THE PUBLIC DOMAIN.—SCENERY AROUND MONTEREY.—VINEYARDS OF LOS
ANGELES.—BEAUTY OF SAN DIEGO.—THE CULPRIT HALL.—THE RUSH FOR
GOLD.—LAND TITLES.—THE INDIAN DOCTRESS.—TUFTED PARTRIDGE.—DEATH OF
COM. BIDDLE.
SATURDAY, FEB. 24. All the land grants in California are blindly
defined; a mountain bluff, lagoon, river, or ravine serve as boundaries;
and these not unfrequently comprehend double the leagues or acres
contemplated in the instrument. No accurate surveys have been made; and
the only legal restrictions falling within these vague limits, is in the
shape of a provision that the excess shall revert to the public domain.
This provision, which is inserted in most of the grants, will throw into
the market, under an accurate survey, some of the best tracts in
California. These will be seized upon by capitalists and speculators,
and held at prices beyond the means of emigrants, unless some
legislative provision shall extend peculiar privileges to actual
settlers.
The lands which lie through the gold region are uninvaded by any private
grants, except one on the Mariposa, owned by Col. Fremont; one on the
Cosumes, owned by W. E. P. Hartnell, and the limited claims of Johnson
on Bear river, and Capt. Sutter on the Americano. All the other lands
stretching from Feather river on the north, to the river Reys on the
south, covering five hundred miles along the slopes of the Sierra
Nevada, belonging to the public domain, and should never become private
property so long as it is for the interests of the United States to
encourage mining in California. Any system of private proprietorship
will result in monopoly and bloodshed. Let companies lease their
sections, and private individuals pay their license; and let every
regulation look more to the encouragement it extends, than the revenue
it exacts.
TUESDAY, FEB. 27. At an early hour this morning a huge floating mass,
with her steep sides dark as night, was seen winding into the bay
without sail, wind, or tide. Such a wizard phenomenon was never seen
before on this coast, and might well alarm the natives, especially when
the great guns of the fort rolled their thunder at her: and still she
neared! heaving the still waters into cataracts at her side, and sending
up her steep column of smoke, as if a young Etna were at work within.
They who had witnessed such things in other parts of the world, shouted
“The steamer! the steamer!” and instantly the echo came back with
redoubled force from a hundred crowded balconies. The whole community
was thrown into excitement, wonder, and gratulation; cheers and shouts
of welcome rent the air; all liquors were free to brim the bumpers; and
basket after basket of champagne went gratuitously into the streets,
till their flying corks rose like musket-shot in a general feu de joie.
The last distrust of good faith in the government vanished; and all saw
the dawn of a higher destiny breaking over California. The enterprise of
a Howland and Aspinwall blazed in this new aurora, and filled the whole
horizon with light. The golden promise which had floated in doubt and
earnest hope had been redeemed and the union of California with the
glorious confederacy achieved. What now were oceans and an isthmus!—only
a few waves and a narrow line of earth, unfelt under the conquering
powers of steam. Such was the tumult of transport which hailed the first
steamer; such her welcome to the _el dorado_ of the West. No gold mine
sprung in the Sierra ever roused half the wonder, hope, and general joy.
MONDAY, MARCH 5. The scenery around Monterey and the _locale_ of the
town, arrest the first glance of the stranger. The wild waving
background of forest-feathered cliffs, the green slopes, and the
glimmering walls of the white dwellings, and the dash of the billows on
the sparkling sands of the bay, fix and charm the eye. Nor does the
enchantment fade by being familiarly approached; avenues of almost
endless variety lead off through the circling steeps, and winding
through long shadowy ravines, lose themselves in the vine-clad recesses
of the distant hills. It is no wonder that California centred her taste,
pride, and wealth here, till the Vandal irruption of gold-hunters broke
into her peaceful domain. Now all eyes are turned to San Francisco, with
her mud bottoms, her sand-hills, and her chill winds, which cut the
stranger like hail driven through the summer solstice. Avarice may erect
its shanty there, but contentment, and a love of the wild and beautiful,
will construct its tabernacle among the flowers, the waving shades, and
fragrant airs of Monterey. And even they who now drive the spade and
drill in the mines, when their yellow pile shall fill the measure of
their purposes, will come here to sprinkle these hills with the mansions
and cottages of ease and refinement. Among these soaring crags the step
of youth will still spring, and beauty garland her tresses with
wild-flowers in the mirror of the mountain stream. Alas! that eyes so
bright should be closed so soon, and that a step so light and free
should lead but to that narrow house which holds no communion with the
pulses which will still roll through nature’s great heart!
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7. Emigrants, when the phrensy of the mines has passed,
will be strongly attracted to los Angeles, the capital of the southern
department. It stands inland from San Pedro about eight leagues, in the
bosom of a broad fertile plain, and has a population of two thousand
souls. The San Gabriel pours its sparkling tide through its green
borders. The most delicious fruits of the tropical zone may flourish
here. As yet, only the grape and fig have secured the attention of the
cultivator; but the capacities of the soil and aptitudes of the climate
are attested in the twenty thousand vines, which reel in one orchard,
and which send through California a wine that need not blush in the
presence of any rival from the hills of France or the sunny slopes of
Italy. To these plains the more quiet emigrants will ere long gather,
and convert their drills into pruning-hooks, and we shall have wines,
figs, dates, almonds, olives, and raisins from California. The gold may
give out, but these are secure while nature remains.
San Diego is another spot to which the tide of immigration must turn. It
stands on the border line of Alta California, and opens on a land-locked
bay of surpassing beauty. The climate is soft and mild the year round;
the sky brilliant, and the atmosphere free of those mists which the cold
currents throw on the northern sections of the coast. The sea-breeze
cools the heat of summer, and the great ocean herself modulates into the
same temperature the rough airs of winter. The seasons roll round,
varied only by the fresh fruits and flowers that follow in their train.
I would rather have a willow-wove hut at San Diego, with ground enough
for a garden, than the whole peninsula of San Francisco, if I must live
there. The one is a Vallambrosa, where only the zephyr stirs her light
wing; the other a tempest-swept cave of Æolus, where the demons of storm
shake their shivering victims. The lust of gold will people the one, but
all that is lovely in the human heart spread its charm over the other.
Before the eyes that fall on these pages are under death’s shadow, San
Diego will have become the queen of the south in California encircled
with vineyards and fields of golden grain and gathering into her bosom
the flowing commerce of the Colorado and Gila.
THURSDAY, MARCH 8. The town-hall, on which I have been at work for more
than a year, is at last finished. It is built of a white stone, quarried
from a neighboring hill, and which easily takes the shape you desire.
The lower apartments are for schools; the hall over them—seventy feet by
thirty—is for public assemblies. The front is ornamented with a portico,
which you enter from the hall. It is not an edifice that would attract
any attention among public buildings in the United States; but in
California it is without a rival. It has been erected out of the slender
proceeds of town lots, the labor of the convicts, taxes on liquor shops,
and fines on gamblers. The scheme was regarded with incredulity by many;
but the building is finished, and the citizens have assembled in it, and
christened it after my name, which will now go down to posterity with
the odor of gamblers, convicts, and tipplers. I leave it as an humble
evidence of what may be accomplished by rigidly adhering to one purpose,
and shrinking from no personal efforts necessary to its achievement. A
prison has also been built, and mainly through the labor of the
convicts. Many a joke the rogues have cracked while constructing their
own cage; but they have worked so diligently I shall feel constrained to
pardon out the less incorrigible. It is difficult here to discriminate
between offences which flow from moral hardihood, and those which
result, in a measure, from untoward circumstances. There is a wide
difference in the turpitude of the two; and an alcalde under the Mexican
law, has a large scope in which to exercise his sense of moral justice.
Better to err a furlong with mercy than a fathom with cruelty. Unmerited
punishment never yet reformed its subject; to suppose it, is a libel on
the human soul.
FRIDAY, MARCH 9. There is one event in the recent history of California,
which has carried with it decisive moral results. Till the intelligence
of peace reached here, a bewildering expectation had been entertained by
many, that Mexico would never consent to part with this portion of her
domain. This idea, vague and groundless as it was, interfered with all
permanent plans of action affecting individual capital and enterprise.
To this state of uncertainty the news of peace, which reached here in
August, gave an effectual quietus. The event was announced to the
community by order of Gen. Mason, through a national salute from the
fort; and hardly had the echoes died away among the hills, when its
certainty sunk deep and firm into the convictions of all. The result was
a revulsion of feeling towards Mexico, which no repentant action on her
part could ever overcome. The native people felt that they had been
_sold_, and expressed in no measured terms their indignation. They had
no objections to the transfer of allegiance; but they scorned the
_barter_, and denounced the treachery, as they termed it, which had put
a _price_ upon their heads. The old Spanish blood was up, and flaming,
like the lake which rolls its tide of fire in the breast of Vesuvius.
From that day to this, I have never heard one native citizen express for
Mexico even that poor sentiment of regard with which pity sometimes
softens an indignant contempt. The only regret was, that the American
arms were withdrawn from that country, and that her national existence
was not extinct. This feeling remains, and will still be felt in the
various relations of society, when the native mass has been swallowed up
in the emigrant tide, as a rivulet in the majesty of the mountain
stream.
SUNDAY, MARCH 11. What crowds are rushing out here for gold! what
multitudes are leaving their distant homes for this glittering treasure!
Can gold warrant the hazards of the enterprise? Can it compensate the
toils and suffering which it imposes? Can it repair a shattered
constitution, or bring back the exhilarating pulse and play of youth?
Let the wrecks of those who have perished speak; let the broken hearts
and hopes of thousands utter their admonition: their voices come surging
over these pines, breaking from these cliffs, sighing in the winds, and
knelling from the clouds. Your treasures you must resign at the dark
portal of the grave; there the glittering heap, and the strong arms
which wrenched it from the mine, lie down together; the spirit walketh
alone through that troubled night; but a ray twinkles through its long
aisle of darkness: follow that in meekness and faith, and it will lead
you to the spirit-land. There dwell your kindred who adorned virtue with
a spirit of contentment,—there the parent whose latest prayer was for
you,—there the sister, who, in the hush of voices around, heard the
sweet strains of an unseen harp, and was charmed away from the delusive
dreams of earth, ere a hope of the heart had been broken, or sorrow had
saddened a smile. What is wealth to such an inheritance? what the
society of kings to such companionship? Plume your wing for heaven ere
it droops in the death-dew of its dissolving strength.
TUESDAY, MARCH 20. The land titles in California ought to receive the
most indulgent construction. But few of them have _all_ the forms
prescribed by legislative enactments, but they have official insignia
sufficient to certify the intentions of the government. To disturb these
grants would be alike impolitic and unjust; it would be to convert the
lands which they cover to the public domain, and ultimately turn them
over to speculators and foreign capitalists. Better let them remain as
they are: they are now in good hands; they are held mostly by
Californians,—a class of persons who part with them on reasonable terms.
No Californian grinds the face of the poor, or refuses an emigrant a
participation in his lands. I have seen them dispose of miles for a
consideration less than would be required by Americans for as many
acres. You are shut up to the shrewdness and sharpness of the Yankee on
the one hand, and the liberality of the Californian on the other. Your
choice lies between the two, and I have no hesitation in saying, give me
the Californian. If he has a farm, and I have none, he will divide with
me; but who ever heard of a Yankee splitting up his farm to accommodate
emigrants? Why, he will not divide with his own sons till death has
divided him from both. Yankees are good when mountains are to be
levelled, lakes drained, and lightning converted into a vegetable
manure; but as a landholder, deliver me from his map and maw. He wants
not only all on this side of creation’s verge, but a _leetle_ that laps
over the other.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28. A young friend of mine had been several months in
Monterey, confined to his room, and nearly helpless, from an ugly sore
on one of his limbs. The skill of the whole medical profession here, in
the army and navy, and out of them, had been exerted in this case, and
baffled. At last, the discouraged patient sent for an old Indian woman,
who has some reputation among the natives for medical sagacity in roots
and herbs. She examined the sore, and the next day brought to the
patient a poultice and pot of tea. The application was made and the
beverage drank as directed. These were renewed two or three times, and
the young man is now running about the streets, or hunting his game,
sound as a nut.
This same Indian woman is the only physician I had when attacked with
the disease which carried off Lieut. Miner and several others attached
to the public service. In a half-delirious state, which followed close
upon the attack, I looked up and saw bending over me the kind Mrs.
Hartnell—one of the noblest among the native ladies of California—and at
her side stood this Indian woman feeling my pulse. Mrs. H. remained,
while her medical attendant went away, but returned soon with the Indian
medicaments which were to arrest, or remedy this rapid and critical
disease. I resigned myself to all her drinks and baths; she did with me
just what she pleased. She broke the fever without breaking me; restored
my strength, and in a week I was in my office, attending to my duties.
What she gave me I know not, but I believe her roots and herbs saved my
life, as well as the leg of my friend.
SATURDAY, APRIL 7. The quail, or tufted partridge, abounds in
California, and is a delicious bird. A walk of ten minutes in any
direction from Monterey, will bring you into their favorite haunts. But
they are extremely shy; it is no easy matter to strike them on the wing:
they are out of one bush and into another before you can level your
piece, unless, like the Irishman hitting his weasel, you fire first and
take aim afterwards. I must attribute my success frequently to hits of
this kind; for a deliberate aim was sure to come too late,—just like an
old bachelor’s proposal of marriage, which, as his vanity whispers him,
might have been accepted had it been made a _little_ sooner, but now the
dulcinia has changed her mind, and the fat is all in the fire. What a
pity that such a pelican should be left alone in this world’s
wilderness, and the community be deprived of all the little pelicans
that might have been! But I was speaking of quail, and not of pelicans,
and of the difficulty of hitting them. Gen. Mason is the best shot here;
a quail, to fly his fire, must be as quick on the wing as a message, in
its sightless career, over one of Morse’s magnetic wires. To me one of
the most enticing features in California life is presented in her game.
It comes in every variety of form, from the elk and buck that rove her
forests and prairies, to the rabbit that undermines the garden-hedge;
and from the wild goose and duck, which sweep in clouds her ruffled
waters, to the little beca that feeds on her figs. A good sportsman
might live the year round, amid these meadows and mounds, on the
trophies of his fowling-piece and rifle, and as independent of civilized
life as any savage that ever bent the bow or steadied his bark canoe
over the rushing verge of the cascade.
TUESDAY, APRIL 17. That spirit of prophecy which sometimes trembles in
an adieu, occurred forcibly to me on receiving the intelligence of the
death of Com. Biddle. His last words were omens, if such a thing may be.
He had ordered the Columbus to be ready for sea the next morning, and
had come ashore for a walk in the woods which skirt Monterey. We had
ascended the summit of a hill which commands a wide range of waving
woods, gleaming meadows, and ocean’s blue expanse. The great orb of day
was on the horizon, and the eye of the commodore was fastened upon it as
it sunk in solemn majesty from sight. He had not spoken for several
minutes; when, turning to me, he said—“This is my last walk among these
hills, and something whispers me that all my walks end here.” This was
said with that look and manner in which the undertone of a man’s
thoughts will sometimes find words without his will. It was utterly at
variance with the cool, philosophical habits which were eminently
characteristic of the commodore, and which he seldom relinquished,
except in some sally of humor and wit. This remark woke like a slumber
of the shroud, on the sudden intelligence of his death. It may be a
superstition, but I shall never resign, to a skeptical philosophy, the
omen and its seeming fulfilment. The future is often prefigured in an
incident or sentiment of the present.
“An undefined and sudden thrill,
That makes the heart a moment still—
Then beat with quicker pulse, ashamed
Of that strange sense itself had framed.”
The hill-top and the waving forest remain, but the commodore—where is
he? Gone, like a star from its darkened watch-tower on high! But the
night which quenched the beam is still fringed with light. To this
surviving ray we turn in bereavement and grief. His genius lighted the
objects of thought on which it touched, and glanced, with an intuitive
force, through the subtle problems of the mind. His mental horizon was
broad, and yet every object within its wide circle was distinctly seen,
and seen in its true position and relative importance. The trifling
never rose into the great, and the majestic never became tame. Each
stood, in his clear vision, as truth and reason had stamped it. He was
cool and collected without being stoical, and immovably firm without
being arbitrary. He had that courage which could never be shaken by
surprise, made giddy with success, or quelled by disaster. Whatever
subject he assayed, he mastered. He has left but few behind him, out of
the legal profession, more thoroughly versed in questions of
international law and maritime jurisprudence. Had not his early impulses
taken him to the deck, he might have been eminent at the bar, in the
cabinet, or hall of legislation. He had all the clearness and
comprehensiveness of a great statesman. Gratitude twines this leaf of
remembrance and respect into that chaplet which the bereavement of the
service has woven on his grave.