LITTLE ADELAIDA.—COL. FREMONT’S BATTALION.—SANTIAGO IN
LOVE.—SENTIMENTS OF AN OLD CALIFORNIAN.—THE PRIZE
JULIA.—FANDANGO.—WINTER CLIMATE.—PATRON SAINT OF CALIFORNIA.—HABITS
OF THE NATIVES.—INSURRECTION IN THE NORTH.—DRAMA IN A
CHURCH.—POSITION OF COM. STOCKTON.
SATURDAY, DEC. 12. Our paper, the only one published in California, made
its hebdomadal appearance again to-day. It is a little fellow, but is
half filled or more with original matter. A paper is much like an
infant; the smaller it is, the more anxious the attentions which it
requires. My partner promised to stick by me, but has been the greater
part of the time since its commencement on the bay of San Francisco. He
went there to locate a city, but if rumor speaks truly, has gone off in
quest of his Aphrodite before he builds her shrine. I suppose he thinks
there is but little use in a cage without a bird, but there is still
less in a bird without a cage. Birds, however, always pair before they
rear their nests. So that my partner is after all in nature’s great
line, however wide it may run from the columns of the Californian.
SUNDAY, DEC. 13. I miss very much the light step and laughing eye of my
little friend Adelaida, the infant daughter of our consul, Mr. Larkin.
She was a sweet child, and beguiled with her gladness, many a moment
that had else passed less lightly. But a change came over her
brightness, an eclipse whose shadow passes not. We watched its dim veil,
and idly dreamed it might still pass, when its faint, inwoven light was
lost in spreading darkness. She passed away like a bird from its clouded
bower; and though her flight lay over dark waters, she now sings in the
purple land of the blest. There no shadows fall, and death has no
trophies. One eternal spring, with its sparkling founts and fragrant
blossoms, reigns through the vernal year. The soft airs as they stir,
wake the strings of invisible lyres; and the tender leaves whisper in
music. There walk the pure; there survive the meek who wept with us
here. They wait to welcome our flight to their joys and sinless repose.
O that I had wings like the dove that I might fly away and be at rest!
MONDAY, DEC. 14. It is now two weeks since Col. Fremont broke up his
encampment in the vicinity of San Juan, and commenced his march south.
His progress has been retarded by a succession of heavy rains, and it is
feared that some of the rivers which he must cross, swollen by torrents
from the mountains, have been rendered impassable. His horses may
perhaps swim them, but his artillery and ammunition must be floated over
on rafts. The construction of these, especially where the material is
not at hand, will occasion long and impatient detentions. The condition
of the roads, soaked as they are with rain, will still further delay his
progress; still, with all these drawbacks, we believe he will reach his
destination.
He moves upon no idle or vague object. The great body of the
Californians now in arms are at the capital of the southern department,
waiting his hostile arrival. They intend to give him battle, and redeem,
if possible, some of the laurels which they lost in their precipitate
retreat before Com. Stockton. Their forces outnumber his two or three to
one; they excel them as horsemen, but fall far short of them in the
dexterous use of the rifle. They want that coolness, deliberation,
self-reliance, and resolute firmness which appertain to the character of
the Americans. We wait the issue of the encounter with a profound
interest. Com. Stockton may, perhaps, march from San Pedro and capture
los Angeles, as he has done once before; but with the country around in
the possession of the enemy, and the cattle driven off upon distant
plains, and the wheat and flour removed into the gorges of the
mountains, he could not subsist his forces. So at least it would seem;
but we shall see. It was the prospect of famine that drove Napoleon from
Moscow.
WEDNESDAY, DEC. 16. An old Californian, much respected for his
intelligence and patriotic virtues, sent, a few days since, a
communication to our paper, written in good, vigorous Castilian, and
which will find an echo in the heart of all the considerate portion of
the community. He opens his article in these words:—
“The political aspirants in California have inflicted upon her since
1836, only a continued succession of evils. They have seized all the
national property and all the missions, as though they were their own
patrimony. These riches they have distributed with a prodigal hand among
their satellites; a multitude of officers were created, for whom there
was no employment; and military grades established more abundantly than
in Paraguay, though with this difference in the result. Doctor Francia,
when he died, left eight millions of dollars in the public coffers;
while the military chieftains in this country, at the close of their
brief career, have left the country overwhelmed in debt. And now, to
gratify their infatuated ambition, and secure further plunder, have
again hoisted the Mexican flag, which they have long hated and cursed.
The rash step taken by these men at the town of the Angeles has only
compromised their brethren, and ruined many families. The wealth of this
country consists in cattle and agriculture; to maintain the one and
carry on the other, horses are indispensable; but these frantic men have
driven off the horses and cattle to meet the exigencies of war. They
have given their afflicted country her death-stroke, merely because they
are not permitted to retain those offices which they are not capable of
filling. And such outrageous ambition is called by them, love of
country! If there ever existed a spark of patriotism in their hearts,
they would never have attempted the slightest revolutionary act. They
would have seen and felt that it could end only in general disaster and
ruin.”
Thus writes an old Californian, with the frosts of seventy winters on
his head. He understands the condition of this country, and the
character of her military chieftains, and has the moral courage to tell
the world what he thinks.
THURSDAY, DEC. 17. The United States brig Julia, a prize to the Cyane,
left our harbor this morning for the southern coast. She is a beautiful
vessel, rides the water like a duck, and sails with the speed of the
wind. Her masts rake to an angle that might almost startle a Baltimore
clipper. She is commanded by Lieut. Selden, an officer to whose
professional attainments she may be safely confided. She goes south to
communicate with Col. Fremont at the Rincon, a narrow pass below Santa
Barbara. The colonel’s route will lead him through this pass, which lies
hemmed in between the bluff of a mountain range and the dashing surge of
the sea. A small force can defend it against immense odds. Its
advantages are well known to the Californians. They have often in their
previous revolutions made a stand here, though they have never made it
quite a Thermopylæ. Should they post themselves in this pass, the
well-trained gun of the Julia may dislodge them, or, at least, act in
concert with Col. Fremont on his arrival. A man wants the eyes of Argus
in this California war.
FRIDAY, DEC. 18. The ladies of Monterey have so many relatives, near and
remote, involved in the issue of the war, that they have had but little
heart for their customary amusements. But time, which assuages grief,
has slowly quelled a sense of peril, and they are gradually coming back
into their more gay and social element. The lively tones of their
guitars salute you from their corridors, and often the fandango shakes
its light slipper in the saloon. It has been customary here for a person
giving a dance to apply to the alcalde for a permit, which was never
refused, and, which always brought to the purse of this functionary
three dollars in the shape of a fee. A similar application was made to
me a few days since. To grant it would be to sanction the fandango; to
refuse it would be an arbitrary exercise of power. Tack which way I
would, I must run on a rock, so I determined not to tack at all, and
told the applicant I had nothing to do with his fiddles, fandangoes, or
fees, so long as the public peace was not disturbed.
SATURDAY, DEC. 19. The season is now verging towards mid-winter, and we
have not yet experienced the first wrinkling frost. The hills and
valleys, since the recent rains, are mantled with fresh verdure, and
here and there the violet opens its purple eye to the sun. The children
are out at play, as in June; their glancing feet are unshod, and their
muslin slips but half conceal their pulsing limbs. Even the old men,
from whom the ethereal fires have escaped, are abroad in the same
garments which covered them in midsummer. Such is the climate of a
California winter, or, at least, its interludes, and these will continue
to visit us like sunbows between the showering clouds.
MONDAY, DEC. 21. The house of the humbler Californian has often but one
apartment, and is without fireplace or floor. Here a family of ten or
fifteen tumble in and sleep on the ground. If they have guests, which is
often the case, they turn in among the rest. The thicker they lie, of
course, the less covering they need. The walls of this promiscuous
dormitory are formed of rough piles, driven in the ground, just
sufficiently to support a roof that is thatched with flag. Through the
chinked piles the night-wind whistles in gusty glee; through the roof
the star-light falls in broken flakes. The shower-cloud often pauses
over it, and, as if in wanton mischief, empties its floating cistern.
But little heed the sleepers these freaks of the elements: they have
been familiar with them from their birth. The only beings that seem at
all disturbed are the fleas; but they still manage to dodge the
shower-drops and secure their nocturnal repast. Those on whom they
commit their depredations spring no rattle, raise no cry of alarm. The
thief is there, but they know it not. Habit has exempted them from even
a perception of their wrongs. Happy flea of California!
When night-birds fill with waking numbers
The star-lit pauses in the storm,
He deftly springs where Beauty slumbers,
And feasts on her seraphic form.
She little knows who shares her pallet,
Has heard no lover lift the latch,
And, waking, only hears the ballet
Danced by rain-drops on her thatch.
Were all our ills which others tell us,
And all that darken fancy’s dream,
Confined to those we knew befell us,
How few our real woes would seem.
TUESDAY, DEC. 22. A courier arrived last evening from the north, with
the startling intelligence that forty or fifty mounted Californians had
sallied from the hills in the vicinity of San Francisco, and captured
several Americans; among them Mr. Bartlett, chief magistrate of that
jurisdiction. Capt. Weber, as soon as the news reached him on his
station at San José, started with fifty mounted volunteers in pursuit;
and fifty more have left Monterey this morning under the command of
Capt. Maddox. One party is to come down upon them from the north, and
the other is to cut off their retreat to the south. The plan is well
laid, and we shall know in a few days if it has been executed with any
decisive results.
WEDNESDAY, DEC. 23. It becomes us to keep a pretty sharp look-out here,
or another hostile party may take advantage of the absence of the forces
under Capt. Maddox, and pay us a flying visit. No one here can tell when
these visits are to be expected; when you feel most secure, they are,
perhaps, nearest the door. In all other lands, war bears on its front
such a flaring banner that you see its terrific insignia long before you
feel its presence; but here, it comes like the descent of the eagle from
his mountain eyrie—you hear not his pinions till they beat the air in
his reascending: you look for the milk-white lamb that frolicked in your
flock, and it is gone. Peril here, like death, borrows half its terrors
from the secrecy in which it wraps its footsteps.
THURSDAY, DEC. 24. As soon as the sun had gone down, and twilight had
spread its sable shadows over the hills and habitations of Monterey, the
festivities of Christmas Eve commenced. The bells rang out a merry
chime; the windows were filled with streaming light; bonfires on plain
and steep sent up their pyramids of flame; and the sky-rocket burst high
over all in showering fire. Children shouted; the young were filled with
smiles and gladness; and the aged looked as if some dark cloud had been
lifted from the world.
While the bonfires still blazed high, the crowd moved towards the
church; the ample nave was soon filled. Before the high altar bent the
Virgin Mother, in wonder and love, over her new-born babe; a company of
shepherds entered in flowing robes, with high wands garnished with
silken streamers, in which floated all the colors of the rainbow, and
surmounted with coronals of flowers. In their wake followed a hermit,
with his long white beard, tattered missal, and his sin-chastising lash.
Near him figured a wild hunter, in the skins of the forest, bearing a
huge truncheon, surmounted by an iron rim, from which hung in jingling
chime fragments of all sonorous metals. Then came, last of all, the Evil
One, with horned frontlet, disguised hoof, and robe of crimson flame.
The shepherds were led on by the angel Gabriel, in purple wings and
garments of light. They approached the manger, and, kneeling, hymned
their wonder and worship in a sweet chant, which was sustained by the
rich tones of exulting harps. The hermit and hunter were not among them;
they had been beguiled by the Tempter, and were lingering at a game of
dice. The hermit seemed to suspect that all was not right, and read his
missal vehemently in the pauses of the game; but the hunter was troubled
by none of these scruples, staked his soul, and lost! Emboldened by his
success, the Tempter shoved himself among the shepherds; but here he
encountered Gabriel, who knew him of old. He quailed under the eye of
that invincible angel, and fled his presence. The hermit and hunter,
once more disenthralled, paid their penitential homage. The shepherds
departed, singing their hosannas, while the voices of the whole assembly
rose in the choral strain.
FRIDAY, DEC. 25. At our last advices, Com. Stockton was at San Diego;
the Congress and Cyane had been warped into the harbor, and a large
portion of the officers and crews were in camp near the town. The
Californians were in possession of the country, and often presented a
formidable force on the surrounding hills. They were well mounted, and
had it in their power to dash down at night on the camp of the
commodore. Still, it was of the utmost importance to maintain this
position; but aggressive movements were deemed here impracticable. The
idea has never been seriously entertained here, that the
commander-in-chief could march a body of seamen and marines, drilled
into an infantry, to los Angeles, in the face of the flying-artillery of
the Californians; and still less that he could subsist his forces there
with all the resources of the country in the hands of the enemy. The war
here is not on a great scale, but it impinges, at certain points, with
terrific energy. It is not always the magnitude of the field and of the
interests at issue, which test most severely the resources of the
general. This California war has to be carried on by means which
requires consummate tact, coolness, and courage. A few weeks more will
decide the fate of the southern department, and with that, the whole
tide of affairs here. That department lost in the pending engagement,
our northern positions will be put in imminent peril. It is an idle
dream to suppose the Californians will not fight; give them faithful and
competent leaders, and they evince a dashing bravery which lifts them
immeasurably above contempt. He who presumes on their timidity will
learn his error when it may be too late.
SATURDAY, DEC. 26. It is an old custom here for the shepherds, when they
have performed their sacred drama in the church, to repeat it, during
the holydays, in the residences of some of the citizens. One of the
first personages to whom they pay their respects is the chief magistrate
of the jurisdiction; I was accordingly saluted this evening with their
festive compliment.
The large hall, occupying the centre of the building, was sufficiently
ample to accommodate them, and some fifty gentlemen and ladies as
spectators. They brought their own orchestral accompaniment, which
consisted entirely of violins and guitars. Their prelude had so many
sweet harmonies that the listener determined to listen on. The dialogue
and chant of the shepherds would have awakened their appropriate
associations, but for the obtrusions of the hermit, hunter, and devil,
who now gave much freer scope to their characteristic peculiarities than
they did in church. The hermit forgot that his lash was intended for
himself, and began to use it on others. The hunter left off snaring
birds, and commenced setting springes to catch Satan; but his intended
victim not only managed to escape, but to decoy the hunter himself into
his own net. The hermit tried to disenchant him through the power of his
missal, but this having no effect, he threatened to chastise the subtle
author of the mischief, but wanted some one to seize and hold him, for
fear his horn, hoof, or tail might come in conflict with the life-glass.
During this side-acting, the dialogue and chant of the shepherds went
on, though it would be difficult to conceive of any two things more wide
asunder in their spirit and effect. The whole was concluded with the
riata dance, by the shepherds, who executed its airy movements with a
lightness and precision of step that would have thrown enchantment on
any occasion less sacred in its associations than the present.