If there had been such a thing as communicating by telephone in the days
of '72, and there had been those magic wires spanning the distance
between William Darrell's house in Alameda County and that of Don
Mariano Alamar in San Diego County, with power to transmit the human
voice for five hundred miles, a listener at either end would have heard
various discussions upon the same subject, differentiated only by
circumstances. No magic wires crossed San Francisco bay to bring the
sound of voices to San Diego, but the law of necessity made the Squatter
and the Don, distant as they were--distant in every way, without
reckoning the miles between them--talk quite warmly of the same matter.
The point of view was of course different, for how could it be
otherwise? Darrell thought himself justified, and _authorized_, to "take
up lands," as he had done before. He had had more than half of
California's population on his side, and though the "_Squatter's
Sovereignty_" was now rather on the wane, and the "_squatter vote_" was
no longer the power, still, the squatters would not abdicate, having yet
much to say about election times.
But Darrell was no longer the active squatter that he had been. He
controlled many votes yet, but in his heart he felt the weight which his
wife's sad eyes invariably put there when the talk was of litigating
against a Mexican land title.
This time, however, Darrell honestly meant to take no land but what
belonged to the United States. His promise to his wife was sincere, yet
his coming to Southern California had already brought trouble to the
Alamar rancho.
Don Mariano Alamar was silently walking up and down the front piazza of
his house at the rancho; his hands listlessly clasped behind and his
head slightly bent forward in deep thought. He had pushed away to one
side the many arm-chairs and wicker rockers with which the piazza was
furnished. He wanted a long space to walk. That his meditations were far
from agreeable, could easily be seen by the compressed lips, slight
frown, and sad gaze of his mild and beautiful blue eyes. Sounds of
laughter, music and dancing came from the parlor; the young people were
entertaining friends from town with their usual gay hospitality, and
enjoying themselves heartily. Don Mariano, though already in his
fiftieth year, was as fond of dancing as his sons and daughters, and not
to see him come in and join the quadrille was so singular that his wife
thought she must come out and inquire what could detain him. He was so
absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear her voice calling him--
"What keeps you away? Lizzie has been looking for you; she wants you for
a partner in the lancers," said Dona Josefa, putting her arm under that
of her husband, bending her head forward and turning it up to look into
his eyes.
"What is the matter?" she asked, stopping short, thus making her husband
come to a sudden halt. "I am sure something has happened. Tell me."
"Nothing, dear wife. Nothing has happened. That is to say, nothing new."
"More squatters?" she asked. Senor Alamar bent his head slightly, in
affirmative reply.
"More coming, you mean?"
"Yes, wife; more. Those two friends of squatters Mathews and Hager, who
were here last year to locate claims and went away, did not abandon
their claims, but only went away to bring proselytes and their families,
and a large invoice of them will arrive on to-morrow's steamer. The
worst of it all is, that among the new comers is that terrible and most
dangerous squatter William Darrell, who some years ago gave so much
trouble to the Spanish people in Napa and Sonoma Counties, by locating
claims there. John Gasbang wrote to Hogsden that besides Darrell, there
will be six or seven other men bringing their families, so that there
will be more rifles for my cattle."
"But, didn't we hear that Darrell was no longer a squatter, that he is
rich and living quietly in Alameda?"
"Yes, we heard that, and it is true. He is quite well off, but Gasbang
and Miller and Mathews went and told him that my rancho had been
rejected, and that it is near enough to town to become valuable, as soon
as we have a railroad. Darrell believed it, and is coming to locate
here."
"Strange that Darrell should believe such men; I suppose he does not
know how low they are."
"He ought to know them, for they were his teamsters when he crossed the
plains in '48. That is, Miller, Mathews, Hughes and Hager, were his
teamsters, and Gasbang was their cook--the cook for the hired men. Mrs.
Darrell had a colored woman who cooked for the Darrell family; she
despised Gasbang's cooking as we despise his character, I suppose."
Dona Josefa was silent, and holding to her husband's arm, took a turn
with him up and down the piazza.
"Is it possible that there is no law to protect us; to protect our
property; what does your lawyer say about obtaining redress or
protection; is there no hope?" she asked, with a sigh.
"Protection for our land, or for our cattle, you mean?"
"For both, as we get it for neither," she said.
"In the matter of our land, we have to await for the attorney general,
at Washington, to decide."
"Lizzie was telling Elvira, yesterday, that her uncle Lawrence is a
friend of several influential people in Washington, and that George can
get him to interest himself in having your title decided."
"But, as George is to marry my daughter, he would be the last man from
whom I would ask a favor."
"What is that I hear about not asking a favor from me?" said George
Mechlin, coming out on the piazza with Elvira on his arm, having just
finished a waltz--"I am interested to know why you would not ask it."
"You know why, my dear boy. It isn't exactly the thing to bother you
with my disagreeable business."
"And why not? And who has a better right? And why should it be a bother
to me to help you in any way I can? My father spoke to me about a
dismissal of an appeal, and I made a note of it. Let me see, I think I
have it in my pocket now,"--said George, feeling in his breast pocket
for his memorandum book,--"yes, here it is,--'For uncle to write to the
attorney general about dismissing the appeal taken by the squatters in
the Alamar grant, against Don Mariano's title, which was approved.' Is
that the correct idea? I only made this note to ask you for further
particulars."
"You have it exactly. When I give you the number of the case, it is all
that you need say to your uncle. What I want is to have the appeal
dismissed, of course, but if the attorney general does not see fit to do
so, he can, at least, remand back the case for a new trial. Anything
rather than this killing suspense. Killing literally, for while we are
waiting to have my title settled, the _settlers_ (I don't mean to make
puns), are killing my cattle by the hundred head, and I cannot stop
them."
"But are there no laws to protect property in California?" George asked.
"Yes, some sort of laws, which in my case seem more intended to help the
law-breakers than to protect the law-abiding," Don Mariano replied.
"How so? Is there no law to punish the thieves who kill your cattle?"
"There are some enactments so obviously intended to favor one class of
citizens against another class, that to call them laws is an insult to
law, but such as they are, we must submit to them. By those laws any man
can come to my land, for instance, plant ten acres of grain, without any
fence, and then catch my cattle which, seeing the green grass without a
fence, will go to eat it. Then he puts them in a '_corral_' and makes me
pay damages and so much per head for keeping them, and costs of legal
proceedings and many other trumped up expenses, until for such little
fields of grain I may be obliged to pay thousands of dollars. Or, if the
grain fields are large enough to bring more money by keeping the cattle
away, then the settler shoots the cattle at any time without the least
hesitation, only taking care that no one sees him in the act of firing
upon the cattle. He might stand behind a bush or tree and fire, but then
he is not seen. No one can swear that they saw him actually kill the
cattle, and no jury can convict him, for although the dead animals may
be there, lying on the ground shot, still no one saw the settler kill
them. And so it is all the time. I must pay damages and expenses of
litigation, or my cattle get killed almost every day."
"But this is infamous. Haven't you--the cattle owners--tried to have
some law enacted that will protect your property?" George asked. "It
seems to me that could be done."
"It could be done, perhaps, if our positions were reversed, and the
Spanish people--'_the natives_'--were the planters of the grain fields,
and the Americans were the owners of the cattle. But as we, the
Spaniards, are the owners of the Spanish--or Mexican--land grants and
also the owners of the cattle ranchos, our State legislators will not
make any law to protect cattle. They make laws '_to protect
agriculture_' (they say proudly), which means to drive to the wall all
owners of cattle ranchos. I am told that at this session of the
legislature a law more strict yet will be passed, which will be
ostensibly 'to protect agriculture,' but in reality to destroy cattle
and ruin the native Californians. The agriculture of this State does not
require legislative protection. Such pretext is absurd."
"I thought that the rights of the Spanish people were protected by our
treaty with Mexico," George said.
"Mexico did not pay much attention to the future welfare of the children
she left to their fate in the hands of a nation which had no sympathies
for us," said Dona Josefa, feelingly.
"I remember," calmly said Don Mariano, "that when I first read the text
of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, I felt a bitter resentment against
my people; against Mexico, the mother country, who abandoned us--her
children--with so slight a provision of obligatory stipulations for
protection. But afterwards, upon mature reflection, I saw that Mexico
did as much as could have been reasonably expected at the time. In the
very preamble of the treaty the spirit of peace and friendship, which
animated both nations, was carefully made manifest. That spirit was to
be the _foundation_ of the relations between the conqueror and
conquered. How could Mexico have foreseen then that when scarcely half a
dozen years should have elapsed the trusted conquerors would, '_In
Congress Assembled_,' pass laws which were to be retroactive upon the
defenceless, helpless, conquered people, in order to despoil them? The
treaty said that our rights would be the same as those enjoyed by all
other American citizens. But, you see, Congress takes very good care not
to enact retroactive laws for Americans; laws to take away from American
citizens the property which they hold _now_, already, with a recognized
legal title. No, indeed. But they do so quickly enough with us--with us,
the Spano-Americans, who were to enjoy equal rights, mind you, according
to the treaty of peace. This is what seems to me a breach of faith,
which Mexico could neither presuppose nor prevent."
"It is nothing else, I am sorry and ashamed to say," George said. "I
never knew much about the treaty with Mexico, but I never imagined we
had acted so badly."
"I think but few Americans know or believe to what extent we have been
wronged by Congressional action. And truly, I believe that Congress
itself did not anticipate the effect of its laws upon us, and how we
would be despoiled, we, the conquered people," said Don Mariano, sadly.
"It is the duty of law-givers to foresee the effect of the laws they
impose upon people," said Dona Josefa.
"That I don't deny, but I fear that the conquered have always but a weak
voice, which nobody hears," said Don Mariano. "We have had no one to
speak for us. By the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo the American nation
pledged its honor to respect our land titles just the same as Mexico
would have done. Unfortunately, however, the discovery of gold brought
to California the riff-raff of the world, and with it a horde of
land-sharks, all possessing the privilege of voting, and most of them
coveting our lands, for which they very quickly began to clamor. There
was, and still is, plenty of good government land, which any one can
take. But no. The forbidden fruit is the sweetest. They do not want
government land. They want the land of the Spanish people, because we
'have too much,' they say. So, to win their votes, the votes of the
squatters, our representatives in Congress helped to pass laws declaring
all lands in California open to pre-emption, as in Louisiana, for
instance. Then, as a coating of whitewash to the stain on the nation's
honor, a 'land commission' was established to examine land titles.
Because, having pledged the national word to respect our rights, it
would be an act of despoliation, besides an open violation of pledged
honor, to take the lands without some pretext of a legal process. So
then, we became obliged to present our titles before the said land
commission to be examined and approved or rejected. While these legal
proceedings are going on, the squatters locate their claims and raise
crops on our lands, which they convert into money to fight our titles.
But don't let me, with my disagreeable subject spoil your dance. Go back
to your lancers, and tell Lizzie to excuse me," said Don Mariano.
Lizzie would not excuse him. With the privilege of a future
daughter-in-law, she insisted that Don Mariano should be her partner in
the lancers, which would be a far pleasanter occupation than to be
walking up and down the porch thinking about squatters.
Don Mariano therefore followed Lizzie to their place in the dance.
Mercedes sat at the piano to play for them. The other couples took their
respective positions.
The well-balanced mind and kindly spirit of Don Mariano soon yielded to
the genial influences surrounding him. He would not bring his trouble to
mar the pleasure of others. He danced with his children as gaily as the
gayest. He insisted that Mr. Mechlin, too, should dance, and this
gentleman graciously yielded and led Elvira through a quadrille,
protesting that he had not danced for twenty years.
"You have not danced because you were sick, but now you are well. Don't
be lazy," said Mrs. Mechlin.
"You would be paying to San Diego climate a very poor compliment by
refusing to dance now," George added.
"That is so, papa. Show us how well you feel," Lizzie said.
"I shall have to dance a hornpipe to do that," Mr. Mechlin answered,
laughing.
To understand this remark better, the reader must know that Mr. James
Mechlin had come to San Diego, four years previously, a living skeleton,
not expected to last another winter. He had lost his health by a too
close application to business, and when he sought rest and relaxation
his constitution seemed permanently undermined. He tried the climate of
Florida. He spent several years in Italy and in the south of France, but
he felt no better. At last, believing his malady incurable, he returned
to his New York home to die. In New York a friend, who also had been an
invalid, but whose health had been restored in Southern California,
advised him to try the salubrious air of San Diego. With but little
hope, and only to please his family, Mr. Mechlin came to San Diego, and
his health improved so rapidly that he made up his mind to buy a country
place and make San Diego his home. William Mathews heard of this, and
offered to sell his place on what Mr. Mechlin thought very moderate
terms. A lawyer was employed to pass upon the title, and on his
recommendation the purchase was made. Mr. Mechlin had the Mathews house
moved back near the barn, and a new and much larger one built. When this
was finished the Mechlins moved into it, and Mr. Mechlin devoted himself
to cultivating trees and flowers, and his health was bettered every day.
This was the compensation to his wife and two daughters for exiling
themselves from New York; for it was exile to Caroline and Lizzie to
give up their fine house in New York City to come and live on a
California rancho.
Soon, however, these two young ladies passed their time more pleasantly,
after making the acquaintance of the Alamar family, and soon their
acquaintance ripened into friendship, to be made closer by the intended
marriage of Gabriel--Don Mariano's eldest son--to Lizzie. Shortly after,
George--Mr. Mechlin's only son--came on a visit, and when he returned to
New York he was already engaged to Elvira, third daughter of Senor
Alamar.
Now, George Mechlin was making his second visit to his family. He had
found New York so very dull and stupid on his return from California
that when Christmas was approaching he told his uncle and aunt--with
whom he lived--that he wanted to go and spend Christmas and New Year's
Day with his family in California.
"Very well; I wish I could go with you. Give my love to James, and tell
him I am delighted at his getting so well," Mr. Lawrence Mechlin said,
and George had his leave of absence. Mr. Lawrence Mechlin was president
of the bank of which George was cashier, so it was not difficult for him
to get the assistant cashier to attend to his duties when he was away,
particularly as the assistant cashier himself was George's most devoted
friend. George could have only twelve days in California, but to see
Elvira for even so short a time he would have traveled a much longer
distance.
Mr. James Mechlin affirmed repeatedly that he owed his improved health
to the genial society of the Alamar family as much as to the genial
climate of San Diego County. Mr. Mechlin, however, was not the only one
who had paid the same tribute to that most delightful family, the most
charming of which--the majority vote said--was Don Mariano himself. His
nobility of character and great kindness of heart were well known to
everybody.
The Alamar family was quite patriarchal in size, if the collateral
branches be taken into account, for there were many brothers, nephews
and nieces. These, however, lived in the adjoining rancho, and yet
another branch in Lower California, in Mexico. Don Mariano's own
immediate family was composed of his wife and six children, two sons and
four daughters.
All of these, as we have seen, were having a dance. The music was
furnished by the young ladies themselves, taking their turn at the
piano, assisted by Madam Halier (Mercedes' French governess), who was
always ready to play for the girls to dance. Besides the Mechlins, there
were three or four young gentlemen from town, but there were so many
Alamares (brothers, nieces and nephews, besides) that the room seemed
quite well filled. Such family gatherings were frequent, making the
Alamar house very gay and pleasant.
George Mechlin would have liked to prolong his visit, but he could not.
He consoled himself looking forward to the ninth of June, when he would
come again to make a visit of two months' duration. On his return East,
before renewing his duties at the bank, he went to Washington to see
about the dismissal of the appeal. Unfortunately, the attorney general
had to absent himself about that time, and the matter being left with
the solicitor general, nothing was done. George explained to Don Mariano
how the matter was delayed, and his case remained undecided yet for
another year longer.