CHAPTER I

THE FORTY-NINERS

A CHRONICLE OF THE CALIFORNIA TRAIL AND EL DORADO

BY STEWART EDWARD WHITE

1918

CONTENTS

I. SPANISH DAYS

II. THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION

III. LAW--MILITARY AND CIVIL

IV. GOLD

V. ACROSS THE PLAINS

VI. THE MORMONS

VII. THE WAY BY PANAMA

VIII. THE DIGGINGS

IX. THE URBAN FORTY-NINER

X. ORDEAL BY FIRE

XI. THE VIGILANTES OF '51

XII. SAN FRANCISCO IN TRANSITION

XIII. THE STORM GATHERS

XIV. THE STORM BREAKS

XV. THE VIGILANTES OF '56

XVI. THE TRIUMPH OF THE VIGILANTES

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

INDEX

THE FORTY-NINERS

CHAPTER I

SPANISH DAYS

The dominant people of California have been successively aborigines,

_conquistadores_, monks, the dreamy, romantic, unenergetic peoples of

Spain, the roaring mélange of Forty-nine, and finally the modern

citizens, who are so distinctive that they bid fair to become a

subspecies of their own. This modern society has, in its evolution,

something unique. To be sure, other countries also have passed through

these same phases. But while the processes have consumed a leisurely

five hundred years or so elsewhere, here they have been subjected to

forced growth.

The tourist traveler is inclined to look upon the crumbling yet

beautiful remains of the old missions, those venerable relics in a

bustling modern land, as he looks upon the enduring remains of old

Rome. Yet there are today many unconsidered New England farmhouses older

than the oldest western mission, and there are men now living who

witnessed the passing of Spanish California.

Though the existence of California had been known for centuries, and the

dates of her first visitors are many hundreds of years old, nevertheless

Spain attempted no actual occupation until she was forced to it by

political necessity. Until that time she had little use for the country.

After early investigations had exploded her dream of more treasure

cities similar to those looted by Cortés and Pizarro, her interest

promptly died.

But in the latter part of the eighteenth century Spain began to awake to

the importance of action. Fortunately ready to her hand was a tried and

tempered weapon. Just as the modern statesmen turn to commercial

penetration, so Spain turned, as always, to religious occupation. She

made use of the missionary spirit and she sent forth her expeditions

ostensibly for the purpose of converting the heathen. The result was the

so-called Sacred Expedition under the leadership of Junipero Serra and

Portolá. In the face of incredible hardships and discouragements, these

devoted, if narrow and simple, men succeeded in establishing a string

of missions from San Diego to Sonoma. The energy, self-sacrifice, and

persistence of the members of this expedition furnish inspiring reading

today and show clearly of what the Spanish character at its best is

capable.

For the next thirty years after the founding of the first mission in

1769, the grasp of Spain on California was assured. Men who could do,

suffer, and endure occupied the land. They made their mistakes in

judgment and in methods, but the strong fiber of the pioneer was there.

The original _padres_ were almost without exception zealous, devoted to

poverty, uplifted by a fanatic desire to further their cause. The

original Spanish temporal leaders were in general able, energetic,

courageous, and not afraid of work or fearful of disaster.

At the end of that period, however, things began to suffer a change. The

time of pioneering came to an end, and the new age of material

prosperity began. Evils of various sorts crept in. The pioneer priests

were in some instances replaced by men who thought more of the flesh-pot

than of the altar, and whose treatment of the Indians left very much to

be desired. Squabbles arose between the civil and the religious powers.

Envy of the missions' immense holdings undoubtedly had its influence.

The final result of the struggle could not be avoided, and in the end

the complete secularization of the missions took place, and with this

inevitable change the real influence of these religious outposts came to

an end.

Thus before the advent in California of the American as an American, and

not as a traveler or a naturalized citizen, the mission had disappeared

from the land, and the land was inhabited by a race calling itself the

_gente de razón_, in presumed contradistinction to human beasts with no

reasoning powers. Of this period the lay reader finds such conflicting

accounts that he either is bewildered or else boldly indulges his

prejudices. According to one school of writers--mainly those of modern

fiction--California before the advent of the _gringo_ was a sort of

Arcadian paradise, populated by a people who were polite, generous,

pleasure-loving, high-minded, chivalrous, aristocratic, and above all

things romantic. Only with the coming of the loosely sordid, commercial,

and despicable American did this Arcadia fade to the strains of dying

and pathetic music. According to another school of writers--mainly

authors of personal reminiscences at a time when growing antagonism was

accentuating the difference in ideals--the "greaser" was a dirty, idle,

shiftless, treacherous, tawdry vagabond, dwelling in a disgracefully

primitive house, and backward in every aspect of civilization.

The truth, of course, lies somewhere between the two extremes, but its

exact location is difficult though not impossible to determine. The

influence of environment is sometimes strong, but human nature does not

differ much from age to age. Racial characteristics remain approximately

the same. The Californians were of several distinct classes. The upper

class, which consisted of a very few families, generally included those

who had held office, and whose pride led them to intermarry. Pure blood

was exceedingly rare. Of even the best the majority had Indian blood;

but the slightest mixture of Spanish was a sufficient claim to

gentility. Outside of these "first families," the bulk of the population

came from three sources: the original military adjuncts to the missions,

those brought in as settlers, and convicts imported to support one side

or another in the innumerable political squabbles. These diverse

elements shared one sentiment only--an aversion to work. The feeling

had grown up that in order to maintain the prestige of the soldier in

the eyes of the natives it was highly improper that he should ever do

any labor. The settlers, of whom there were few, had themselves been

induced to immigrate by rather extravagant promises of an easy life. The

convicts were only what was to be expected.

If limitations of space and subject permitted, it would be pleasant to

portray the romantic life of those pastoral days. Arcadian conditions

were then more nearly attained than perhaps at any other time in the

world's history. The picturesque, easy, idle, pleasant, fiery,

aristocratic life has been elsewhere so well depicted that it has taken

on the quality of rosy legend. Nobody did any more work than it pleased

him to do; everybody was well-fed and happy; the women were beautiful

and chaste; the men were bold, fiery, spirited, gracefully idle; life

was a succession of picturesque merrymakings, lovemakings, intrigues,

visits, lavish hospitalities, harmless politics, and revolutions. To be

sure, there were but few signs of progressive spirit. People traveled on

horseback because roads did not exist. They wore silks and diamonds,

lace and satin, but their houses were crude, and conveniences were

simple or entirely lacking. Their very vehicles, with wooden axles and

wheels made of the cross-section of a tree, were such as an East African

savage would be ashamed of. But who cared? And since no one wished

improvements, why worry about them?

Certainly, judged by the standards of a truly progressive race, the

Spanish occupation had many shortcomings. Agriculture was so little

known that at times the country nearly starved. Contemporary travelers

mention this fact with wonder. "There is," says Ryan, "very little land

under cultivation in the vicinity of Monterey. That which strikes the

foreigner most is the utter neglect in which the soil is left and the

indifference with which the most charming sites are regarded. In the

hands of the English and Americans, Monterey would be a beautiful town

adorned with gardens and orchards and surrounded with picturesque walks

and drives. The natives are, unfortunately, too ignorant to appreciate

and too indolent even to attempt such improvement." And Captain Charles

Wilkes asserts that "notwithstanding the immense number of domestic

animals in the country, the Californians were too lazy to make butter or

cheese, and even milk was rare. If there was a little good soap and

leather occasionally found, the people were too indolent to make them in

any quantity. The earth was simply scratched a few inches by a mean and

ill-contrived plow. When the ground had been turned up by repeated

scratching, it was hoed down and the clods broken by dragging over it

huge branches of trees. Threshing was performed by spreading the cut

grain on a spot of hard ground, treading it with cattle, and after

taking off the straw throwing the remainder up in the breeze, much was

lost and what was saved was foul."

General shiftlessness and inertia extended also to those branches

wherein the Californian was supposed to excel. Even in the matter of

cattle and sheep, the stock was very inferior to that brought into the

country by the Americans, and such a thing as crossing stock or

improving the breed of either cattle or horses was never thought of. The

cattle were long-horned, rough-skinned animals, and the beef was tough

and coarse. The sheep, while of Spanish stock, were very far from being

Spanish merino. Their wool was of the poorest quality, entirely unfit

for exportation, and their meat was not a favorite food.

There were practically no manufactures on the whole coast. The

inhabitants depended for all luxuries and necessities on foreign trade,

and in exchange gave hide and tallow from the semi-wild cattle that

roamed the hills. Even this trade was discouraged by heavy import duties

which amounted at times to one hundred per cent of the value. Such

conditions naturally led to extensive smuggling which was connived at by

most officials, high and low, and even by the monks of the missions

themselves.

Although the chief reason for Spanish occupancy was to hold the country,

the provisions for defense were not only inadequate but careless. Thomes

says, in _Land and Sea_, that the fort at Monterey was "armed with four

long brass nine-pounders, the handsomest guns that I ever saw all

covered with scroll work and figures. They were mounted on ruined and

decayed carriages. Two of them were pointed toward the planet Venus, and

the other two were depressed so that had they been loaded or fired the

balls would have startled the people on the other side of the

hemisphere." This condition was typical of those throughout the

so-called armed forts of California.

The picture thus presented is unjustly shaded, of course, for Spanish

California had its ideal, noble, and romantic side. In a final estimate

no one could say where the balance would be struck; but our purpose is

not to strike a final balance. We are here endeavoring to analyze the

reasons why the task of the American conquerors was so easy, and to

explain the facility with which the original population was thrust

aside.

It is a sometimes rather annoying anomaly of human nature that the races

and individuals about whom are woven the most indestructible mantles of

romance are generally those who, from the standpoint of economic

stability or solid moral quality, are the most variable. We staid and

sober citizens are inclined to throw an aura of picturesqueness about

such creatures as the Stuarts, the dissipated Virginian cavaliers, the

happy-go-lucky barren artists of the Latin Quarter, the fiery touchiness

of that so-called chivalry which was one of the least important features

of Southern life, and so on. We staid and sober citizens generally

object strenuously to living in actual contact with the unpunctuality,

unreliability, unreasonableness, shiftlessness, and general

irresponsibility that are the invariable concomitants of this

picturesqueness. At a safe distance we prove less critical. We even go

so far as to regard this unfamiliar life as a mental anodyne or

antidote to the rigid responsibility of our own everyday existence. We

use these historical accounts for moral relaxation, much as some

financiers or statisticians are said to read cheap detective stories for

complete mental relaxation.

But, the Californian's undoubtedly admirable qualities of generosity,

kindheartedness (whenever narrow prejudice or very lofty pride was not

touched), hospitality, and all the rest, proved, in the eyes of a

practical people confronted with a large and practical job, of little

value in view of his predominantly negative qualities. A man with all

the time in the world rarely gets on with a man who has no time at all.

The newcomer had his house to put in order; and it was a very big house.

The American wanted to get things done at once; the Californian could

see no especial reason for doing them at all. Even when his short-lived

enthusiasm happened to be aroused, it was for action tomorrow rather

than today.

For all his amiable qualities, the mainspring of the Californian's

conduct was at bottom the impression he could make upon others. The

magnificence of his apparel and his accoutrement indicated no feeling

for luxury but rather a fondness for display. His pride and

quick-tempered honor were rooted in a desire to stand well in the eyes

of his equals, not in a desire to stand well with himself. In

consequence he had not the builder's fundamental instinct. He made no

effort to supply himself with anything that did not satisfy this amiable

desire. The contradictions of his conduct, therefore, become

comprehensible. We begin to see why he wore silks and satins and why he

neglected what to us are necessities. We see why he could display such

admirable carriage in rough-riding and lassoing grizzlies, and yet

seemed to possess such feeble military efficiency. We comprehend his

generous hospitality coupled with his often narrow and suspicious

cruelty. In fact, all the contrasts of his character and action begin to

be clear. His displacement was natural when confronted by a people who,

whatever their serious faults, had wants and desires that came from

within, who possessed the instinct to create and to hold the things that

would gratify those desires, and who, in the final analysis, began to

care for other men's opinions only after they had satisfied their own

needs and desires.