SPANISH PRIESTS--INDIANS--QUILP FORGETS HIMSELF--HABITS OF NATIVE
CALIFORNIANS--FATHER BARTOLEMÉO--THE LASSO--GOOD RIDERS--CATTLE
BRANDING--RAYMOND PROVIDES MULES--RUSSIAN RIVER--WE
ENCAMP--SAW-MILL--I PROPOSE TO “SQUAT.”
_August, 1850._
The capabilities of Santa Rosa Valley had not been overlooked by the
early missionaries, and the house now occupied by Don Raymond had been
built by them. The object of these priests had been, first, to encourage
the wild Indians of the country to settle near their mission-houses, and
then gradually to domesticate them and employ them in bringing the land
under cultivation; but in the northern portion of the country, their
efforts seem on all sides to have been unattended with success, for with
the exception of the existence here and there of a few bands of
“Manzos,” or tame Indians, nothing remains in evidence of the exertions
of these early colonists. In the southern portion of the country, where
the climate is better adapted for the growth of fruit-trees and vines,
signs of improvement everywhere mark the presence of the land-loving
Jesuit. The missions there consist of several houses, part of the
surrounding country is producing grain; a breed of small sheep has been
introduced; and the Indians having been made available for agricultural
purposes, large quantities of vines are reared, from which an excellent
wine, to which I have already alluded, is produced. For this more genial
clime the northern valleys had been abandoned, but a band of
domesticated Indians remained attached, like cats, to the mud building,
where first they made acquaintance with the white man. The Indians of
the country are called Diggers, from the fact of their subsisting on
roots and acorns. Filthy and degraded in their habits, not one ennobling
trait is to be found in them; whether domesticated, or in a primitive
state, they are ever the most debased of tribes, morally and physically.
It might have been from this that the process of civilising these beings
was abandoned by the priests, for so thankless a task might damp the
energy even of a Jesuit.
The tribe in question occupied a few huts not far from the house, and
Raymond had, with a spirit a little in advance of his fellow colonists,
employed these Indians in enclosing a few acres of land, which were now
sown with barley and peas. Every week a bullock was killed for the
Indians, the whole of which, including entrails, they devoured on the
instant. Of an evening they made a great disturbance, by indulging in
what they intended for a dance; this consisted in crowding together in
uncouth attitudes, and stamping on the ground to the accompaniment of
primitive whistles, of which each man had one in his mouth, whilst the
women howled and shrieked in chorus.
Business required Raymond’s presence at Sacramento for a few days, and
from that time Quilp’s influence worked strongly to our disadvantage. We
were no longer summoned to the early breakfast of fresh milk and
“tortillas,” and those meals that were prepared for us consisted for the
most part of stewed beans. We reminded the ladies, whom now we seldom
met, that we had deposited game in the kitchen but the day before;
“Possibly,” they replied, “the gatos (cats) had destroyed it.” The idea
of palming this dreadful story on an Englishman was rather too good. We
were now therefore often compelled to shift for ourselves, and although
it was no great trouble to light a fire whilst out shooting, and roast a
hare or wild duck, we felt our position to be very awkward, having
promised Raymond not to depart before his return, an event we awaited
with impatience. Not far from the house lived a “squatter” of the name
of Elliot, he had been settled for some time in the country and had
planted a small garden of vegetables; we found that he was always
supplied with venison, and on this discovery we soon made an arrangement
with him that relieved the people of the ranche from all trouble
respecting our meals. When we returned at night, Quilp would be found as
usual twanging his guitar, but on one occasion, emboldened by our silent
contempt, which he mistook perhaps for fear, he ventured on a liberty
which, but for my interference, might have been very summarily punished.
Returned one evening from shooting, my dog, Cromer, went up
inquisitively to Quilp as he sat in the porch, and this gentleman,
perhaps to please the group of vaccaros who shared his dislike of us,
undertook to kick the animal with his heavy spurred heel. Barnes’
powerful grip was on his shoulder in an instant, and so long as it
remained there, Quilp was held to his chair as if in a vice. I ordered
Barnes at once to desist, and once released, Quilp drew a knife from his
boot and swore, “Madre de Dios!” that all the English that ever lived
should die under the application of that piece of cutlery; but as his
eye wandered down the barrel of the rifle that Barnes now brought in
close proximity with his head, he evidently deferred his sanguinary
intentions for the time being, and retired pale and trembling into the
house. It was some time before the excitement died away, and I was not
sorry when I had reduced Barnes to a calm state of mind, for he was by
no means the right sort of person to “muddle,” to use his own
expression.
Whilst out on the ensuing day we came across a beautiful little animal
of the size of a racoon, striped black and white. This was a species of
skunk, that emitted an odour so overpowering, that the animal’s instinct
did not even induce it to attempt to run from the dogs, who flew at
first to worry it, but surrendered at once to the poisonous smell, and
refused to approach. We left the skunk in full possession of the field,
and returned to find Quilp and a newly arrived party of Spaniards,
enjoying themselves in-doors, drinking the “wine of the south” and
cracking jokes, probably at our expense. I had paid little attention to
the fact of Barnes having lagged behind us as we came home, and I was in
the porch awaiting his return, when he suddenly appeared on the
threshold of the door from which the merriment proceeded, and with the
laconic remark of “D--n you, take that,” before I was aware of his
purpose he chucked the skunk into the middle of the party of Spaniards,
where it alighted amidst the screams of the ladies and the oaths of the
men. In a few moments the room was cleared, and the men soon afterwards,
amidst many vows of vengeance, mounted their horses and rode swearing
away. Quilp went with them, and we never saw him again.
Raymond returned, next day, and having explained to him as much as was
necessary to account for the estranged terms on which he found us with
his family, and apologised for my servant’s inexcusable rudeness, I
insisted upon being at once permitted to terminate my visit; and the
same day I erected my tent on the plain.
Raymond, who entertained much good feeling towards us, felt very sore to
find on inquiry that we had been inhospitably treated during his
absence; but unable to persuade me to remain longer as his guest, he
requested that we would wait and witness his annual “cattle-branding,”
then about to take place, and he would then procure us mules to pursue
our journey.
No life is so thoroughly lazy as that of a Californian family, who,
totally uneducated, can neither read or write; and whilst there are no
domestic duties on which to employ the women, the men leave to their
vaccaros the little superintendence the cattle on a ranche require. Nor,
as far as the women are concerned, does the care of their children seem
by any means to engross their leisure; for the rising off-shoots are
allowed, like the young cattle, to grow unassisted and unembellished to
maturity, though undoubtedly the naked little urchins benefit physically
by the freedom their young limbs enjoy. Raymond had but one child, of
about four years of age, and this little fellow, with no covering but a
scanty shirt, strutted about the yard all day, practising with a
miniature lasso at the cocks and hens.
The Californian idea of religion is rather sketchy and undefined. It is
well known that the Spanish Roman Catholic missionaries were never prone
to waste much time in expounding the tenets of their faith; the great
principle was, in all instances, to _convert_, and to increase the “army
of the Faithful.” I remember that in the islands of Batan in the China
Sea, the process was excessively simple. So soon as a nigger was
caught--and in a small island he had not much chance of escape from a
Jesuit--a tin cross was hung round his neck, and he was turned off
again, like one of Raymond’s branded steers, one being as wise as the
other as to whom the new allegiance was owing. The Californians have,
however, learnt enough to know that every one not of their faith, is a
heretic, and the Carrillo family asked us point-blank if we belonged to
that unhappy class, and received gravely our modest reply, that we
believed we had that misfortune. The Spaniards and their priests, are
not only inveterate card-players, but practised cheats. One of these
sleight-of-hand Padres, I was told, displayed great fervour in
attempting to convert a heretic who lived near him, and who happened to
be an English master of a merchant vessel, who had settled in the
country; as the story goes, the old Salt defended himself from the
theological attacks of Father Bartoleméo on the score that he never
could understand the principal articles of his new creed. “How so?”
exclaims the Padre, “with faith, and the help of the Virgin, all
obstacles will melt like snow before the sun.” “Then,” observed the
captain, as he produced a pack of Spanish monté cards, “how do you turn
up the Jack when the seven and Jack are laid out and an open bet is made
on the seven?” “Toe-nails of St. Ignatius! what has this to do with the
tenets of the true faith?” roars the father. “This,” says the other, in
reply, “is the first tenet of _your faith_, teach me this and I embrace
the rest.” It is easy to imagine the wrath and indignation of the holy
father when he thus heard his religion insulted, and, sympathising with
him in his warmth, we are the less prepared to hear that he not only
controlled his feelings, but sat down and inducted the master into the
art of turning up the Jack, too happy at so small a sacrifice to gain
ANOTHER convert to his faith.
Where so much ignorance exists, a proportionate amount of superstition
will of course be found, and in horse-racing, which is their passion,
the Californians are regulated by a code of rules affecting the colours
of horses and the hours at which they must start to ensure victory.
Sailors used to dislike a Friday, but there is no day of the week that
is not unlucky for something in California.
At Santa Cruz (in the south) some time ago, the “Virgin” was intreated
for rain, and the hat being sent round, a sufficient amount was
collected to back the request in the substantial manner that the priests
point out as being acceptable. An old heretical American settler, who
had a farm on the high land above the valley, declined either to
contribute or to pray; but, from his elevated position, his crops soon
throve under genial showers, whilst the valley below as yet received no
relief; this unequal distribution of favour on the part of the saint
astonished the occupants of the valley: and we will presume that fresh
appeals brought down retribution on the heretic, for, in a very short
time, his crops were set on fire, and he saved his house from
destruction with some difficulty.
The dress of the vaccaro consists of a broad-brimmed hat, always secured
under the chin, a loose shirt and jacket, and buckskin breeches; round
the leg is wound a square piece of leather, this is secured at the knee,
and is a protection against falls or the attacks of cattle; in one of
these leggings he carries his knife; his spurs, serapa, and lasso,
complete his costume; under his saddle he has a blanket, and thus
lightly equipped is independent of everything. The lasso is generally
constructed of twisted hide, and is made with great care. In the hands
of a good vaccaro the noose is thrown carelessly, but with unerring
precision; it is a formidable weapon of attack, and in the guerilla
warfare, which preceded the occupation of the country, it was not only
used successfully, but horrible cruelties were practised by the
Spaniards on those whom by chance they cut off in this manner.
The Californians are perfect riders--graceful, active, and courageous;
they ride with a straight leg when in the saddle, and this latter, when
properly made, gives great support to the body and legs; how otherwise
could they endure, for hours together, the shock of bringing up _all
standing_ wild cattle running at full speed?
When I first seated myself in a Californian saddle belonging to
Raymond, and found the lower part of my body deeply imbedded in the soft
skins which covered it, I was led into an error which I dare say has
been shared by many others; I thought at the time that riders accustomed
to so much assistance were less dependent on the muscles of the body;
and I have no doubt in those valuable papers, since lost, I recorded a
hasty opinion that their crack riders would make a poor show on an
English saddle over a steeple-chase country; but this is only another
proof of the danger of trusting to first impressions. The Californian
will ride a bare-backed horse at speed and bring him on his haunches
with a seat undisturbed: but what more particularly arrests the critical
eye of an Englishman is their beautiful handling of the horse’s mouth;
with a bit, the slightest pressure on which arrests the horse, they
ride, in all the excitement of the cattle chase, with a lightness of
hand that is truly admirable. In the hunting counties, where by chance
some black-coated stranger takes and keeps a forward position throughout
the day, it is a matter of duty after dinner for all legitimate
red-coats to depreciate the arrogant unknown; but when no fault can be
found either with his seat or his style of riding, there is always some
one who clinches the matter by remarking sagely--“The fellow rides well
enough, but he has got no ‘hands!’” Now the Californians have both
seats and “hands,” and may defy the criticism even of the ill-natured.
Once a year it was customary to drive up all the cattle on a ranche to
brand the young steers. On these occasions the vaccaros are in their
glory, crack riders volunteer their assistance, and ranche owners
congregate from far and wide to point out and take away such of their
own beasts as have strayed and become mixed with those on the ranche.
For a week previously, the vaccaros scour the mountains and plains, and
collect the wild herds, and these are at once enclosed in the “corrals.”
The proprietor of the ranche keeps open house, whilst the vaccaros adorn
themselves in all the finery they can muster, which is not much, and
they are specially mounted for the occasion. Fires are lighted near the
corral, and in these the branding-irons are kept heated. The work is
commenced leisurely, a few vaccaros enter the corral, the gate of which
is formed of a bar of wood, easily withdrawn, to allow egress to the
cattle. The first lasso is thrown over the horns of a steer, and as the
bar is withdrawn he rushes out with the vaccaro at his side; on the
instant a second lasso catches the hind leg and he falls on his side, as
if shot. The two lassos are then kept tight by the horses to which they
are attached, who are admirably trained to throw their whole weight on
the rope; the brand is then applied. A shake of the lasso disengages it,
and the steer after a wild look at the assembled company, rushes
smarting with pain to the mountains, where he is soon joined by his
fellows in a similar unfortunate predicament.
The corral becomes gradually thinned, and more vaccaros enter the lists,
and as the large beasts are kept until the last, and become maddened by
being driven round in the heat, and noise, and dust, every opportunity
is afforded for a display of good riding. Savage-looking cows show fight
from every quarter, and make fierce charges at the horsemen, who
experience much more danger, and have more work to do, than the armed
“torredores” of a bull-fight. The dust and excitement increase rapidly
now, and the cattle thump the ground with their ribs on every side, as
their legs fly from under them. A groan, a hiss, and a smell of roast
meat, as the hot brand touches them, and away they go, tail on end.
But occasionally the scene is diversified by some cantankerous young
bull, who having received the impression of his master’s initials, makes
a rush at the crowd that surround the corral, with the intention of
revenging an insult never intended. This wayward conduct subjects him to
increased punishment, for he is now brought down on his side again,
until at last he thinks better of it, and makes the best of his way to
some lonely spot on the plain, where he revenges himself by praiseworthy
but unsuccessful attempts to gore the largest oak-tree he can find.
The work is now carried on with great rapidity, the vaccaros have
renewed their horses many times, and under the influence of brandy,
which is freely served to them, they begin to get as mad as the cattle.
All ends at dusk, and the evening is devoted to a “fandango;” but the
men are all so drunk and tired, that this amusement always terminates
early, and generally seriously; for among so many boasting and
quarrelsome riders, knives are soon produced, and the dispute, which
always has reference to the _capacity_ of some horse, is terminated for
the time being by the letting of a little blood.
It is the nature of man to boast of his horse in all countries, and how
unfortunate it is that these Spaniards are not sufficiently civilised to
settle their disputes with a bet; then the only blood drawn would be
from the horse’s flanks, when he was called upon by his master to
perform the feat in question, and the whole would be decided in a
_gentlemanly manner_!
Shortly after the “cattle-branding,” Raymond provided me with four
handsome mules and a horse. I have already mentioned that the management
of wild mules was a matter of great difficulty; to us it was an
impossibility, and we found it requisite to hire the services of a
vaccaro. We started for Russian River after bidding adieu to Raymond,
who had behaved to us throughout with great hospitality and kindness.
Our road led through another plain, oak-timbered like the valleys, and
that there may be at least one good remark in my book, I shall borrow a
description from Sterne, who says, “There is nothing more pleasing to a
traveller or more terrible to travel-writers, than a large rich plain,
especially if it is without great rivers or bridges, and presents to the
eye but one unvaried picture of plenty; for, after they have once told
you that it is delicious or delightful (as the case happens), that the
soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, &c.,
they have then a large plain upon their hands, which they know not what
to do with.”--_Tristram Shandy_, vol. ii., p. 123. The reader will then
please to consider that my party has reached in safety the banks of the
Russian River.
This is a broad stream, and in the summer months when the water becomes
low, it runs sluggishly; but high among the branches of the alder-trees
that line the banks, are accumulations of sticks and rubbish that mark
the height to which the river rises when the mountain snow begins to
melt, and it changes its present lazy rippling pace for the turbulent
roar of a cataract, and overflows the adjacent plains.
Being nightfall, we encamped without crossing, and at daylight we were
dismayed at discovering that our beasts had been stolen; we had no
reason to suspect the vaccaro, who at all events acted surprise to
perfection, if guilty of connivance; but mules and horses were gone, and
the riattas with them. Some expert thieves had tracked us, and as we
were in ignorance as to who they were, we laid the whole matter at
Quilp’s door. I have since discovered by experience, that if a band of
Mexicans are determined to have your horses, they generally manage it by
some means, in spite of the utmost vigilance; with our inexperience and
the possible connivance of the vaccaro (of which, however, there was not
a shadow of proof) the task was easy. I discharged the vaccaro, and we
crossed the river on foot, taking off our clothes and carrying them in a
bundle on our heads. The water was so refreshing, that the task of
taking over our baggage piecemeal, was one of pleasure, and helped
wonderfully to counterbalance
[Illustration: CHAGRES RIVER.]
the annoyance I felt at the loss of my mules--a loss which entirely
precluded my further advance into the country. Leaving Barnes with the
baggage and dogs, Thomas and I proceeded in search of a back-woodsman’s
hut, which we had been informed existed in this direction; after
following the river for some time, we ascended a steep hill, from the
summit of which was presented the most lovely panorama--beneath us the
thickly wooded plain extended for miles--on one side bounded by
mountains, on the other, melting away in a blue hazy distance;--the
windings of the Russian River were marked distinctly in contrast with
the dark rocks and foliage that lined its banks, whilst immediately
beneath us was a forest of firs and red-wood trees, over which the
vultures wheeled incessantly, and not even the sound of an insect
disturbed the silence of the scene.
From this hill we discovered the hut of which we were in search,
situated near a running stream and surrounded by towering red-wood
trees. We found the occupant at home; he was a tall sinewy man, a
Missourian of the name of March, and he at once cheerfully assisted us.
He lent us his mule to bring up our baggage, and by nightfall we were
encamped within a few yards of his hut. There were two other
backwoodsmen living with March, and these three
[Illustration]
had just completed unaided a saw-mill, to which they had applied the
power of the stream, by means of an over-shot wheel. The heavy beams
that formed the mill-frame, the dam and race, had all been constructed
from the adjacent forest trees, and now that the work was completed,
wanting only the saw, for which they intended to go to San Francisco, it
seemed incredible that so large a frame could be put together by so
small a number of men. This saw-mill erected in the forest and of the
forest, raising its long beams from the midst of the romantic scenery
that surrounded it, was a glorious instance of what energy will
accomplish, and of the rapidity with which each man in an American
colony contributes towards the development of the new country’s
resources.
And it contrasts strangely with the languid inertness of those
communities, who with equal brains and hands _ponder_ and _dream_ over
the means of supplying wants, even when they have long been felt; to see
that here even the uneducated backwoodsman devotes his time and energy
to preparing for the wants _to come_; buoyed up by an admirable
confidence in the rapid growth and prosperity of his country, which
confidence is part of his education, and one great secret of his
success. If the Americans go a-head, it is principally because they
“look a-head.” March when he planned his mill and felled his first tree
in this solitary forest, ranked with those who wrote from the tents of
San Francisco for steam-engines and foundries. Now as I write, these
latter are performing their daily work in the city, and have become
essential to its wants, whilst March’s mill, seemingly so out of place
where I first saw it, can now barely supply the wants of the numerous
agricultural population that is settling round about it. March and his
companions lived entirely on game, which he assured me abounded; and as
for the present at all events I could not proceed, I determined at his
advice to walk over the hills and look at a valley on which he strongly
recommended me to “squat;” we therefore started the next morning in
search of it, following the directions that March had given us for our
guidance to the spot.