MEXICAN METHODS OF CULTIVATION--FIRST STEAMSHIP THROUGH THE GOLDEN
GATE--"THE ARGONAUTS" OR "BOYS OF '49"--A LETTER FROM THE STATES--JOHN
BAPTISTE--JAKIE LEAVES US--THE FIRST AMERICAN SCHOOL IN SONOMA.
By the first of March, 1849, carpenters had the frame of grandma's fine
new two-story house enclosed, and the floors partly laid. Neighbors
were hurrying to get their fields ploughed and planted, those without
farming implements following the Mexican's crude method of ploughing
the ground with wooden prongs and harrowing in the seed by dragging
heavy brush over it.
They gladly turned to any tool that would complete the work by the time
the roads to the mountains should be passable, and the diggings clear
of snow. Their expectations might have been realized sooner, if a bluff
old launch captain, with an eye to business for himself and San
Francisco, had not appeared on the scene, shouting, "Ahoy" to
everybody.
"I say, a steamship anchored in the Bay of San Francisco two days ago.
She's the _California_. Steamed out of New York Harbor with
merchandise. Stopped at Panama; there took aboard three hundred and
fifty waiting passengers that had cut across country--a mixture of men
from all parts of the United States, who have come to carry off the
gold diggings, root and branch! Others are coming in shiploads as fast
as they can. Now mark my words, and mark them well: provisions is going
to run mighty short, and if this valley wants any, it had better send
for them pretty damn quick!"
By return boat, farmers, shopkeepers, and carpenters hastened to San
Francisco. All were eager for supplies from the first steamship that
had entered the Golden Gate--the first, it may be added, that most of
them, even those of a sea-going past, had ever seen.
During the absence of husbands, we little girls were loaned separately
nights to timid wives who had no children to keep them company. Georgia
went earlier and stayed later than I, because grandma could not spare
me in the evenings until after the cows were turned out, and she needed
me in the mornings before sunrise. Those who borrowed us made our stays
so pleasant that we felt at home in many different houses.
Once, however, I encountered danger on my early homeward trip.
I had turned the bend in the road, could see the smoke curling out of
grandma's chimney, and knew that every nearer house was closed. In
order to avoid attracting the attention of a suspicious-looking cow on
the road, I was running stealthily along a rail fence, when,
unexpectedly, I came upon a family of sleeping swine, and before I was
aware of danger from that direction was set upon and felled to the
ground by a vicious beast. Impelled, I know not how, but quick as
thought, I rolled over and over and over, and when I opened my eyes I
was on the other side of the fence, and an angry, noisy, bristling
creature was glaring at me through the rails.
Quivering like a leaf and for a time unable to rise, I lay upon the
green earth facing the morning sky. With strange sensations and
wonderment, I tried to think what might have happened, if I had not
rolled. What if that space between fence and ground had been too narrow
to let my body through; what if, on the other hand, it had been wide
enough for that enraged brute to follow?
Too frightened to cry, and still trembling, I made my way to the end of
the field and climbed back over the fence near home. Grandma was
greatly startled by my blanched face, and the rumpled and soiled
condition of my clothes. After I related my frightful experience, she
also felt that had it not been for that fence, I should have been torn
to pieces. She explained, however, that I probably would not have been
attacked had I not startled the old mother so suddenly that she
believed her young in danger.
When our menfolk returned from San Francisco, they were accompanied by
many excited treasure-seekers, anxious to secure pack animals to carry
their effects to the mines. They were made welcome, and in turn
furnished us news of the outer world, and distributed worn copies of
American and foreign newspapers, which our hungry-minded pioneers read
and re-read so long as the lines held together.
Those light-hearted newcomers, who danced and gayly sang,
O Susannah, don't you cry for me!
I'm bound to Californy with a tin pan on my knee,
were the first we saw of that vast throng of gold-seekers, who flocked to
our shores within a twelvemonth, and who have since become idealized in
song and story as the "Argonauts," "the Boys of '49."
They were unlike either our pioneer or our soldier friends in style of
dress and manner. Nor had they come to build homes or develop the
country. They wanted gold to carry back to other lands. Some had
expected to find it near the Bay of San Francisco; some, to scoop it up
out of the river beds that crossed the valleys; and others, to shovel
it from ravines and mountain-sides. When told of the difficulties
before them, their impatience grew to be off, that they might prove to
Western plodders what could be done by Eastern pluck and muscle.
Such packing as those men did! Mother's Bible, and wife and baby's
daguerreotype not infrequently started to the mines in the coffee pot,
or in the miner's boots, hanging across the mule's pack. The
sweetheart's lock of hair, affectionately concealed beneath the hat
lining of its faithful wearer, caught the scent of the old clay pipe
stuck in the hat-band.
With the opening season all available Indians of both sexes were hired
as gold-diggers, and trudged along behind their employers, and our
town was again reduced to a settlement of white women and children. But
what a difference in the feeling of our people! We now heard regularly
from the Bay City, and entertained transients from nearly every part of
the globe; and these would loan us books and newspapers, and frequently
store unnecessary possessions with us until they should return from the
mines.
San Francisco had a regular post office. One day its postmaster
forwarded a letter, addressed to ex-Governor Boggs, which the latter
brought out and read to grandma. She did not, as usual, put her head
out of the window and call us, but came from the house wiping her eyes,
and asked if we wanted to be put in a big ship and sent away from her
and grandma and Jakie.
Greatly alarmed, we exclaimed, "No, no, grandma, no!"
Taking us by the hand, she led us into the house, seated herself and
drew one of us to each side, then requested the Governor to read the
letter again. We two did not understand all it said, but enough to know
that it had been written by our own dear aunt, Elizabeth Poor, who
wanted Governor Boggs to find her sister's three little orphaned girls
and send them back to her by ship to Massachusetts. It contained the
necessary directions for carrying out her wish.
[Illustration: POST OFFICE, CORNER OF CLAY AND PIKE STREETS, SAN
FRANCISCO, 1849]
[Illustration: OLD CITY HOTEL, 1846, CORNER OF KEARNEY AND CLAY
STREETS, THE FIRST HOTEL IN SAN FRANCISCO]
Grandma assured the Governor that we did not want to leave her, nor
would she give us up. She said she and her husband and Jakie had
befriended us when we were poor and useless, and that we were now
beginning to be helpful. Moreover, that they had prospered greatly
since we had come into their home, and that their luck might change if
they should part from us. She further stated that she already had
riches in her own right, which we should inherit at her death.
The Governor spoke of schools and divers matters pertaining to our
welfare, then promised to explain by letter to Aunt Elizabeth how
fortunately we were situated.
This event created quite a flutter of excitement among friends. Grandpa
and Jakie felt just as grandma did about keeping us. Georgia and I were
assured that in not being allowed to go across the water, we had
escaped great suffering, and, perhaps, drowning by shipwreck. Still, we
did wish that it were possible for us to see Aunt Elizabeth, whom
mother had taught us to love, and who now wanted us to come to her.
I told Georgia that I would learn to write as fast as I could, and send
her a letter, so she would know all about us.
We now imagined that we were quite large girls, for grandma usually
said before going away, "Children, you know what there is to do and I
leave everything in your care." We did not realize that this was her
little scheme, in part, to keep us out of mischief; but we knew that
upon her return she would see, and call attention to what was left
undone.
Once, when we were at home alone and talking about "endless work and
aching bones," as we had heard grown-up folks complain of theirs, we
were interrupted by a bareback rider who did not "tie up" under the
live oak, but came to the shade of the white oak in front of us at the
kitchen door. After a cheery "Howdy do" and a hand shake, he exclaimed,
"I heard at Napa that you lived here, and my pony has made a hard run
to give me this sight of you."
We were surprised and delighted, for the speaker was John Baptiste who
had wintered with us in the Sierras. We asked him to dismount, take a
seat under the tree, and let us bring him a glass of milk. He declined
graciously, then with a pleased expression, drew a small brown-paper
parcel from his trousers pocket and handed it to us, leaned forward,
clasped his arms about his pony, rested his head on its neck, and
smilingly watched Georgia unwrap it, and two beautiful bunches of
raisins come to view,--one for each. He would not touch a single berry,
nor let us save any. He asked us to eat them then and there so that he
could witness our enjoyment of the luxury he had provided for this, our
first meeting in the settlement.
Never had we seen raisins so large, translucent, and delicious. They
seemed far too choice for us to have, and John was so poorly dressed
and pinched in features that we hesitated about eating them. But he
would have his way, and in simple language told us that he wanted them
to soften the recollection of the hungry time when he came into camp
empty-handed and discouraged. Also to fulfil his assurance to our
mother that he would try to keep us in sight, and give us of the best
that he could procure. His last injunctions were, "Be good little
girls; always remember your mother and father; and don't forget John
Baptiste."
He was gone when grandma got back; and she was very serious when told
what had occurred in her absence. She rarely spoke to us of our mother,
and feared it might lessen our affection for herself, if others kept
the memory of the dead fresh in our minds.
There were many other happenings before the year closed, that caused me
to think a great deal. Grandpa spent less time at the shop; he bought
himself a fleet-footed horse which he named Antelope, and came home
oftener to talk to grandma about money they had loaned Major Prudon to
send to China for merchandise, also about a bar-room which he was
fitting up near the butcher-shop, for a partner. Next, he bought
faithful Charlie, a large bay horse, with friendly eyes, and long black
mane and tail; also a small blue farm wagon in which Georgia and I were
to drive about the fields, when sent to gather loose bark and dry
branches for baking fires.
We were out for that purpose the day that we saw grandpa ride away to
the mines, but we missed seeing Jakie steal off, with his bunch of
cows. He felt too badly to say good-bye to us.
I was almost heart-broken when I learned that he was not coming back.
He had been my comforter in most of my troubles, had taught me to ride
and drive the horse, shown me the wood duck's nest in the hollow of
our white oak tree, and the orioles' pretty home swinging from a twig
in the live oak, also where the big white-faced owls lived. He had
helped me to gather wild flowers, made me whistles from branches cut
from the pussy willows, and had yodeled for me as joyfully as for loved
ones in his Alpine home. Everything that he had said and done meant a
great deal more to me now, and kept him in mind, as I went about alone,
or with grandma, doing the things that had been his to do. She now
moulded her cheeses in smaller forms, and we had fewer cows to milk.
When the season for collecting and drying herbs came, Georgia and I had
opportunity to be together considerably. It was after we had picked the
first drying of sage and were pricking our fingers on the saffron pods,
that grandma, in passing, with her apron full of Castilian rose petals,
stopped and announced that if we would promise to work well, and gather
the sage leaves and saffron tufts as often as necessary, she would let
us go to a "real school" which was about to open in town.
Oh, dear! to go to school, to have books and slate and pencil! What
more could be wished? Yes, we would get up earlier, work faster before
time to go, and hurry home after lessons were over. And I would carry
the book Aunt Lucy had given me. It was all arranged, and grandma went
to town to buy slates, pencils, speller, and a stick of wine-colored
ribbon to tie up our hair.
When the anticipated hour came, there were great preparations that we
might be neat and clean and ready on time. Our hair was parted in four
equal divisions; the front braids, tied with ribbon, formed a U at the
back of the neck; and we wore new calico dresses and sun-bonnets, and
carried lunch for two in a curious little basket, which grandma must
have brought with her from Switzerland. Joyfully we started forth to
the first American school opened in Sonoma.
Alas! it was not what our anticipations had pictured. The schoolroom
was a dreary adobe, containing two rows of benches so high that, when
seated, we could barely touch the earthen floor with our toes. The
schoolmaster told us that we must hold our slates on our laps, and our
open books in the right hand, and not look at the pictures, but study
all the time, and not speak, even to each other, without permission.
His face was so severe, his eyes so keen, and his voice so sharp that I
was afraid of him.
He had a chair with a back to it, and a table to hold his books; yet he
spent most of his time walking about with a narrow strap of rawhide in
his hand, and was ever finding some one whose book drooped, or who was
whispering; and the stinging bite of that strap would call the erring
to order.
The Misses Boggs, Lewis, Smith, and Bone were pretty young ladies, and
brought their own chairs and a table to sit around; and when they
whispered, the master never saw them; and when they missed in lessons,
he didn't keep them in, nor make them stand on the floor.
I learned my lessons well enough, but grandma was terribly shocked
because I got strapped nearly every day. But then, I sat between
Georgia and the other little girls in our row, and had to deliver
messages from those on both sides of me, as well as to whisper a little
on my own account. Finally, grandma declared that if I got a whipping
next day, she would give me a second one after reaching home. So I
started in the morning with the intention of being the best girl in
school; but we had hardly settled in line for our first lesson, when
Georgia whispered behind her book, "Eliza, see! Mary Jane Johnson has
got my nice French card, with the double queens on it, and I can't get
it."
Forgotten were my good resolutions. I leaned out of line, and whispered
louder than I meant, "Mary Jane Johnson, that is my sister's card, and
you must give it back to her."
She saw the master watching, but I did not, until he called me to hold
out my hand. For once, I begged, "Please excuse me; I won't do it
again." But he wouldn't, and I felt greatly humiliated, because I knew
the large girls had heard me and were smiling.
After recess, a new boy arrived, little Willie McCracken, whom we had
seen on the plains, and known at Sutter's Fort, and he knew us as soon
as he reached his seat and looked around. In a short time, I nudged
Georgia, and asked her if I hadn't better roll him the little knot of
dried apples that grandma had put in the basket for my lunch. She said,
yes, if I wanted to. So I wiggled the basket from under the seat with
my foot, and soon thereafter, my bit of hospitality was on its way to
the friend I was glad to see again.
Instead of his getting it, however, the master stepped down and picked
it up, with the hand that didn't have the strap in it. So, instead of
being the best, I was the worst child in school, for not one had ever
before received two strappings in a forenoon.
It must have been our bad day, for Georgia felt her very first bite
from the strap that afternoon, and on the way home volunteered not to
tell on me, if grandma did not ask. Yet grandma did, the first thing.
And when Georgia reluctantly said, "Yes," grandma looked at me and
shook her head despairingly; but when I announced that I had already
had two strappings, and Georgia one, she burst out laughing, and said
she thought I had had enough for one day.
A few weeks later, the large boys drove the master out of school on
account of his cruelty to a little fellow who had played truant.
In that dingy schoolroom, Georgia and I later attended the first
Protestant Sunday school and church service held in Sonoma.