ARRIVAL OF THE LEXINGTON.—THE MARCH TO LOS ANGELES, AND BATTLE OF SAN
GABRIEL.—THE CAPITULATION.—MILITARY CHARACTERISTICS OF THE
CALIFORNIANS.—BARRICADES DOWN.
THURSDAY, JAN. 28. Our harbor has been enlivened to-day by the arrival
of the U. S. ship Lexington, commanded by Lieut. Theodorus Bailey, an
officer that might well have been promoted years ago. Capt. Tompkins and
his company of one hundred and forty men, and field train of artillery,
are on board. She brings out also Capt. Halleck, U. S. Engineer, who is
entrusted with the erection of fortifications at this place and San
Francisco. The Lexington is laden with heavy battery guns, mortars,
shot, shells, muskets, pistols, swords, fixed ammunition, and several
hundred barrels of powder. She has also a quantity of shovels, spades,
ploughs, pickaxes, saws, hammers, forges, and all the necessary utensils
for building fortifications of the first class; and what is better
still, she brings with her a saw-mill and a good grist-mill.
FRIDAY, JAN. 29. The U. S. ship Dale, W. W. McKean commander, sailed
to-day for Panama. She takes the mail which is to cross the isthmus, and
reach the United States by the West India steamers. As soon as her
destination was known, a hundred pens were at work, transferring to
paper affections, fond remembrances, kind wishes, and a thousand tender,
anxious inquiries. How absence melts the heart. The cold is kindled, the
indifferent clothed with interest, antipathies melt away, and
endearments revive with undying power. I love the very stones over which
my truant footsteps ran, and could kiss the birch rod that chastised my
youthful follies. What language, then, can portray the love which clings
to one who throws sunlight through the shadows of this dark world, or
paint the cherished hope that buds into being with—
MY INFANT BOY.
I have not seen thy face, my child;
They say each look and line,
Which o’er thy father’s aspect plays,
Is miniatured in thine.
They tell me that thy infant voice—
Its wildly warbled tone,
Seems to thy mother’s listening ear
The echo of my own.
I know it not, but fondly deem
That such a thing may be,
And trust thy father’s better hopes
May long survive in thee.
I have not seen thy face, my child,
Though weary moons have set
Since mine and thy glad mother’s eyes
In tender transport met:—
For ere thy being dawned to light,
Or knew what life might mean,
Our ship had earth’s mid circuit swept,
And oceans rolled between.
I waft thee back a father’s kiss—
A pledge of that wild joy,
Which o’er his yearning heart will rush,
To clasp his infant boy.
SATURDAY, JAN. 30. The long-looked for intelligence has come at last in
an authentic shape. The American forces, commanded by Com. Stockton,
aided by Gen. Kearny, broke camp at San Diego on the 29th ult., and took
up the line of march for los Angeles. Their route lay through a rugged
country of one hundred and forty miles, drenched with the winter rains,
and bristling with the lances of the enemy. Through this the commodore
led our seamen and marines, sharing himself, with the general at his
side, all the hardships of the common sailor. The stern engagements with
the enemy derive their heroic features from the contrast existing in the
condition of the two. The Californians were well mounted, are the most
expert horsemen in the world, and whirled their flying-artillery to the
most commanding positions. Our troops were on foot, mired to the ankle,
and with no resource except in their own indomitable resolution and
courage. Their exploits may be lost in the shadow of the clouds which
roll up from the plains of Mexico, but they are realities here, which
impress themselves with a force which reaches the very foundations of
social order. The march of the American forces from San Diego to the
Pueblo below, and their engagements with the enemy, are vividly
described in a letter to me from one of the officers attached to the
expedition. This writer says:
“Com. Stockton, at the head of a force amounting to about six hundred
men, including a detachment of the 1st regiment of U. S. dragoons,
under Gen. Kearny, left San Diego on the morning of the 29th of
December, for los Angeles. Our line of march lay through a rough and
mountainous country of nearly one hundred and fifty miles, with
impediments on every side, and constant apprehensions of an attack
from the enemy: our progress was nevertheless rapid; and though
performed mostly by sailor troops, would have done credit to the best
disciplined army.
“On the morning of the 8th of January, we found ourselves, after
several days’ hard marching and fatigue, in the vicinity of the river
San Gabriel; on the north side of which the enemy had fortified
themselves to the number of five hundred mounted men, with four pieces
of artillery, under Gen. Flores, and in a position so commanding, that
it seemed impossible to gain any point by which our troops could be
protected from their galling fire. They presented their forces in
three divisions—one on our right, another on our left, and a third in
front, with the artillery. On reaching the south side of the river,
the commodore dismounted, forded the stream, and commanded the troops
to pass over, which they did promptly under the brisk fire of the
enemy’s artillery. He ordered the artillery not to unlimber till the
opposite bank should be gained; as soon as this was effected, he
ordered a charge directly in the teeth of the enemy’s guns, which soon
resulted in the possession of the commanding position they had just
occupied. The first gun fired was aimed by the commodore before the
charge was made up the hill; this overthrew the enemy’s gun, which had
just poured forth its thunder in our midst. Having gained this
important position, a brisk cannonading was kept up for some time. We
encamped on the spot for the night. The next day we met the enemy
again on the plains of the Mesa, near the city. They made a bold and
resolute stand; tried our lines on every side; and manœuvred their
artillery with much skill. But the firm and steady courage with which
our troops continued to defend themselves, repelled their attempts at
a general charge, and we found ourselves again victorious. We encamped
again near the battleground, and on the morning of the tenth marched
into the city, while the adjacent hills were glistening with the
lances of the enemy.”
SUNDAY, JAN. 31. It is sweet in a land of tumult and strife to see the
Sabbath sun come up. Its sacred light melts over the rough aspects of
war like melting dew down the frontlet of the crouched lion. May the
spirit of devotion, in its ascending flight, bear into a serener element
the aspirations of the human heart! There let faith, and hope, and
immortal love build their tabernacle. It shall be a dwelling for the
soul when the palaces, temples, and towers of earth are in ruins. Over
its gem-inwoven roof shall stream the light of stars that never set;
flowers that cannot die shall wreath its colonnade, and hang in fragrant
festoons from its walls; while the voices of streamlets, as they flash
over their golden sands, shall pour unceasing music on the wandering
air.
MONDAY, FEB. 1. The forces under Col. Fremont were within a few leagues
of the town of the Angels when Com. Stockton entered it. Their approach
cut off the retreat of the Californians to the north. The forces of the
commodore were on foot, and of course unable to follow up their
brilliant successes. The enemy were mounted, and might have held the
country around. If attacked, they had only to retreat, and return again
on the retiring footsteps of their foes. But at this critical juncture,
Col. Fremont, with his battalion, came down upon them, leaving them no
alternative but to capitulate or attempt a disastrous flight into
Mexico. They wisely, with the exception of a few, determined to abide
the conditions of a treaty. The terms of capitulation are couched in a
spirit of great liberality and justice. One would hardly think that men
so amiable and confiding in their terms of peace, could have just been
on the eve of taking each others lives. But this is one of those
exhibitions of forbearance and generosity which not unfrequently relieve
the calamities of war.
The articles of capitulation, in substance, were, that the Californians
shall surrender their arms to Col. Fremont, return peaceably to their
homes, and not resume hostilities during the continuance of the war with
Mexico;—that they shall be guarantied the protection of life and
property, and equal rights and privileges with the citizens of the
United States. These terms were duly subscribed by the commissioners
appointed by the parties to the compact, and ratified by Col. Fremont.
They were liberal in their spirit, wise in their purpose, and just in
their application. More rigorous terms would have involved a sense of
humiliation in one party, without any advantage to the other. The
Californians were defeated, but not crushed. They have those salient
energies which rebound from misfortune, as their native forests sweep
back into the face of heaven, when the tempest has passed. They never
took the field out of reverence for the Mexican flag: it was a wild
impulse, deriving its life from a love of adventure, and the excitements
of the camp. They had had their tragedy, acted their part, and were now
willing the dim curtain should drop; and Col. Fremont very wisely
clenched it to the stage. A few in the orchestra still piped; but the
actors were away, the sidescenes vacant, and the spectators at their
homes; and there may they remain, till the sword shall be beaten into
the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning-hook, and the art of war
be known no more.
THURSDAY, FEB. 4. The Californians who left Monterey to join the
outbreak at the south are now returning to their homes. Every day brings
back two or three to their firesides. They look like men who have been
out on a hunt, and returned with very little game. Still, it must be
confessed that they have materially strengthened their claims to
military skill and courage. They have been defeated, it is true, but it
has cost their victors many sanguinary struggles, and many valuable
lives. They have raised themselves above that contemptuous estimation in
which they were erroneously held by many, and secured a degree of
respect, which will contribute to mutual forbearance. This result is to
be ascribed to the prowess of the few, rather than the conduct of the
many. The mass were governed by impulse and the pressure of
circumstances. It was not that calm, heroic spirit which disregards
personal safety, and exults in the hour of peril; nor was it that deep
sense of patriotic duty which makes a man firm in disaster and death. It
was rather that recklessness which springs from wounded pride, but which
often crowns with laurels a forlorn hope.
FRIDAY, FEB. 5. The outbreak at the north has passed away, and the last
wave of commotion perished with it. This result is to be ascribed to the
energy of Capt. Mervin, to the moderation and firmness of Capt. Marston
and his associates, and to the good conduct of the forces under their
command. Nor should it be forgotten that the Californians evinced, on
this occasion, a disposition well suited to bring about an amicable
treaty. They took up arms, not to make war on the American flag, but in
vindication of their rights as citizens of California, and in defence of
their property. They had been promised protection—they had been assured
that they should not be molested, if they remained quietly at their
homes—and these pledges had been glaringly violated. Their horses and
cattle had been taken from them under cover of public exigency, and no
receipts given, to secure them indemnification, till at last they
determined to have their rights respected, or to die like men. Still, it
was necessary to meet them in arms, and in sufficient force to inspire
respect. They were, however, well mounted, and might, had they so
listed, have prolonged the struggle. But this was not their object, and
they sent in a flag of truce. The conditions of the treaty were, that
they should lay down their arms, release their prisoners, and that their
property should be restored, or such vouchers given as would enable them
ultimately to recover its value. This was a reasonable requirement on
their part, and the American officers had the good sense to appreciate
its force. We must be just before we attempt to be brave. Laurels won
through wrong are a dishonor.
SATURDAY, FEB. 6. We have another rain; not a cloud is to be seen; but
the whole atmosphere is filled with a thick mist, which dissolves in a
soft perpetual shower. It seems as if nature had relinquished every
other occupation, and given herself up to this moist business. She calls
up no thunder, throws out no lightning; she only squeezes her great
sponge, and that as quietly as a mermaid smooths her dripping locks.
SUNDAY, FEB. 7. Com. Shubrick has ordered the barricades removed. Thank
God! we are at last relieved of martial law. It is one of the greatest
calamities that can fall on a civilized nation. It tramples on private
rights, trifles with responsibility, and cuts the conscience adrift from
its moorings. Men are thrown into this eddy of excess, and then act like
rudderless ships in a tempest-tost sea. Years will elapse before the
moral sentiments which have been unhinged by military violence can be
restored. Even California, where revolutions come and go like the
shadows of passing clouds, will long show the traces of the one which
has now passed over her. Its lightning has shivered the tree before the
fruit was ripe, and blasted a thousand buds that might have bloomed into
fragrant beauty.
MONDAY, FEB. 8. Much to the relief of the citizens, Com. Shubrick has
given orders that the volunteers on service here shall be paid off and
discharged. They are principally sea-beachers and mountain-combers, and
some of them are very good men; but others seem to have no idea of the
proprietorship of property. They help themselves to it as canvas-back
ducks the grass that grows in the Potomac, or migratory birds the
berries which bloom in the forests through which they wander. They
hardly left fowl enough here on which to keep Christmas. Could
dismembered hens lay eggs, they would have more chickens in their
stomachs than they ever had dollars in their pockets.