BENICIA--BARNES--A MAD BLOODHOUND--HIS DEATH--GRASSHOPPERS--DON
RAYMOND--A BLESSED CITY--WICKED MULES--“CAMPING OUT”--NAPA--FOURTH
OF JULY--AGRICULTURISTS--SONOMA--COMPETITION--AN IRASCIBLE BULL.
_July, 1850._
Great labour and capital have been expended on the wharves of San
Francisco; there is little space left between these, and ships ride at
their sides, and discharge their cargoes with as much rapidity and
comfort as if they were in dock. The central wharf is nearly a mile in
length, and from the end of this the river steamboats take their
departure every day at four o’clock. At these times the wharf is always
densely crowded, and it has always seemed strange to me that this
every-day occurrence attracts a crowd without fail, although directly
the boats are off, every man runs back to the city as if he had
forgotten something. Perhaps they come down on the chance of an
explosion, in which they are occasionally gratified; whether or no,
there must be some great attraction, for these curious people have to
walk a mile to get there, and run a mile to get back! The “Senator” was
our boat, and with one leg on board of her and the other buried in this
observing crowd, I had to work briskly to get my provender on
board--sacks of potatoes and flour, dogs, rifles, shovels, and pickaxes,
were handed in with astonishing celerity, considering that I was not
born a porter, and as the ship’s bell ceased tolling we cast off from
the wharf and threading the shipping at full speed, were soon steaming
up the Bay. The “Senator” is a fine boat, but no description of her is
requisite, as much finer have been described by travellers who have
sailed up the Mississippi River. She came round the Horn, and being the
first boat to arrive in the Bay, she realised most incredible sums of
money for her owners.
In two hours we arrived at Benicia, and the steamer ran alongside of an
old hulk connected by a gang-way with the shore. Through the unusual
degree of Yankee nautical smartness shown on this occasion, I lost some
bags of potatoes, for the boat had scarcely touched the hulk, than we
were driven out of it carrying all we could, and the word was given to
“go a-head” again, the gang-board was hauled in, our potatoes were still
on board, there was no time for expostulation, and away steamed the
“Senator,” whilst we gazed dreamily at her receding hull, wrapt in
admiration at the general smartness that evidently surrounded us.
Benicia is a city in embryo, there is ample room for building, for in
every direction extend undulating hills, covered with wild oats, but
unobstructed by timber, of which none can be found within many miles.
But the natural advantages of this spot have not been embraced by the
public, for one reason, that the opposite town of Martinez is more
fortunately planted among groves of trees, and for another, that no one
requires a town in this particular part of the world. So Benicia is a
failure just now; and instead of raising an imposing front, in evidence
of man’s progress, it hides its diminished little head, among the few
huts that stand in commemoration of its failure. I pitched my tent at a
short distance from the beach, and as I afterwards discovered on
reference to the “plan of Benicia,” on the exact spot that had been
selected as the site of the “Public Botanical Gardens” of that
flourishing city. Our party consisted of three men and three dogs.
Besides Barnes, I had with me Mr. Alexander Thomas, the son of an old
friend of my father, who had come out to join the staff of a colossal
mercantile house, but the house had unfortunately exploded, staff and
all, before his arrival in the country.
Barnes had been a desperate poacher, but for years past had
distinguished himself equally as a keeper on my father’s estate. He was
a good-natured, willing fellow, possessed of enormous physical strength,
and could throw a stone with such force and precision, that he had been
equally avoided by the keepers when he was a poacher, and by the
poachers when he deserted their ranks, which he did as many others
would, the moment the chance was offered him of making his bread
honestly. My dogs consisted of two blood-hounds of the breed of Mr.
Hammond of Norfolk--Prince and Birkham--the latter was of great beauty,
but of very uncertain temper. A large half-bred Scotch slot-hound,
called Cromer, completed the list--this latter had an unfailing nose and
great intelligence, and was a perfect retriever in or out of water. An
introductory note to an American gentleman who resided in one of the
wooden houses that straggled over the hills, ensured me much civility,
and enabled me to procure the mules I required for carrying the tent and
baggage. During the interval that elapsed we had time to try the range
of the rifles at a target, and get our “hands in” ready for the
mountains. A distressing incident occurred very shortly after arriving
at Benicia. We had been practising at a target, and were returning to
our camp with our rifles unloaded--the heat was intense--the dogs were
with us, and I was suddenly struck by the conduct of Birkham the
bloodhound. For some time he hung back in the rear as if afraid of us,
and as I advanced to caress him he retreated. There being evidently
something wrong, I conjectured that he was about to have an epileptic
fit, with one of which he had been attacked at San Francisco, but
suddenly he lifted up his massive head in the air, and delivered that
deep prolonged howl that only a bloodhound has at command, and which is
so distressing to hear; he then started at full speed away from us
towards the hills, howling and leaping in the air as if in pursuit of
something, and I had no doubt then that he was mad. Barnes and Thomas
now loaded their rifles to be prepared for his return, I had expended my
bullets in target firing. We had lost sight of him in the long wild oats
which here grow to a great height, and scarcely expected him back, at
least for some time; I was coupling Prince and Cromer together as a
precaution, when suddenly Barnes exclaimed “Here he is, sir,” and I had
just time to seize my rifle and swing it round, bringing the butt down
on his head, as he passed within a foot of me.
I never witnessed any sight so dreadful as this dog when he turned now
and deliberately attacked us, his whole appearance was changed, and the
saliva frothed in his mouth. He might have done much mischief, now that
he was in the humour for it, had he made a rapid dash at us; but as he
stopped short to give a howl, Barnes shot him in the shoulder, and
Thomas’s ball entered his head. It required two more shots to finish
him, and painful as it was to have to kill the poor beast, even in
self-defence, we could not but congratulate ourselves on having
experienced a fortunate escape. Birkham was a dog of enormous power, and
one grip of his jaw on a man’s throat would probably be quite sufficient
to cause death; he had shown symptoms of uncertain temper immediately
upon arriving in a warm latitude, and had twice bitten me in the arm
during the passage out. Barnes was a famous man for savage dogs, being
both severe yet temperate, but he always had his “doubts,” as he said,
respecting Birkham, whose great crime consisted in showing his teeth to
his master, a misdemeanour that required, and always received
punishment. This consisted of one blow with a short dog-whip, and only
one, but that was remembered, particularly by Birkham, who would lie
down and place his great head on the ground, wrinkle his forehead, and
sulk all day, refusing his dinner and taking no notice of anything that
passed around him. Such a dog is never safe, and had these qualities
been developed during the time he was in my possession in England, I
never should have brought him away from that country.
Immense quantities of grasshoppers are to be found in the vicinity of
Benicia at this season; as you walk through the wild oats and disturb
them, they hop up to an immense height, in every direction, and like
other insects they aim at your eyes, which they hit with unerring
certainty and great force, and as they are as hard as little pebbles,
they get the best of it altogether. The dogs are much puzzled with them,
and as they get knocked about the head, they give short snaps in the air
with their eyes shut.
I had great difficulty in procuring the mules I required for my journey,
and these I could only hire, as a report of the discovery of a “Gold
Lake” somewhere in the mining districts had taken deep root, and all the
Benicia mules had been called into requisition. A fine dashing-looking
Spaniard rode up to my tent one day in company with the gentleman who
had interested himself to get me mules;[1] he was introduced as Don
Raymond Carrillo, a native of California, and owner of a ranche, or
farm, at Santa Rosa Valley, about forty miles in the interior.
Many of the native Californians whose ancestors emigrated from Mexico,
have good Spanish blood in their veins, they are a robust and
well-favoured race, and probably in this respect have much improved the
original breed, which is all blood and bone. Don Raymond was a
striking-looking fellow, well built and muscular, with regular features,
half concealed by his long black hair and beard. The loose Spanish
dress, the heavy iron spurs, the lasso hanging from the saddle, and the
gaunt but fiery colt on which he was mounted, were all for work and
little for show; probably the whole turn-out, including the horse, was
not worth twenty dollars; but he was more picturesque in his mountain
costume, than the best Andalusian that ever got himself up in gold lace
and silver buttons for “bolero” or “bull-fight.” Don Raymond not only
offered to send mules to convey ourselves and baggage to Santa Rosa, but
most hospitably invited us to remain at his “ranche” until we could with
his assistance purchase the animals we required. Whilst we were at
Benicia the fourth of July, the anniversary of American Independence,
came round; had Benicia been the city it was intended to be, what an
opportunity would there not have been for the celebration of this day.
Looking at the plan now before me, I can imagine the _Botanical
Gardens_ thronged with holiday people, whilst the mayor and corporation
having reviewed the troops in front of the _City Hall_, are now
inspecting the _Infirmary for the Blind_, which (in the plan) occupies a
position to the extreme right; fireworks echo in the “plaza,” whilst the
theatre opens its doors to an eager crowd, and the town pump is
surrounded by little boys: but unfortunately Benicia is not far enough
advanced to enable us to realise this scene. “The gardens” produce as
yet but wild oats; the theatre is one unchanging scene of parched-up
desolation; the town pump _is_ not, and of the “plaza” no one knows the
limits, for some of the oldest inhabitants, in happy ignorance of the
fate of those who “remove their neighbour’s landmarks,” have pulled up
the surveyor’s pegs, and basely used them for firewood; but they say
that Benicia will do better by-and-by. The _plan_ is named after the
wife of General Vallejo, and signifies “Blessed,” and rather
appropriately, as under present circumstances the proprietors are
incorporated among those who are spoken of as being blessed if they
expect nothing. Shortly afterwards, there arrived from Don Raymond eight
mules, in charge of a young Californian “Vaccaro”[2] or cattle-driver;
the mules were accompanied by an old white mare with a bell hung on to
her neck. It is usual to accustom the mules to follow a leader of this
kind, and without the old lady leads the way they become very
intractable.
Don Raymond had stated frankly that he had no pack mules that had not
been turned out for a time with the wild horses, and those he had sent
us, though fine strong beasts, were undoubtedly very little tamer than
fresh-caught zebras. The first mule having been brought forward with
some difficulty, a cloth was tied round his eyes, and he remained
perfectly still whilst the loading was performed with great dexterity
and expedition by the “vaccaro” and one or two assistants. When all were
packed, the blinds were taken from the mules’ eyes, and without any
hesitation, and perfectly regardless of the white mare, who walked
quietly towards home, away they scampered through the long grass,
kicking and screaming; here goes a tin kettle, there a ham, now a bag of
flour falls out and bursts, and the place is strewed with the relics of
our commissariat stores. Two mules, followed by the “vaccaro,” have
disappeared behind the hills, where the sun is disappearing also. Number
three is motionless, for, not having succeeded in kicking the tent off
his back, he has lain down with it in a small pond; whilst number four,
having divested himself of every thing with which he was entrusted,
including the pack-saddle, is making his supper off wild oats, under the
full impression that he has performed his day’s work meritoriously and
deserves repose. We employed the daylight that remained in collecting
our traps; and as our “vaccaro” soon returned with the missing mules and
assistance, after a few more refractory attempts we got off shortly
after dark, and took the trail that led towards a village called Napa.
When about twelve miles from Benicia we halted to encamp for the night
at a clump of trees, the first we had seen since landing. We had “carte
blanche” to shoot a calf whenever our necessities required, from among
the droves of tame cattle with which the plains on our route were well
stocked. Our first object on halting was to avail ourselves of this
permission, and it being too dark to kill with the rifle, our “vaccaro”
brought in a calf with his lasso, as soon as the mules had been unpacked
and turned off to feed. We had no occasion for the tent, the night air
was so pure and mild, so we sat half buried in the tall soft grass, a
bed of down from which nothing could have roused us but the grateful
smell of the calf’s ribs as they roasted by our bright camp fire. As
long as it lasted, our sleep was delicious, but it was interrupted most
unseasonably, about the middle of the night, by the yells of a pack of
“coyotes,” (a kind of jackal,) that had collected round the remains of
the calf.
These beasts had the audacity to approach us within a few yards. We
killed some, wounded many, and the dogs drove them away in every
direction, still they always congregated somewhere and sent forth their
hideous yell in chorus, first from one side of us, then from another,
and not until dawn appeared would these brutes allow us to rest; then
they disappeared, and I congratulated myself on being able to resume my
slumbers; but almost immediately after the “coyotes” had gone, the sun
appeared, and there was an end of the luxuries of an oat-straw bed
al-fresco, for that night at least. The mules submitted more readily to
be loaded this morning, and followed quietly in the steps of the white
mare.
On approaching Napa, which is distant from Benicia about twenty miles,
we entered a very beautiful valley about three miles in breadth, studded
with oak trees, and bounded on either side by mountains that rose
abruptly from the plain, and whose summits were crested with heavy
masses of the red-wood tree and white pine. As yet there was no sign of
cultivation or enclosure, nor did we see a dwelling-house until the
village of Napa appeared in sight; but the whole of this rich and
fertile valley was shortly to be made productive, and it was to supply
the wants of the many settlers, who were now on the eve of improving
this wild tract, that the little bunch of houses called “Napa City” had
sprung into existence.
We had to cross a small stream in a ferry-boat to enter Napa, and we
found the little place in a very lively state. Music was playing, the
stars and stripes were waving from each house, whilst the street was
thronged with people. The outside settlers had come in to celebrate
their fourth of July, it was now the fifth, and they were in the thick
of it, and there was to be a “ball” in the evening. At twelve o’clock
they prepared to fire a salute from three old honeycombed cannons that
had probably been fished up out of the river; whether or no, a serious
accident immediately occurred--the first gun fired exploded like a
shell, blowing off the arm of one man and destroying the sight of
another, besides peppering the spectators more or less seriously. This
damped temporarily the pleasure of the afternoon, but the public dinner,
which took place under an enormous booth, seemed to restore
cheerfulness. The settlers were nearly all “Western people,” small
farmers from Missouri, and other Western states, who emigrated with a
wife and half-a-dozen children to California in search of good land; on
this they _squat_ until the land-claims are decided, and with their
thrifty habits make money, not only more surely and comfortably, but
faster than the miners, whose wants they supply.
The soil here is admirably adapted for the growth of wheat, barley, and
potatoes; and although the price of labour is so great that these
immigratory agriculturists, having little or no capital, can only till a
patch of land at first, yet so rare a luxury as yet is a vegetable, that
large profits attend their earliest efforts, and the settler of these
valleys, if prudent, is a rising man from the moment his spade first
raises the virgin sod.
During the day a Mexican tight-rope dancer performed to the crowd: I
considered him rather a bungler at his work, but my opinion was not
shared by the spectators, one of whom, an old farmer, “kinder, reckoned
it was _supernatural_,” in which he was supported by an old
back-woodsman, who said “It warn’t nothing else.” I left these good
folks in the height of enjoyment, and should not perhaps have said so
much about them, but that having all very lately come from the United
States across the plains, they had brought with them, and as yet
retained, the simple manners and wants of a rural population. These
people form the most valuable portion of the emigration, for they come
as permanent settlers, and they continue permanent improvers. Under
their hands forests are cleared, and valleys enclosed, grain is raised
and mills are erected, the country no longer relies on foreign ventures
for its chief wants, and monopolising flour companies cease to fatten at
the expense of a hard-working population.
I did not wait for the “ball,” as I wished to reach Sonoma that night,
the luggage having gone on. On our first arrival at the Creek, the
ferryman, who was an American, had refused all toll on the strength of
the “Anniversary.” We could not but admire such a striking instance of
real charity, as it enabled many of the surrounding farmers to cross
over with their numerous families, which at the rate of one dollar for
each person they could not have afforded to do. But there was nothing
said about going back for nothing, and our Yankee friend having
succeeded in filling the village gratis, had now the satisfaction of
emptying it at a dollar a-head. So there they were like the nephew of
“Gil Perez,” caught like a rat in a trap. The scenery still improves in
beauty as we approach Sonoma, the valleys are here sprinkled with oak
trees, and it seems ever as if we were about to enter a forest which we
never reach, for in the distance the oaks, though really far apart,
appear to grow in dark and heavy masses. Sonoma was one of the points
selected by the early Spanish priests for a mission; the remains of the
mud church and other buildings used by the priests still exist. It has
been chosen as a military station, and about a couple of dozen United
States dragoons are quartered here.
General Vallejo, a native Californian, who is owner of a large portion
of the surrounding valley, resides at Sonoma; he took part in some
skirmishing which occurred, previous to the cession of California to the
United States, between the natives and a handful of adventurers, who
hoisted a flag with a Grizzly Bear on it, and took the field under that
standard. The General was also on one occasion taken prisoner, and
perhaps it was during his term of incarceration that he designed a tall
square building, which he afterwards erected here, of mud bricks, and
which is now the principal feature of the place; as the General informs
his friends that this was intended for a fortress, they take his word
for it, though it has neither guns or embrasures. Overlooked by the
fortress is a quadrangle of mud huts, these are now converted into
stores intended to supply the farmers who are fast settling on the
surrounding plains.
But there are too many stores in Sonoma; there are so many people in
California who can only live by keeping small retail shops, that
directly a good opening for making money in this way appears, there is a
regular rush of small speculators in soap and candles, who all arrive at
the desired spot about the same time, each one undoubtedly
congratulating himself that _he alone_ has been struck with the bright
idea. A man who came to the country in 1848, told me that he managed
with great toil and at great expense to get a large cask of whiskey to
some rich diggings on the banks of the Yuba, where he commenced
retailing it at immense profits; but on the second day his customers
fell off, and he found that another Yankee had also rolled up a cask and
was underselling him higher up the river. So he moved higher up again by
a circuitous route, until again supplanted; and these two continued
“cutting each other out,” and living a life of uncertainty until they
formed a junction, with the intention of jointly reaping the profits
that attend a monopoly of the article in demand. But almost as soon as
the new concern was started, up went a canvass house by the side of
them, and out went a board on which was written, “Liquor Store.” So with
every opening where the chances of large profits are held out, where
there are so many calculating speculative people, competition steps in
and monopoly is destroyed. This is partly the reason why the San
Francisco markets are so uneven and fluctuating.
Brown is a clever fellow, and says to himself, Coals will be very scarce
next fall, I’ll write for coals; every one else, being as clever as
Brown, writes for coals from the same motives, and the spring sees coals
tumbling in on all sides: or Brown says, everybody will be writing for
coals for the spring, I shall advise my correspondents not to ship;
every one else thinks as Brown thinks, no one writes for coals, and next
spring coals can’t be had at any price.
We pitched our tents outside the fortress, and the only event that
occurred worthy of notice was in the fact of an enormous bull making a
clean bolt at it, about the middle of the night. The moon was up, and I
presume its reflection on the white canvass annoyed him; he annoyed us
excessively, for he not only tore down the tent, but we narrowly escaped
being trodden upon. As he stood in the bright moonlight pawing the
ground at a short distance, meditating another charge at us, I shot him
in the head, and he fell, never again to rouse honest gentlemen from
their sleep in the dead of night, or wantonly to destroy private
property for the gratification of a senseless animosity.