which was so real to his faith, and for which ho longed. He left his little fortune of a few thou- sand dollars to the poor of his native village of Posen, in Poland. And thus passed from Califor- nia-life Dr. Julius Eckman, the Rabbi.
MY MINING SPECULATION.
I BELIEVE the Lord has put me in the way of making a competency for my old age," said the dear old Doctor, as he seated himself in the arm-chair reserved for him at the cottage at North Beach.
"How?" I asked.
" I met a Texas man to-day, who told me of the discovery of an immensely rich silver mining dis- trict in Deep Spring Valley, Mono county, and he says he can get me in as one of the owners/'
I laughingly made some remark expressive of incredulity. The honest and benignant face of the old Doctor showed that he was a little nettled.
" I have made full inquiry, and am sure this is no mere speculation. The stock will not be put upon the market, and will not be assessable. They propose to make me a trustee, and the own- ers, limited in number, will have entire control of the property. But I will not be hasty in the inat- 11 (161)
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ter. I will make it a subject of prayer for twen- ty-four hours, and then if there be no adverse in- dications I will go on with it."
The next day I met the broad-faced Texan, and was impressed by him as the old Doctor had been.
It seemed a sure thing. An old prospector had been equipped and sent out by a few gentlemen, and he had found outcroppings of silver in a range of hills extending not less than three miles. Assays had been made of the ores, and they were found to be very rich. All the timber and water- power of Deep Spring Valley had been taken up for the company under the general and local pre-