I will now give you a sketch of our hotel-keeping in California. My
husband rented the Atlantic Hotel, which was not a very spacious one,
for two hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. For our cook we paid
two hundred and fifty per month, our steward one hundred and
twenty-five, and for all other assistance in a similar proportion.
The house was always filled to its utmost capacity; and the prospect of
future success was flattering in the extreme, provided I had strength
given me to sustain the weight of care and labor necessarily devolving
upon me. Often, on account of exorbitant demands from servants,--demands
which could not reasonably be granted,--I would be compelled to work
early and late, for days and weeks in succession. Not having been
accustomed to living and working in such excessive heat, my system
became debilitated; I felt my strength gradually yielding to excessive
weakness; and, in a little less than three months from the time we went
to the Atlantic, I was seized with a fever. For weeks I lay very sick.
My physician pronounced my recovery hopeless unless removed from the
hotel, where, of necessity, so much confusion prevailed. Consequently, I
was removed to a little canvas shanty, which my husband had previously
purchased, placed upon a straw bed, and for more than two months I was
confined to that pallet of straw.
The dimensions of the lot upon which this shanty was erected were one
hundred and sixty by eighty feet. It was represented to be an excellent
location, destined to be soon in the heart of a big city. My husband
paid four hundred dollars for the place; and, as an evidence of the
sudden and enormous rise of real estate in California, where there was
the least prospect of a city rushing into existence,--for in that
country cities have no state of infancy,--I will here add, that, three
years afterwards, this same lot, with the addition of a better building,
though not an expensive one, was valued at twelve thousand dollars, and
could have been disposed of quickly for that sum. During the two months
that I was prostrated by sickness, my sufferings were intense, both
physical and mental. Doctors at that time were charging five and eight
dollars a visit. The state of the country was such, it was almost
impossible to procure the comforts of life, unless one was possessed of
a fortune. Eggs were seven dollars per dozen; milk, one dollar per
quart; and, for six weeks, I was not allowed to eat any thing except
boiled milk. Our income had ceased when we sold out the hotel. Every day
my disorder was growing worse, and our funds were growing less. The
sides of our little shanty were constructed of rough clapboards, not
very nicely matched; in some places, you could put your hand through the
interstices. The roof was canvas, and miserably old at that. The front
part of this domicile could boast of a few boards, which served as an
apology for a floor. Old boxes and trunks served in lieu of chairs. When
I was able to sit up, there was no chair to sit in. My husband procured
one at Sacramento,--quite an inferior cane-seated rocking-chair,--for
which he paid the exorbitant sum of twelve dollars. That was the first
and only chair which ever graced our miserable abode. My bed and even
pillows were of straw; and oh, how hard they seemed to my poor and
emaciated frame! for I was reduced to a mere skeleton. At times, when
the fever raged, how grateful I should have been for one drop of cold
water. All the water with which the city was supplied was taken from the
Yuba River. It was quite warm, and rendered far from clear by the
mining operations which were carried on at the bars above. The painful
sickness which chained me for so many weeks to a sick bed was
superinduced by drinking too freely of this muddy water.
In close proximity to our dwelling was a second-class boarding-house,
from which, especially at night, issued discordant sounds of noisy
revelry, mingled with angry bickerings. All this was peculiarly trying
to one whose nerves were wrought to the utmost tension. When nights I
would be left alone for hours together, I suffered inconceivably from
fright. When my husband would go out, he would lock the door upon the
outside; for I was too feeble to rise from the bed without assistance,
and far too timid to remain alone with the doors unfastened. Every fresh
burst of uproarious mirth or frightful anger issuing from the contiguous
building would send a thrill of horror through my veins. Oh, how my
thoughts, during those lonely nights, would wander to my home! How my
heart yearned for the soothing words and kind attentions, so
soul-cheering when emanating from the sympathetic bosoms of
disinterested and tender friends! All this was denied me. I had formed
no female acquaintances in this place. There was no one to come and
smooth my hard pillow, or utter cheering, consoling words. The present
was dark and dreary, with no bright star beaming through the murky
horizon of the future. One day I was no less pleased than surprised at
the appearance of a lady in my room, whose benevolent, pleasant
countenance plainly implied peace, hope, and happiness. She introduced
herself as Mrs. S----, recently from Cincinnati. Her residence being
near, she had accidentally heard of my situation, and had visited me for
the express purpose of rendering any assistance in her power. No kind
mother could have been more attentive to the wants of a loved child,
than was Mrs. S----to mine through the remainder of my sickness. She had
her own family to attend to; yet every day she found time to visit me,
and minister kindly to my wants. How anxiously I watched for her coming!
and when I would hear her light footstep, and listen to the gentle
accents of her sweet voice, I could only acknowledge her presence but by
tears. She was a messenger of peace and love, a truly pious and
exemplary woman, and, during my residence in Marysville, ever remained
my firmest friend. She prospered in Marysville; and may kind Providence
_ever_ shower His richest blessings upon this truly Christian lady!
About this time the country was unusually agitated. The villanies
practised and murders committed by an organized band of cut-throats, of
whom the notorious mountain robber, Joaquin, was the chief, had excited
the horror, and aroused the vengeance, of the entire populace of Upper
California. No effort had been spared to capture him, dead or alive;
but, with the perfect adroitness of an accomplished scamp, he ever
eluded and bid defiance to pursuit by mounting some one of the many
fleet steeds at his command, and fleeing to the almost inaccessible
fastnesses of the mountains. His path was ever stained with human blood.
A reward of one thousand dollars for the apprehension of Joaquin,
offered by Governor Bigler, was still further increased by the sum of
three thousand added to it by the Chinese. These people are industrious,
economical, and timid. It was ever the policy of Joaquin and his
associates to prey with particular severity upon the Chinese. Frequent
thefts were committed in their camps; and, when resistance was
attempted, they were butchered with a heartless cruelty, becoming the
sanguinary nature of the murderer and outlaw. When suddenly surprised,
he would boldly face his enemies, and receive their bullets on his
breast, which glanced or were flattened by a coat of steel worn
underneath his clothing.
All Spanish countries have their guerillas and ladrones; but a feature
of this kind, precipitated into American communities, and attended with
such unparalleled atrocities, without the power of the people to avenge,
was something astonishingly rare indeed. California was not the place of
his birth, and he could not, therefore, have had any national jealousies
because of the occupancy of the country by the Americans. He seemed to
murder merely for the love of the sport, and to rob because it was a
life of excitement, requiring great risk in its accomplishment, and
yielding large profits when attended with good luck. But his career of
villany was limited; and, when he least expected it, he was seized upon
to expiate his crimes by an ignominious death. But I am anticipating.
One night, I was excessively alarmed by an unusual commotion about the
town. Ringing of bells, galloping of horses, groups of people rushing
past, talking fiercely,--all conspired to confirm the belief in my mind,
that the vigilance committee were about to execute summary punishment
upon some guilty offender. I awoke my husband: he dressed himself as
quickly as possible, and issued forth to ascertain the occasion of so
much noise. Locking the door after him, he walked away to join the
throng of people collected around a large hardware store at the corner
of the street. He was gone so long, I feared some accident had befallen
him. What agonizing doubts I was a prey to while lying in suspense in
that little shanty! It was a long time before he returned. He finally
came with the intelligence that Joaquin, with several of his
accomplices, were encamped about three miles out from Marysville, at a
place called the Sonorian Camp; and that Sheriff Buchanan, in attempting
to surprise and capture him, had been shot.
A few days previous to this, the citizens of Marysville and vicinity had
been horribly shocked by the announcement in their midst of a cruel
murder, perpetrated on the road between Hansonville and Marysville. A
citizen of Marysville had carried a load of goods to Hansonville, and
disposed of them for the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. On his return,
he was pursued and overtaken by some Mexicans, supposed to be of
Joaquin’s band, lariated and drawn from his wagon, and mangled in a
horrible manner. On the same day, a passenger wagon was intercepted, and
every passenger murdered; even the horses’ throats were cut. And now
this last deed had aroused the spirit of revenge in the breast of every
one capable of carrying arms.
The particulars of the affair were these: That night, a little Mexican
boy, who resided at the Sonorian Camp, prompted by feelings of revenge
for a punishment that day received, came to the sheriff, and revealed
Joaquin’s place of concealment. Buchanan, eager, doubtless, of achieving
unparalleled renown by capturing this notorious robber chieftain, with a
select few hastened to the spot designated by the boy. In their march,
they were compelled to step over a fallen tree lying immediately in
their path. They had no sooner planted their feet upon the trunk of the
tree, when a dozen armed men sprang to confront them, and discharged
their revolvers in their faces. The consternation of the sheriff and his
party was universal. Those of the number who were not so disabled as to
prevent escape, beat a hasty retreat. Among these was Buchanan. He had
not fled many paces, when he received a mortal wound, as he supposed,
which brought him to the ground. He was dragged along by his companions
to the Sonorian Camp, where a litter was procured, upon which he was
transported to his home in town. Three or four hundred of the
inhabitants armed themselves with fire-arms from the hardware store
above alluded to, and proceeded to the ambuscade of the terrible robber
chief. My husband departed with the troop, previously locking me into
the little shanty; for I dared not remain for an instant, in such
exciting times, with the door unfastened. For fear he would not return
in the morning before the heat became too oppressive for me to bear, he
raised a window in the room, and dropped the curtain. Then I was alone,
a prey to my gloomy fancies. Every noise I heard, I fancied was from
some terrible Mexican effecting an entrance through the window, and, in
imagination, could already discern the swarthy, murderous visage, and
detect the sharp, glittering blade of the assassin’s knife. The memory
of that night, even now, is accompanied with a shudder. Soon daylight
began to dawn, and with the shades of night vanished all my fears. I was
so weakened by sickness, that, like a child, who is naturally prone to
superstition and fear when alone in the dark, the sufferings I endured
that night were similar. The forenoon crept on apace, and yet that band
of armed men had not returned, I knew, by the silence which reigned in
the streets. As I lay, wishing my husband would return, the
window-curtain parted suddenly, and one of the ugliest-looking faces
was thrust into the room I ever beheld. At first, I was nearly
paralyzed with terror; then, recovering my faculties, I exclaimed, at
the top of my voice, “Vamos! vamos!” Knowing him to be Spanish by his
look, I addressed him in his own language; yet, feeling that was not
sufficiently expressive, I added, by way of effect, a few English
invectives, which fell _very_ harmlessly upon his uncomprehending ear. I
have often since been amused at the recollection of the amount of
courage displayed in words, when I was so entirely helpless and
imbecile, as far as action was required. He very leisurely reconnoitred
the apartment, cast a look commingled of scorn and pity upon me, turned
upon his heel, and disappeared. What was the object of this visit of
espionage, I never could conjecture. About noon, my husband returned.
The party had been unsuccessful in the pursuit; had caught glimpses of
the retreating party several times, but they had finally eluded pursuit.
The people returned chagrined and discomfited to their homes, to hear,
in a week, of other murders still more atrocious. The sheriff was alive
at noon, but no hopes were entertained of his recovery, as the ball, to
all appearance, had entered his side, and passed out at the breast. His
friends stood around the bed, momentarily expecting him to breathe his
last; still he lived on. His physician concluded to probe the wound, and
found that the ball, upon entering, had struck a rib, glanced and
followed the rib around, and passed out in front. In a few days he
recovered his health, resumed his official duties, and continued them
long after that.
Oh, how happy I felt when I could walk out once more! Distinctly do I
recollect the first day I left the shanty for a walk. I went the
distance of a square to visit my kind friend Mrs. S----. Upon my return,
I found a dear brother whom I had not seen for two years and more. Oh,
the joy of that meeting! Words would inadequately express my feelings.
Only one month had elapsed since he bade adieu to home and friends,
laden with so many messages of love; and now here he was, beside me,
repeating what father, mother, brothers, sister, had said such a short
time ago. It seemed as if I had been transported to the dear old home;
had met the family assembled around the hearth-stone, and together we
had spoken sweet words of counsel and of love. The night succeeding his
arrival, we sat and conversed together until daylight began to dawn, we
had so much to say--_I_ so many questions to ask; _he_ so much to
relate. He was very much shocked to see me looking so much like a wreck
of my former self. Sickness and trouble--yes, _such_ trouble as rankles
deepest in the heart of a wife, compared with which, death would have
been joy--was fast doing its work.