Lights and Shadows of Life on the Pacific Coast

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A 403226

ITS AND SHADOWS OF

X ON THE,
>ACIFIC COAST

S.D.WOODS

J J •

«

1*4 •

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<*
I*

■V.

I n

f' \> n ; ■

JiFri:

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF

LIFE ON THE
PACIFIC COAST

A By
S: D. WOODS

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

NEW YORK AND LONDON
I910

Copjrright, 1 910, by
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY

[Printed in the United States of America]

Published, December, 1910

D

I

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

The Hon. Samuel D. Woods, the author of this
volume, is one of the first citizens of California. He
rose in life through his own resolute efforts; took up
the practise of law; was for a long period a member
of the Congress of the United States; and has been
an actor in all the crowded and picturesque events
of the Far West since the Civil War.

Mr. Woods has earned the right to be heard. So
now, at the request of his many friends, he is printing
the varied and entertaining reminiscences of his long
and honorable career.

215492

DEDICATED

TO

EDWIN MARKHAM

My beloved pupil of long ago— he and I can never forget the little

schoolhouse in the sunny Suisun hillSy where we

together found our lives^

• *t

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PA68

I. Voyage to San Francisco Around Cape

Horn in 1849 ^

II. The Strenuous Life of Early Days in

Stockton 8

III. School Days in Los Angeles in 1855 23

IV. San Francisco from 1849 to the Civil
War 39

V. The Pastimes, Occupations and Pleas-
ures of the Early Rural Communities
OF California 54

VI. Types of Pioneers Before xhp Age of

Gold 66

VII. Sights and Sounds in the Great City 86

VIII. Some Old Newspapers and Their Great

Editors 113

IX. A Group of Great Lawyers . .136

X. The Pulpit and Pulpit Orators . 166

XI. The Old California Theater and Its

Immortals 190

Xll. Some Old Bankers, Merchants and

Financiers 216

XIII. A Few Immortal Names of a Great

Profession 236

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PA6B

XIV. A Horseback Ride from San Francisco

TO Seattle 246

XV. From Village to Metropolis . . 261

XVI. The Discovery and Evolution of a Poet 294

XVII. Into the Desert .... 309

XVIII. Death Valley, Its Mysteries and Its

Secrets 329

XIX. A Summer Jaunt in the High Sierras 347

XX. Unique Characters of the Desert —

Man and Animal .... 369

XXI. Some Eccentric Lives . . . 385

XXII. Three Heroes — An Indian, A White

Man and A Negro . . . . 404

XXIII. Incidents of Frontier Life . . 420

XXIV. Two Great Sheriffs .... 435

XXV. A Transplanted Railroad and the Man

Who Transplanted It • . . 455

Life on the Pacific Coast

Chapter I

VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO AROUND
CAPE HORN IN 1849

ly yTY father was a Presbyterian clergyman, of Puri-
■^'■*- tan strain. Delicate health drove him, a
young man, from the rigors of Massachusetts to
the climate of Florida and thence to Alabama.

In his wanderings among the healing warmths of
the south, in York District, South Carolina, he met
the gentle woman who became my mother, and was
his helpmate in his work on the Pacific.

In the early summer of 1849, the Board of Do-
mestic Missions of the Presbyterian Church, desiring
to establish stations of that denomination upon the
shores of the Pacific, represented by the then almost
unknown land of California, sent three ministers to
California — Albert Williams to San Francisco; Syl-
vester Woodbridge to Eenicia (shortly thereafter capi-
tal of the State, now a sleepy-hollow village reposing
upon the slopes of the hills which lie northward of
Carquinez Straits) and my father, James Woods, to
the city of Stockton, then an important distributing
point for the southern mines.

I

4

I

2 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Our family consisted of my father, my mother and
four children.

The principal tide of travel at this time from the
Atlantic to the Pacific Coast was by mule trail across
the Isthmus of Panama. The inconveniences of trans-
portation; the terrible threat of the climate and the
inability to secure any comforts made this trip from
the Gulf of Mexico to the Pacific Coast, for such a
family, practically impossible.

Well we remember looking from the high windows
of some now unknown hotel, down in that portion of
the city about Wall Street, near Bowling Green, when
we first saw the City of New York. We were but
three years of age, and yet to this day we recall the
impression made by the clustered buildings which
stretched between the East and the Hudson Rivers.

Lying at anchor in the East River lay a little Dutch-
built bark, destined for San Francisco, The name,
we remember to this day. was Alice Tarleton. She
was a rude vessel, with no lines of beauty, but many of
strength. Her timbers were after the manner of the
Dutch, in the manufacture of their furniture, mortised
together. This fact, doubtless, makes it possible for us
in 1909 to recite the story of that voyage, for her ex-
periences in the Atlantic and at Cape Horn were al-
most a tragedy of the seas, for none but a strongly
constructed sea-craft could have weathered the tre-
mendous storms which smote her from time to time
on that eventful voyage.

From New York to San Francisco required eight
months of tedious crawling across the seas, when not
in combat with merciless storms. Memory does not

VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO 3

recall much of the trip until we reached the City of

Rio Janeiro, but the vision there disclosed to our

youthful eves was so exquisite, that a permanent im-

I pression was made, and we are able perfectly, at the

I end of these long years, altho many exciting in-

f stances have intervened, to accurately describe the city

and its environments, together with many scenes which

occurred there during our stay, as well as the storm

which drove us for terrible days and more terrible

nights, during two weeks, almost to the shores of

Africa.

Our sea trail was almost identical with that of the
splendid fleet, which, led by "Fighting Bob," made the
trip from Hampton Roads to San Francisco, and, un-
der the leadership of other gallant naval officers, made
safely the circuit of the globe. If this great white fleet,
pride of the nation, the glory of navy building, had
encountered the terrible storm which our little bark
did at Cape Horn, doubtless the history of its voyage
would have been different, and the ribs of some of
_ <the great battle-ships would be lying upon the shores
Mf the southern seas, and many a gallant seaman
r would have "sunk to sleep with monstrous shapes
that haunt the deep,"

As we attempted to round the Horn, we encountered
a storm which lasted for two weeks, driving us day
and night almost continuously submerged under roar-
ing seas, until our little bark settled into calm, and we
found ourselves within eight hundred miles of the
Cape of Good Hope. Our cargo had shifted and we
were compelled to return to Rio Janeiro to readjust
This readjustment required the taking out and

4

^^it. This r<

4 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

replacing of the entire cargo, which took six weeks.
It was during these weeks that the beauty of the
wonderful bay, the splendor of the marvelous city,
the glory of the towering mountains, were made per-
manent in our youthful mind; not only these, but
the human features peculiar to that southern capital.
We can to this day recall the deep blue waters which
have no duplicate in all the world; the beautiful city
throned at the base and along the slopes of a jutting
branch of the Andes; the perfect southern skies and
sea. Blue bay, bluer sky, wondrous hill slopes and
splendid city are still the parts of a living vision, after
fifty years.

We remember many human things, as tho it
were but yesterday, among which were seventy thou-
sand native troops, half clothed, who were reviewed
in the streets of the city by the Emperor. We recall
the occasion; the appearance and the lack of proper
garbing of the troops, but can not quite recall the
reason of the review.

Our deep respect for the Catholic Church had its
birth in a visit to one of the great cathedrals, where
roof and walls and altar were by noble art made
spiritually suggestive to the heart and imagination of
the simple worshipers. No pews invited the wor-
shiper, but princess and beggar knelt side by side
under the swelling dome and worshiped at a com-
mon altar without distinction of person or purpose.
This democracy of religion imprest itself upon our
youthful mind, never to be lost.

On the slopes of the mountain near the city we
wandered at will by the courtesy of their keepers

VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO 5

amid the foliage of the imperial gardens. The Woom
and fragrance of tropical foliage, semi-tropical tree
and shrub, and the tree life of the temperate zone
intermingled, made these gardens a dream of beauty.

In the presence of all this beauty there occurred, on
our ship's decks, one of the minor tragedies of the
world — a tragedy minor because it did not afifect the
world generally, but to the poor victim, it was the
tragedy of the universe. A young man, of brilliant
attainments and of an honored family in New York,
had been sent on the trip for the purpose of winning
him from a habit which has enslaved hosts of
great men. Across the Atlantic, after the terrible
atorm, he came with us back to Rio Janeiro. Shore
leave was fatal, and on a beautiful afternoon, amid
all the beauty of the bay, mountain and sky, he was
brought upon the deck of the litde bark to die of de-
hrium tremens. On a radiant afternoon, amid the
contortions of his inflamed imagination, his eyes closed
forever. What could be more in contrast with the
iweetness of the things about us, than this young man,
'in the glory of his manhood, dying in terror amid the
beauty of the world?

After the readjustment of the cargo, our little bark
again breasted the seas and finally succeeded in round-
ing the Cape. It was a case in those days of rounding .
the Cape. The navigators of the world had not yet
fully determined the presence of dangerous rocks and
treacherous shores, and the safe navigator rounded
the Cape, as a matter of precaution, hugging the frozen
.shores of the Antarctic Circle, rather than the dark
shores of Tierra del Fuego, through the straits.

^^L shores of

^

I

6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Through the stress of storms, the burning heat of
pulseless calms, our little bark, for several months
more, fought its way along the western shore of
the Continent, until in February, 1850, tt entered the
Golden Gate, and cast its anchor in the Bay of San
Francisco.

In my nurse's arras I was carried to the mainland
of California from a boat, which landed at what is now
the corner of Montgomery and Jackson Streets, in
the present city.

The city was but a conglomerate of rude buildh^,
massed about a civic center, where now is Portsmouth
Square, and from whence, in straggling groups, rude
cabins and white tents dotted the slope of Telegraph
Hill, Clay Street Hill and Russian Hill. The western
limit of the city was inside of what is now Powell
Street and the southern hmit far north of present
Market Street.

Gold had been discovered ; a restless fever was in the
blood of men and the streets of the crude little city
pulsed with the excitement of men drawn from all
parts of the United States and all quarters of the
globe. It was an incongruous group, made up of all
types, colors, faiths and conditions, actuated by a com-
mon purpose and one hope. Among these were men
afterwards famed as jurists, statesmen, poets and
scholars.

Perhaps in no similar exterior boundaries was ever
gathered together a group of men in which was ex-
hibited more of splendid physique, matchless courage,
lofty genius and aspiring ambition. Names then un-.
known afterwards in all departments of life made the

^^p world's p£

VOYAGE TO SAN FRANCISCO

I world's pages of history luminous by splendid achieve-
ments. The good woman commanded a reverence
never more intensely exprest among men. Men were
lonely for the companionship of women, were hungry
for the sweetness of home life, and on this verge
of the world thirsted for the sweetness of pure
womanhood. It was the glory of the early Califor-
nia days that a good woman could travel from one
end of the city to the other at any hour of the day
or night, protected by her own sweetness, and every
man whom she met constituted himself, while she was
within his presence, and as long as she was within his
horizon, her special guardian.

Men were real in those fine days. Sham had
slim chance to succeed when met by the strenuous
Ironesty of men who knew that they were moral be-
ings and acted up to their knowledge. The com-
munity weighed and branded men, and this brand was
the badge by which their fellows recognized them.
The terrible outbreak of 1856- against wrong and
wrong-doing and the heroic work of the Vigilance
Committee was the volcanic expression of the pas-
sionate love of the people of the young city for justice
and civic righteousness. There was moral strength
and beauty- in the lives of those who made up its
citiKenship.

Chapter 11

THE STRENUOUS LIFE OF EARLY DAYS IN

STOCKTON

A WILD current was in the Uood of men in the dajs
^^ of 1850; an indifference to all things except
gold, a restless energy was the mood of men, who
in other places, and under other conditions, would
have been sedate. All were young: many of rare
qualities of mind. Moral restraints were relaxed;
home was beyond the motmtains or across the seas,
and the sweet influence of the fireside, which ordi-
narily held men obedient to fine action, was laddng:
Men in the mass were reckless, actuated only by the
excitement of their environment San Francisco was
the sole seaport of the State, and Sacramento and
Stockton the inland distributing points for the mines,
then the seat of all the activities of the State. Sacra-
mento ocatpied the site of Sutter's Fort, and was an
aspiring village, from which radiated aH of the trade
of the northern mines; while Stockton, then an am-
bitious town, rivaled Sacramento in its voliune of trade
with the southern mines.

Men who were afterwards prominent in political
life — lawyers, doctors and merchant princes — were
engaged in toil with their hands. No distinction ex-

8

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 9

isted ; men were ranked by their fellows by what they
could do, and what they did. Life was robust, and the
relaxing pleasures intense. Intellect was at high tide,
and passion at a white heat.

Men in the main were honest, generous and brave.
Crime, except by violence, was seldom committed,
and petty offenses were the abomination of men who
dealt only with large things in a big way. Murder
might be condoned, while mere thefts were frequently
punished by death. The population had so far come
from the States, and the foreigner had but little part
in the early possession of California.

Stockton was a typical town, and its daily life an
expression of life everywhere. The "survival of the
fittest" was the ruling law, and constituted the equa-
tion of endeavor among men. The strong asked no
quarter from the strong, but a patient kindliness
was extended to the weak. The crowd wrought,
fought, gambled, lived and died, for gold. To-
day might be a comedy, to-morrow a tragedy. In
and out of the streets of the little city a human tide
ebbed and flowed, moving always to the canyons and
slopes and ravines of the hills and mountains, where
were the gold deposits. No man stopt long enough
to view the beauty of the pastoral lands that spread
out under the blue skies ; none dreamed of the orchard
or vineyard, or of a home in the radiance. These
were no part of the hope of the restless throng rush-
ing to the mines. However, in it all was the germ of
the future — of the present splendid empire of product
and population, which is now a romance and a com-
monwealth.

I UiUUWCdllll.

L

lb LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

To a boy of five 3'ears, the restless activity was fas-
cinating, and many a <lay the school-bell called in vain
to tardy feet, that lingered amcng the moving^ pano-
rama — great twenty-mule teams, drawing immense
wagons, popalarly called "prairie schooners," loaded
with tons of provisions to feed the miners in the hills;
pack-trains, loaded for the remoter places, reached
only by trail ; the patient burro lazily pacing along with
the prospector's outfit, and now and then the slow-
moving ox-team of the incoming immigrant, just in
from the plains, dusty and picturesque, the peculiar
type of men "all the way from Pike." "John China-
man" had reached the land, and now and then moved
in and out of the kaleidoscopic scene, and sometimes
"Mary," his consort, was seen with him, adding, with
her fantastic garb and headgear, an Oriental cast to
the picture.

There was tragedy and death, TJie brilliance of
their hopes blinded many a sedate conscience.
Memories of the quiet and charm of the Eastern home
became clouded and indistinct amid the temptations of
this enticing life. Never before in the history of the
world had there been such a promise to the expecta-
tions of men, and the very flower of the land was here,
to wrest riches from the abimdant earth.

The late comer in these days of commerce — days of
occupations which deal with the earth as a producer
of grain, the apple, the orange and the grape — has but
little conception of how abundant gold was in the
early days. It has been said, and it is doubtless witb
rare exception true, that during some time in his Hit
in California, every man who worked in the mines had

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON

in his hands, as the fruit of his toil, at least sufHcient
to have constituted a competence, beyond his dream,
when he started from his Eastern home.

Men wrought as individuals, not in combina-

■lioii. The partnership was a frequent relation, but

■file corporate form of action had not yet been adopted,
and while ordinarily great fortunes were not made,
individual competency was accomplished, and this con-
dition exhibited the marvelous extent of the gold-
producing areas, from the Siskiyous, standing between
Oregon and California, to the Mexican line. Gold
was in abundance everywhere — in the ravines, in the
low-lying foothills, in the slopes of the lofty moun-
tains, in the beds of rivers. It had been sown as the

, sower casts his grain.

The deep ledge deposits disclosed by later explora-
ions were not a source of wealth in the early days;

" under the grass-roots were the nuggets and fine gold.
As illustrating this, it is a matter of history that at
Shaw's Flat, a lovely little valley lying just to the
northwest of the town of Sonora, in Tuolumne County,
and covering not more than two hundred acres, there
was a harvest of over one hundred million dollars.
While this particular spot perhaps yielded more than
any other like area, it was typical of the entire gold-
producing area, whose aggregate ran into hundreds
of millions.

"The days of old, the days of gold, the days of
'49" are not the words of a song only, but the ex-
pression of a historical fact. The world stretched
forth its hands into this treasure-house, and its chil-
^Kdren gathered without stint.

^ sowi
^Pnoni

12 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

As a part of all were the lights and shadows of
human experience; lights that were blinding, shadows
that were impenetrable; joy and sorrow, hope and
despair. Experience rose to the highest moral ex-
pression, or descended into the depths of despair. Vice
and virtue, honor and dishonor, were daily companions,
for the limitation of daily life did not permit of segre-
gation, and it was as with the Old Guard at Waterloo
— each must care for himself. To some this condi-
tion was a lifting force, to others the pressure was
downwards — the good became better, and the bad
worse. This was the inevitable. It may be that it
was no more inevitable than it is in these days, for
still the moral grind goes on, some rising, some fall-
ing, day by day.

The most terrible of all things occurring in those
days were individual cases of crime, involving some
of the finest types of the young. Many a gray-haired
"Mother in Israel," in the sanctuary of her Eastern
home, sat by the old cradle of her first-bom and sang
"Where is my wandering boy to-night?" to which
refrain came an answer never. Her boy was in his
grave, slain by a bullet, or dying at the end of the
strangling rope on the gallows. As a boy, I well re-
member two striking examples of both.

One beautiful Sunday morning, while my father and
I were passing down the street on the way to church,
we heard a shot and saw a rushing crowd. A young
man in the flush of his powers had been shot down,
while sitting in a bootblack stand, by another young
man, with whom he had had ^ quarrel during the
previous night, over the gambling table. There were

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 13

no words, just a shot, and a dead man was lying in

his blood, lifting to the radiance of a perfect day a
stilled, white face. The young man was a gambler,
associated with one of the leading saloons of the
town. He was popular, and the gamblers desired
that he should have a Christian burial, and my
father was solicited to perform the rites over him.
It was a peculiar funeral. There was no place in
the little town where such a service could be held,
so the saloon was closed, and, standing upon the bil-
liard table, my father officiated in pathetic service
over some mother's son. Whether she ever heard of
her son's death I do not know; I remember, however,
another occasion on which my father officiated, of
which the mother never knew.

Horse-stealing in these days was punishable by
death. A young man about twenty-five years of age,
a splendid specimen of vigorous manhood, of high
order of intellect and attainments, had become the
leader of a band of horse-thieves, operating about
Stockton. The operations of the gang were concealed
for many months, but finally the officers of the law
succeeded in running them to cover, and found them
camped in a little grove near the city, from which as
a base they carried on their depredations. No one
knew the real name of the leader. He was only
"Mountain Jim." Associated' with him, as one of his
'lieutenants, was a man of low instincts, vile and des-
perate, known as "Dutch Fred." The main gang
escaped, but these two were taken, tried and sentenced
to death. My father, after the sentence, attended
fliese men in jail, and did what he was called upon

I

I
I

^^1 tiiese n

Jj

14 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

as a minister to do in order to prq)are them morally
for death.

Dutch Fred refused to accept advice or couiisel» de-
claring that he wanted to die as he had lived With
Mountain Jim it was different His terrible doom,
the recollections of home and mother, softened his
spirit, and the memories of his youth made him ap-
proachable and penitent, and he sought fervently for
forgiveness and died penitent Before the execution
he gave to my father a statement of his early lif^ of
his career, and the name of his people, prominent
in the Eastern States, but asked that this be kept secret,
for he did not wish them to know that he had died a
felon. That secret was kept

I will never forget the day of the execution, and
perhaps no such scene was ever enacted in any place
outside of California. The gallows were in open
view ; the execution was public, and throngs were pres^
ent. From the jail to the gallows the condemned men
rode upon their cofiins on a common dray. Mountain
Jim, stately, handsome, brave and penitent, died like
a man* The other, true to his low instincts, died ac-
cording to his ideas of life, and as the spring was
touched, which landed him in Eternity, shouted to
the crowd "Here we go, girls," and thus the brutal
wretch faced the issues of the Hereafter.

Another tragedy, involving the death of a brilliant
young man, stirred the little city to its depths.
Two young journalists, Taber and Mansfield, were
engaged in the conduct of rival jomtials. At first they
were friendly, drawn together by community of attain-
ments and interests. As time progressed, however, the

I

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON 15

rivalry of business and other interests broug;ht about
a separation of friendship, and this finally drifted into
deadly hate. In the columns of their respective papers,
daily they abused each other in the most violent terms,
until the newspaper war attracted universal attention,
and raised the expectation of every one to the pending
tragedy which occurred as a result of this rivalry and
iate. The matter became so heated and the danger of
deadly collision so immediate, that men of prominence
■ia the community, mutual friends of both, endeavored
ifcy every persuasion to heal the breach, and to prevent
-the conclusion which happened not long afterwards.
After a particularly violent attack made by one upon
the other, they met upon a street of the city, and, with-
out any discussion, fought a deadly duel. Mansfield
was shot down by Tabor, while Tabor escaped un-
harmed. The story of this tragedy became a national
story, as the matters involved in the controversy were
of political moment, and the brilliant character of the
young men had made them known among news-
paper men. The name of Mansfield became cele-
brated afterwards by reason of the fact that he was
the father of Josie Mansfield, whose relations with Jim
Fisk in New York brought about his untimely end at
the hands of Stokes. At this time, she was a beauti-
ful little schoolgirl, fair of face, and fascinating in
manner. The prophecy of her future triumphs over
men through her beauty was in her form. Her life
was also a tragedy, for, after her career in New York,
wild and reckless, and bringing about by her coquettish
arts, the tragedy referred to, it was only a few days
igo, in one of the daily papers I read that in some

^K Otll

^^ and se

^H person

^1 comm:

r6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

little Western town, as a charge upon the public char-
ity, she, a gray-haired, broken woman, was closing her
life, with terrible memories, without hope, without
friends.

In the administration of justice, as justice was called
in those days, there was a rude indifference to the
forms of law, and frequently men were arrested, tried
by "Judge Lynch," and executed, without any proof
such as is now required to satisfy a jury beyond a rea-
sonable doubt. In fact, often no actual evidence of
the commission of crime was required, and the whole
matter was frequently determined by the passion of the
moment. In such trials, often, liquor had more to do
with the trial and execution than the judgment of ra-
tional men. One of these trials, which fortunately did
not reach execution, illustrates the danger to a sus-
pected man in the presence of such rough-and-ready
justice, A young man had come into the city a
stranger. He bad every evidence of character and
culture, but unfortunately he was a stranger. There
had been a small band of cattle stolen from near the
city, within a day or two of his arrival. I can not
recall that there were any special reasons why he
should have been suspected of this theft. That he
was a stranger and no one knew of bis former where-
abouts was reason sufficient, and the conclusion was
quickly reached that he must be the man who had
stolen the cattle. He was arrested, given the form
of one of these "Judge L3'nch" trials, found guilty,
and sentenced to death. He was eloquent; had much
personal charm and magnetism. He pleaded with the
committee who composed the court, and said that if

I

^^L result)

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON

they would give him time, he would prove beyond all
question that he had had nothing to do with the theft,
and in fact was far away from the scene at the time
the theft was committed. Some soberer men were
moved by the young man's plea, and said there was no
reason for great haste in the execution, and that as
long as he was secure in the possession of the com-
mittee, he should have this opportunity. Several days
passed and finally the young man was able to prove
beyond any peradventure that he was not guilty, and
was many miles distant from the scene of the theft,
on his way from some distant point to the city of
Stockton at the time ; and he was given his liberty and
became a valued member of the community.

Many such trials took place in different sections of
Cahfornia, and doubtless many an innocent man was
sent to his death by unjust suspicion.

Among the young men in Stockton at this time
there were two restless spirits, moved more by the
love of adventure than a desire for riches. One of
these was Henry Crabb, a handsome, resolute,
soldierly fellow, inspired by a great ambition to es-
tablish somewhere in the West a little empire of his
own. He was a magnetic talker ; of great per-
suasiveness. Going among the young men of the
town, who had no particular vocation and who had
not yet gone to the mines, he gathered a band as am-
bitious and resolute as himself, and they, with Crabb
as their leader, departed from Stockton on a filibuster-
ing scheme, into some territory belonging to Mexico.
The enterprise was fraught with great danger, and
resulted in disaster. Crabb and his followers were

i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

captured by the Mexicans, and, without trial, shot a
unlawful invaders of the country. The main features
of the story I can not recall, but as it floated up out
of the Mexican territory I remember it as full of
pathos and tragedy.

William Walker, who was afterwards famous as
a filibuster leader in Nicaragua, was also for a time
resident in Stockton. He gathered about him a few
spirits like himself, and enlarging his band in other
portions of the country, went with his followers into
Nicarag;ua, and there met with failure; he and his
followers were executed as brigands. So ended the
warlike enterprises of these daring and desperate
young men, endowed with more ambition than wis-
dom.

A large number of Mexicans, men and women,
were a part of the population of the little town, many
of non-law-abiding habits. Most of the women were
given to the fandango ; the man to marauding, altho
many of them were honest miners and came into the
country with honest purpose. Among these honest
miners was a young Mexican who afterwards became
one of the most famous bandits of his day — Joaquin
Murrieta, whose name, within a few years of the time
of which I write, was a terror to the entire State, a
daring, desperate, picturesque criminal. He banded
together a number of the most desperate and vicious
criminals in the world, one of whom, his chief lieu-
tenant, was known as "Three-Fingered Jack."

Their depredations were confined to no special part
of the country; they roamed at will, struck one point
and another almost as the lightning does, with won-

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON

19

derful rapidity in movements, eluding always the hand
of the law, until in 1863, Colonel Harry Love, aided
by Sheriff Henry Morse, with a band of determined
men. drove Joaquin, by which name he was generally
known, and his gang, into a corner, at Tufiare Lake,
and after a terrible gun-fight killed both Joaquin and
Three-Fingered Jack, captured others, and thus
broke up the gang. That Joaquin was killed has
been a matter of dispute, but in any event he was
not heard of again. The story of Joaquin's career
was peculiar and pathetic. H« was driven to his des-
perate courses by an act of injustice on the part of
some Americans who had taken into their hands the
punishment of some minor offense which they, with-
out proof, charged to Joaquin, and of which he was
guiltless. He was found guilty by a "Lynch law"
committee and sentenced to he stript and whipt,
and he, mutilated, disgraced and dishonored, was
turned loose and ordered to leave the country. The
indignity and humiliation turned the hitherto kind-
ly spirit into a burning furnace of hate, made him
the foe of the American, and led him into a career of
crime that has been perhaps nowhere, for its romantic
desperation, equaled in the world. He was of a most
daring nature, and .in his marauding expeditions ex-
hibited the wildest courage; took the most desperate
chances. It was his habit to appear at points un-
attended, and after flirting with the senoritas at the
fandango halls, carousing with his friends, practically
doing whatever he chose, announce himself as Joaquin,
mount his horse, and often, amid a shower of bullets,
l*scape to his next scene of adventure. Many thou-

20 UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

sands of dollars worth of property was taken, and
many lives sacrificed by him and his men, always
ready to fight with the hated American.

With the exception of Joaquin and his band, the
country was practically free of bandits, and the going
and coming of people in even the loneliest trails in
the mountains was without especial peril. This was
the condition during the first years of the California
occupation. As the country filled up, however,
there came a different class of men from various parts
of the world, and there began to be more violence,
disorder and crime. The organization of the country
into a territory, with its governmental machinery, had,
however, an influence for peace, and finally on Sep-
tember 9, 1850, by an Act of Congress, the State was
admitted to the Union.

Communication between the States and California
at that time was by slow ox-team across the plains,
or by sea and across the Isthmus. The Isthmus voy-
age required a month, and it was about the middle of
October before we knew that the State had been ad-
mitted. Well I remember the celebration had in the
city of Stockton in October. That the State had been
admitted as a free State, and the Southern element
defeated in its attempt to add it to the slave-holding
territory, was a matter of great rejoicing among the
majority of the people.

There was much bitterness of feeling over this
raging question, and the exciting discussion in Con-
gress, a part 6f the history of those days, had stirred
the minds of all sections to a white heat. California
came near being made a part of the slave-holding

EARLY DAYS IN STOCKTON

States when, in the Rebellion times, if oft-stated
historical facts are true, a conspiracy was entered
into among noted Southereners to turn the State over
to the Southern Confederacy, and to hold it as part
thereof under the name of the "Pacific Republic."
It has passed into history, that the fact that General
Sumner, who had been detailed by the Government
to take possession of Fort Mason, and to assume im-
mediate command of the federal troops in California,
arrived at the critical moment and assumed command,
alone caused the preservation of California to the
Union.

Lying about Stockton, in the early days, was a waste
of tules, under a sea of water. Where now are ex-
tended fields of asparagus, square miles of potato
lands, and rich pastures, presenting a region of con-
stantly increasing agricultural wealth, was then re-
garded as permanent wastes of water ; and where now
smiling villages, homes beautiful, and miles of vine-
yards and orchards, glorify the land, was then re-
garded as fit only for the pasturage of cattle. The
productive character of the land and climate was not
considered, and lands as fertile as the lowlands of the
Nile were purchasable from the Government at $1.25
an acre, and even during the war for less, when green-
backs, a legal tender at the Land Offices, were pur-
I chasable for quite a while for thirty-three and one-
" third cents on the dollar. Far-seeing speculators
availed themselves of this condition, and bought lands
from the Government, paying $1.25 an acre therefor
in greenbacks, purchased from money brokers at these
r rates, Many men with small means thus became ex-

^^L rates, Man

22 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

tensive landowners, and afterwards of great wealth.
The change in the natural condition of the country
from open, unoccupied, waste land, to a great area of
garden lands, vineyards, orchards, pasture lands and
grain fields, came about as gold became scarcer wad
men more familiar with the rare ^alities of our
climate, and the marvelous richness of the soil.

The little village of 1850 has become a modem city
with all the environments of cultivated life, and the
lonely acres then lying as waste places under the sun
now bloom as the rose.

Chapter IIT

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES IN 1855

rpHK little mother longed for her Southern home
■*■ and kindred after the chaotic conditions of Cali-
fornia, and after a patient endurance for four years,
was given respite, and with two of her younger chil-
dren braved the sea and the Isthmus, on a homeward
voyage. The necessity for a climatic change on his
part carried my father, with my eldest brother and my-
self, during her absence, to the southern portion of the
State, even then famous for its salubrious and heal-
ing climate. No Pullman train, luxurious with the
appointments of ease, carried the traveler over the five
hundred miles of plain, hill and desert. It was travel-
ing by sea again, and for the first time after the weary
voyage around the Horn, we were upon the briny deep.
The old Senator, then in her prime, was running
between San Francisco and San Pedro, and because
she was staunch was a favorite with the public. As
the sun sank in a blaze of glory, on an autumn after-
noon, we steamed out of the Golden Gate and bucked
into a tumultuous sea, and, as the little steamer breasted
the swells, we recalled the experiences around the
Horn. Up and down, sideways and criss-cross, she
rolled and tossed and bounded, her throbbing engines
33

24 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

driving her steadily, however, past the headlands and
the Farallones, into the open roadway of * the sea.
For substantial reasons, we were not hungry when the
bell rang for dinner, and, had we been, there was but
little opportunity to have satisfied our hunger, for
the rolling tables sent flying dishes over the cabin.
The law of association was at work, and we, in mem-
ory, were again in the grip of that awful storm of the
Southern Atlantic, where we fought the wind and
waters for two weeks. Discretion drove us to the
stateroom, where we fought for rest until the dawn.
With the dawn came peace, and as we lifted our eyes
across the waters to the shoreline, we saw in the per-
fect beauty of a typical California morning, the Bay
of Monterey, with its historic town, where first floated
our Flag, symbol then as now of dominion; of free-
dom and justice. We were in an atmosphere of his-
tory and romance, but halted long enough only to
send off the mail and passengers, and thence onward
to the South, to Santa Barbara, then a sleepy Mission
town, which in the radiant sunshine sloped from the
shore toward the hills.

Santa Barbara was a typical town of that Church
which in the past century had possest the most
favored spots of the State, lifted the Cross, and, un-
der the roofs, and in the cloisters of cathedrals, now
world-famed, gathered together the native tribes that
they might be taught the old, old story, and become fa-
miliar with the arts of civilization. Many a pathetic
story of consecration and sacrifice has been given to the
world concerning these Missions, and it would add
nothing to the world's knowledge to write more. Many

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 25

of these old cathedrals, with their outlying buildings,
the home for long years of priest and devotee, are fall-
ing into decay, and while the lovers of the historic and
romantic are making some effort now to save them
from the teeth of time, the State itself has, for fifty
years, practically done nothing to preserve these his-
toric places from ruin. Future generations of those who
love romance and beauty will regard as most worthy
of preservation these historic Missions. As a State,
we have been unmindful of our rarest treasure and
have sat idly by while priceless things have been perish-
ing. We have never, in a public -way, gathered to-
gether any traditions or lore to fill the storehouses
from which some future Prescott shall be able to
gather marvelous data, and write of real things, more
brilHant and fascinating than all the dreams of imagi-
nation. Some great names like Junipera Serra are im-
mortal, and the story of their heroism is the world's
permanent possession, but no record has been kept
of many simple, patient, lonely lives devoted to work
and prayer among the simple natives.

The angelus floated out from the old Mission tower
as we weighed anchor in the calm of a summer even-
ing, and down the coast, past the hills of the Coast
Range, a picture of solacing beauty, we continued
our way. The everchanging panorama; the excite-
ment of ship life; the taking on of new acquaintance-
ships with boys traveling like ourselves, to which
was added the expectation of what was to be at the
end of the trip, made this voyage fascinating to the
robust hopes of a boy of eight years.

It was on a southern California morning, with its

^^1 It was or

-^ J

H held

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

dreamy lights and drifting fogs, that our little steamer
swung into the roadway of San Pedro. This port was
in those days without its later ambitions, and con-
sisted of a rude wharf, with some ruder shacks climb-
ing the cIiff,about the more pretentious buildings of the
transportation company, which controlled the steam-
ship business of the coast. It had no trade except
the loading and unloading of vessels, which here, for
Los Angeles, brought its necessary goods and carried
away the hides and tallow, the principal items of ex-
port, and fruits for the markets of the north. The
traffic was not heavy in those primitive days, before
man cared for or knew of the wondrous things that
since have made of this region a storehouse of material
wealth; a sanitarium for the distrest; a place of
dreams for him who, amid the fragrant vineyards,
olive groves Eind orange blossoms, now sweetens his
hope with the visions of things beautiful and com-
forting.

At San Pedro, a rude stage tocrfc us up, and we
were jolted over more than twenty miles of dusty
road, leading through a treeless plain, dry and bare ex-
cept where mustard fields grew almost into trees, and
in the bright sunshine, with their vivid yellow, made
the eyes ache. Bands of cattle, wild as deer, wandered
about in the yellow wilderness ; thousands of squirrels,
here and there as the lumbering stage startled them,
scattered and scampered for safety, into the holes they
divided with the rattlesnake and the owl. In the dis-
tance the outlines of the Sierra Madres rose majesti-
cally against the East, where Wilson and Old Baldy
held dominion of the higher sky. The snowy sum-

J

^H was ti

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES

mils were grateful to us in the dusty road, and we
hoped soon to escape from the dreary plain, into the
little Pueblo, where we should find rest. The Pueblo
was the most important settlement between San
Francisco and Mexico. Great expectations were in our
mind as we drew near to the historic town, where
we were first to see the olive, the orange, the vine
and pomegranate. We had read in the Bible of such
lands, and in imagination were familiar with them,
for Solomon had sung of a land where in the Oriental
springtime "The flowers appear upon the earth; the
time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice
of the turtle is heard in the land ; the fig tree putteth
forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender
grape give a good smell,"

Even at the end of long years, the memory of our
first moment among the orchards and vineyards is
fascinating. Like scenery in a dream, the picture of
Los Angeles, first seen, is in our mind. Its loveli-
ness made us draw long, deep breaths of delight as the
beauty of it slowly unfolded to our young eyes.

Words are vain when we try to express deep emo-
tions, and we have but little hope of conveying to the
reader of these pages the joy of the boy who stood
in the presence of what to him was the glory of the
world. But once before had we seen things as fine,
and that was on the morning when first, from the deck
of our ship, in the Bay of Rio de Janeiro, we looked
out across the sunlit waters, to the beauty of the
Brazilian capital.

The San Pedro road entered the town at what then
was the west end of Main Street, now I believe re-

28 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

named West Spring Street. It was said at that time
that the mixed population of Spaniard, Mexican,
American and Indian, did not exceed twelve hundred.
Some idea can be formed from these figures, where the
then Western limits were. The old cathedral, facing its
ancient plaza, was the center from which radiated the
streets, along which were grouped the houses in more
or less compact clusters. Down this main street we
drove to the Bella Union, then standing near the
plaza of the cathedral. This bore the same relation
to the little adobe town that the stately "Alexandria"
does to the modern city. The main occupation was
north of the Rio de los Angeles, that, warm and lazy,
flowed, as if asleep, in and out of the orchards and
vineyards it nourished. The adjacent hills, now
crowned with palaces fit for the occupation of princes,
were dull and bare, except where grew in great patches
that species of prickly pear known as the "Tunas,"
sweet and red, toothsome to us afterwards, tho indul-
gence led to lips and tongue swollen with the fine
needles that covered them. We often suspected that
these were to torment truant boys who stole from the
schoolroom to feed on their red sweetness.

Over the rim of these hills, and beyond, we chased
the nimble rabbit, and hunted the lark. For this hunt-
ing we have searched for forgiveness, for long ago we
learned to love the yellow -breasted innocent of the
fields, whose three little notes make our California
mornings sweet with music.

It was in the midst of the fruit season, and it did
not take a boy long, who had never gathered a fig from
a tree or seen a cluster of purple grapes on its vine,

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 29

to arrange friendships that gave him entree to orchards
and vineyards — what a delightful revel it was in the
abundance of both! Appetite and capacity seemed
without limit. We gathered with both hands and de-
voured the sweets without rest, and wondered how the
earth could yield with such prodigality things that
were so delightful to both eye and taste. We had read
of Damascus, with its rivers of Abarna and Pharpar,
nourishing her gardens in the desert, and as we wan-
dered at will in the cool and fragrance of the autumn
fruitage here, we fell under the spell that for ages
had made that ancient city, in the heart of desolation,
the synonym for repose and consolation.

All of the Los Angeles vineyards and orchards had
the atmosphere of the Orient; the charm of the an-
cient gardens, where old races dreamed, and where
in the bloom of rose gardens and orange groves, lovers
wooed their maids in a forgotten tongue. The charm
of these first days in Los Angeles has never perished,
and in these days, as we stand where palaces of trade,
caravansaries, courts of justice, and national adminis-
tration buildings, illustrative of the constructive art
of the twentieth century, rise in stateliness, we do
not want to forget the little pueblo, where adobe casas,
one story in height, were sufficient for the simple
homes of those who here lived, satisfied with the blue
skies, the bloom and the romance.

Spanish was the common tongue. Both Mexican
■ and Indian spoke it, with no more violation of its
I idiom or accent than the uneducated American in his
I speech violates the English tongue. The habits of the
; people were faithful copies oi Spanish customs. The

30 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

little pueblo was under the dominion of the Catholic
Church, and the cathedral controlled from its cloisters
the home and the school. Other faiths struggled for
a foothold, but made no inroads upon this dominion
of the Mother Church.

The priest was in authority, and he held his flock
with firm hand. At no place in all of California was
the authority of the Roman Church more obeyed and
revered. Its services were crowded with devotees, to
whom its decrees were inviolable. They made no ques-
tion, but in absolute faith knelt at its altars and wor-
shiped according to the form and in the phrase of«
the Holy Church.

The cathedral had a host of priests in attendance,
holding daily services; its doors were never closed.
In and out of its portals, during the hours of the day
and night, a steady stream of old and young, rich and
poor, devout and sinful, poured, seeking consolation.
The calendar was crowded with Saints' Days, and it
was a most frequent sight to see from the doors of
the cathedral issue a procession of priests and acolytes,
marching in solemn order with the Exalted Host and
banners, around the plaza, while multitudes knelt in
reverent attitudes. This was the second exhibition to
me, the son of a Protestant minister, of the forms and
ceremonies of this great Church, by which it held mas-
tery over the lives and souls of its followers. The first,
as we have said before, was in the cathedral at Rio de
Janeiro. The reverence of the people extended to the
cathedral itself, and no Catholic ever crossed in front
of it without uncovering his head. This manifesta-
tion of reverence imprest me greatly, and many a

I

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 31

time, as I passed before it, I instinctively uncovered
my head, for somehow the spell of the old church was
irresistible. Often in the streets, as the angelus
bells from the towers of the cathedral rang out upon
the evening air, have I seen senor, seiiora and sefiorita,
halt with uplifted face and obey the call to worship.
This custom was universal, and it mattered not what,
at the moment, was the occupation, all worshiped as
the angelus rang out.

Mixed, however, with this obedience to the form
and ceremony of the Church, there was among a cer-
tain class more than abundance of riot and disorder.
There were desperate characters who defied the law
and preyed upon their fellows. These lived without
toil, and gathered where they had not sown. The
fandango houses were often the centers of lawless-
ness, where mad jealousies, fed by intoxication, bred
daily conflicts, and murder made horrible nights of
unbridled revelry. The police record of the first two
weeks of our advent, if intact in these days, will show
twelve murders. They were all in the ranks of the
depraved. Life, the preservation of which should be
the passion of men, had no sacredness when men were
slaying for the very lust of slaying, and murder seemed
a pastime. Desperadoes, with hearts as deadly as a
knife blade, colonized here, without community of in-
terest. Lawlessness was carried on by individuals, not
by bands. None was loyal to the other. Cohesion
was only for the evasion of the officers of the law,
and the criminal hidden to-day to prevent his capture
was liable to be the victim to-morrow, at the hands
of him who hid him. A strange respect, however, ex-

I

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

isted in the minds of this lawless class for the ruling

classes — Spanish, American and Mexican. We do not
recall, during these years that we spent in Los An-
geles, a single act by which any one of these classes,
in person or estate, was molested. This respect had a
psychological base, and was either a race instinct, or a
certain occult wisdom, which recognized that crime
must respect the rights of the orderly classes. It may
have had its origin in the feudal instinct which made
the lord of the manor immune from attack and vio-
lence. "Nigger Alley," situated in the center of the
town, a place obsessed by lust and murder, was no
more a peril to the homes of the law abiding, than
if they were separated by seas.

Lawlessness was not peculiar to Los Angeles, is not
mentioned as being so, and is spoken of because it was
a part of the conditions of those days. It was not
confined to any race, for among those workers of
iniquity were men and women of every clime, mixed
together in a commonwealth of vice.

In municipal government, there was an equation of
power; its officers were fairly divided among the
Spanish, American and Mexican residents. There
were no jealousies, for the reason that long before the
acquisition of California, there had settled here, upon
domains granted to them by the Mexican Government,
a number of Americans and Englishmen of highest
character, who had intermarried into the noble Span-
ish and Mexican families, who were bound by the so-
cial ties and an intermingled blood. In the veins of
their children flowed red airrents of the Anglo-Saxon
and the Latin. Notable among these men were Wil-

J

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 33

"son, Workman, Temple and Stearns, These fine men
ruled over their estates with dignity, and their moral
influence made easy the transfer to the United States
1 of ownership, when our flag displaced the Mexican.
Our flag early became to the native population a sym-
bol of peace and protection. A fine consideration for
old laws, associations, memories and customs was
given by the American to the Mexican, and in the ad-
ministration of our law, personal and property rights
were jealously guarded. Matters of doubt were gra-
ciously resolved in favor of ancient rights, and where
questions were close, equity was thrown into the scales
and justice had her perfect work. The Spaniards and
Mexicans, engaged in secular pursuits, were of neces-
sity limited to the raising of herds of cattle and horses.
By an unwritten law they were feudal lords over
their estates and people. Native Indian retainers, in-
variably attached themselves to these estates, and a
host of Mexican assistants, with their families consti-
tuted a little empire over which the word of these land
barons was law. There was none to dispute, for by a
common consent of a community of like barons, this
was the condition under which they lived. There
was no chance for dispute, for kindness was in the
hearts of these men for those attached to them, and a
generous prodigality was the mood in which they
gave protection and dealt out sustenance to their
feoffs.

Much has been well written of this baronial life,

and in song, story and drama the world has been

made familiar with its dignity, tenderness and beauty.

j^T To this knowledge it would be vain for me to add.

34 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

The population of the pueblo was pleasure-loving,
and music and the dance thrilled the hearts of the
young, while robust outdoor sports furnished amuse-
ment for those of maturer years. The orderly fan-
dar!go was a democratic place, where in the common
pursuit of pleasure distinctions were leveled; all were
welcome, and in the mazes of the waltz the flying feet
of youth and beauty kept time to the delicious melody
of the guitars, and "Eyes looked love to eyes that
spake again."

The young Spaniard and Mexican was proud. His
outlook upon life was unmarred by commerce or care.
Business to him was a means, not a pursuit, his pos-
sessions, the means from which he derived his pleas-
ures. The tireless energy of these days had not
touched his spirit, Romance was the wine of his life,
and when necessity drove him to trade, he exhibited
no modern thirst for dollars. Personally he was in
form and apparel a fascinating figure, and, except when
under the sway of hot passions, smiling and debonair.
He was fit to be the model for the sculptor, a char-
acter for the novelist, and to the painter an inspiration.
In manner he was full of courtesy. The seiiorita —
who can hope to describe her with her exquisite grace
of form and delicacy of feature? Her step was as light
as the fawn's ; her eyes, dreamy with the joy of life.
Her coquettish joyousness was the despair of lovers.
In her moods she was a riddle, and, when she chose to
be, as evanescent as the lights and shades of dawa
Music to her was the breath of life, and without it
she was in despair. She was too sweet for vanity.
She robed herself in fine linen and laces, because they

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 35

"were delicate. Apparel was a handmaiden. She was
a fashion unto herself, and no Parisian modiste could
add to her adornments. A white gown, a delicate
rebosa of lace; a rose in her hair, made her a dream
of sweetness and grace. She was a fascinating crea-
ture, and could it be wondered that men, made mad
by her beauty, fought sometimes to the death ?

One of the pleasant sights in those days was the
dress parade of the afternoon, and evening, when
Main Street was brilliant with the variegated colors
that made up the adornment of senora and senorita.
They were fond of bright colors. The matrons were
serene and dignified, the senoritas smiling and coquet-
tish, and true to the instincts of her sisters, among
all races, and in all ages and lands, cast sly glances
under drooping eyelids at the gallants, always pres-
ent to pay court. They were conscious of their charms,
these dainty damsels, gay with color. They were en-
chanting to the highest degree, and gave color and
grace to the street life of the little city. Well we
remember on Saints' Days, and on the Sabbath Day,
the coming in from the outlying ranches of these
seiioras and seiioritas, and the pecuhar conveyances
used by them, as crude and primitive as those used
by their ancestors for generations before. We have
seen the daintily dressed seiioritas and the digni-
fied senoras coming into the city and to the cathedral,
seated in a carro drawn by two Mexican steers, across
whose horns was lasht a bar of wood to which was
attached the carro's tongue. The bottom of the carro
was an untanned oxhide. In this primitive style,

Eest, with dignity and grace, these wives and
J_

J

I

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

daughters of haughty Mexican and Spanish Dons
rode in state.

There was one exception notable to this form of con-
veyance. We are not at liberty to mention the name
of the lady, still living, whose husband, a rich Bos-
tonian, had purchased for her an elegant American
carriage and a span of bay American carriage horses.
She was a young and beautiful woman, an envied
figure, as she was driven in this elegant equipage
through the streets.

The outdoor sports of the middle class were tbose
peculiar to the Mexican life, and whjch are to be found
in the towns and cities of Mexico. Near the cathe-
dral, and just at the base of the hills, which now are
crowned with residences, was a bull-pen, where excit-
ing bull fights were of frequent occurrence, and which
almost the entire population attended. We well re-
member a bull and bear fight which took place in 1856,
and which was an event that created great excite-
ment, and was a subject of engrossing interest among
all classes. Business was suspended during the after-
noon, and the arena crowded. The crowd was about
fairly divided as partizans of bull and bear. We do
not recall the result of the fight, but remember the
fight itself as an important public event.

Among the vaqueros, contests in horsemanship
were frequent, in which great skill was exhibited.
Wild horses were roped, saddled and ridden; the
frightened animals, frantic with fear and anger,
bucked and reared and plunged in their vain endeavors
to unseat their reckless riders. Sometimes, but not
often, a splendid animal succeeded in his efforts and

I

I

SCHOOL DAYS IN LOS ANGELES 37

sent the rider hurling through the air, as if fired
from a catapult. This accomplished, the wild, splen-
did thing-, with the wings of the wind, fled to freedom
across the plains, carrying with it the sympathy of the
spectator.

One of the principal contests was to bury a rooster
in the earth, leaving exposed only its head. A line of
horsemen then was formed, and one after the other,
at the highest speed, rushed past the buried chicken,
leaned over and grabbed at its exposed head. The
trick was to secure such a firm hold that the rider was
able to pull the rooster from his hole. If he suc-
ceeded, he was victor, and, in addition to whatever
prize was awarded for the feat, was entitled to thrash
with the trophy his unsuccessful competitors.

Often have we seen these rude contests of the horse-
man's skill. The horsemen were not always Mexicans,
altho they were most daring and skilful in all
horsemanship, for the young American had become
expert and often celebrated for a rare cunning with
horse and rope.

Cunning was the skill with which they threw the
lasso, when horse or steer was in full retreat, and
the pursuer, riding like the wind, by twist of the arm,
sent the flying rope yards away, to surely fall on horn
or hoof,

1 A most excli'-sive group were the old Spanish and
'the Mexican Dons, who, as we have written, were
close in relations of friendship by intermarriage. The
Spanish Don was proud but kind; he was fond of
homage and given to certain small displays of dignity.
We can see now DonPio Pico, the last Governor of

38 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

California under the Mexican dominion, riding down
Main Street, his superb horse prancing at every step,
as if he carried a king, while the old Spaniard rode as
if he was at the head of a victorious host, his thousand-
dollar saddle and five-hundred dollar bridle giving
to it all a sort of barbaric splendor. To the left or
right he did not look, but straight forward, and just
a tilt of vanity was in the fine, old head. Thus he
rode down the street, the observed of all observers.
He enjoyed this homage, and was approachable by any
one who, in speech and manner, indicated a recogni-
tion of his past honors and his present dignity.

Don Juan Sepulveda was another fine specimen of
this aristocracy of Dons, and he too was often seen
in the streets, riding his fine steed, with the same
splendor of equipage and the same pride and dignity.
They were to the manner born, and worthy of the
esteem they compelled and enjoyed.

There are splendor and beauty in the great city that
has displaced the little pueblo of long ago. The dead
past has buried its dead, but, with the passing, much
that was fragrant and beautiful and sweet beyond ex-
pression has passed away forever, leaving to cold
pages like these reminiscence, not resurrection.

Chapter IV

SAN FRANCISCO FROM 1849 TO THE CIVIL
WAR

rri HE early occupation of the San Francisco penin-
■-'- sula was typical — a Pueblo and a Mission — the
secular with the religious. The Mexican was reli-
gious, whatever else he might be. He had artistic in-
stinct and religious fervor, and when he founded a
pueblo, he went over the calendar of the saints in
search of a musical name, and when the pueblo be-
came important, he estabHshed a Mission for the con-
version of the natives. The nomenclature of Califor-
nia is rich in names of saints. California at this
time was a province of Mexico, too remote for par-
ticipation in the affairs of tlie general government;
was imder the auxihary control of appointed gover-
nors, and chiefly valued for its contributions to the
nation's treasury at the City of Mexico. Geographi-
cally, it was not part of the land of the Montezumas,
and by the logic of location was a sort of imperium
iti imperio, held by an allegiance founded upon a com-
munity of language, laws, customs and religion. It
was a sort of "opera bouffe" government, carried on
with much "pomp and circumstance," undisturbed by
the home government so long as it yielded allegiance
and revenue. A certain power resided in the landed
39

40 UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Dons and the Mission Padres, for there was a happy
union of Church and State. What disorder could not
be controlled by the secular power, or by the moral
influence of the Dons, was quieted by the threatened
anathemas of the Church, and thus Governor repre-
senting the Home Government, Don exercising a
powerful and beneficent moral rule, and Padre deal-
ing with the consciences and fear of the simple people,
constituted a triumvirate in whose hands was held
* firmly the good order of the peculiar communities
which made up the simple and contented population
of Upper California.

Portola recognized the physical advantages of the
peninsula, by reason of its situation on its magnificent
bay, and the approach thereto from the sea by a gate-
way that has no second in the world. Here was the
site for a city and a military stronghold, and thus
the city of St. Francis had its birth, and the Presidio
and Mission Dolores came into being. Then, as now,
the Potrero Hills, the Mission Hills and Twin Peaks,
were rocky uplifts, green and inviting in the spring,
but bare and yellow in the summer sun.

For years before 1849, ^ lonesome peace brooded
over the little hamlet, which hugged the shore of the
bay, just inside of the high tide line. Its life was
contributed to principally by the section of the State
now occupied by the rich and populous counties of
Sonoma, Napa, Solano, Contra Costa, Alameda, San
Mateo and Santa Clara. This territory was held in
the main by the grantees of the Mexican Government.
Agriculture had as yet no attractions for the owners
of the great estates, for to have made the earth yield

^B of her al

SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849

of her abundance would have required work, and
work was as yet an unknown quantity in California.
To live at ease, in an atmosphere of romance, and to
rely upon the revenues derived from the cattle that
roamed ever the valleys and hills in countless thou-
sands, was more in keeping with the taste and dignity
of these Lords of the Manor. Ships now and then
drifted in through the Golden Gate, and anchored in
the bay, bringing their cargoes to barter for hides and
tallow, the principal products. Money was but little
needed to carry on business, as the necessities of their
simple lives were easily supplied. The luxuries of
these days were confined to the vanities' of personal
adornment, and these the wise owners of the ships sup-
plied. If life is best when we are comfortable and
contented, if simple social intercourse makes for the
dignity of life, if romance has more compensations
for the spirit than commerce, if dreamers are wiser
than toilers, then the changes that came after 1849
and made San Francisco and California the theater of
a restless activity, breaking into simple home life,
marring traditions, and breeding a fever in the hearts
of men, were not for the best, for swiftly began the
disintegrating work, the dreams of peace to pass away,
their places to be usurped by ever restless progress.
The world poured in its multitudes like a stream of
lava from a volcano, reckless of all things but the
acquisition of gold. Slowly at first, but with ac-
celerated speed, old traditions yielded to the new,
rough hands took hold of possibilities, and a cease-
less energy made havoc of things that had counted
■ in the old life for repose and beauty.

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

These new forces were working like the flame of

fever in the spring- of 1850, when as a boy, we landed,
as we have said before, in the mud, at the comer of
what is now Montgomery and Jackson Streets. There
were no wharves, and this point was a favorite landing
place, as it was nearer the firm land than any other
point in the city. Telegraph Hill, then a smooth-
faced pile of rock, lifted sheer from the water its
cliffs, disclosing no inviting cove wherein a boat could
lie. From a point not far east of the present Mont-
gomery Street, in an undulating line extending to the
foot of Rincon Hill, was a stretch of mud flats, out of
sight at high tide, but exposing at low water a long
reach of slime that shone in the sun. An evidence
of these mud flats was disclosed by the late fire, when
at the corner of Sansome and Clay Streets the hulk
of the old ship Ninantic was exposed, where it had
been sunk in the early Fifties, to make the foundation
for the old Nintic Hotel, one of the first-class hos-
telries of early days. We were able to contrast the
first hotels of that day with this day, for many times
we were a guest of that old structure, half ship, half
house.

Our recollections of the city and its environment
are fresh to-day, tho years have intervened, vibrant
with growth and change. The supreme change came
with the complete destruction of April, 1906, when in
two days every historic feature was wiped out, for
the flame of those awful days covered every foot of
ground that was occupied in the early days; not half
a dozen buildings stand to-day to suggest any condi-
tion then existing. The part of the city which es-

i

SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849 43

I from destruction is modern, and has no relation
to the historic town that displaced the sand-hills and
encroached upon the mud-flats of the water-front dur-
ing the years immediately following the inrush of the
first population.

The pueblo grew into a town ; the town into a city,
and the city finally into one of the world's great capi-
tals of commerce. Rapidly at first, that part of the
pueblo, which had for its civic center Portsmouth
Square, filled up its vacant spaces, and then reached
out, expanding from necessity, until the slopes and
apex of Telegraph Hill were covered by dwellings,
and thence out to North Beach and up towards the
summit of Russian, California and Clay Streets' hills,
the town climbed the semi-circle for room. Lots were
carved out of the rocky sides of these high lands, and
streets slashed out of the wilderness of trees and brush
that covered their sides. There was but little of beauty
in the architecture of those days. Men were not build-
ing for the future, were seeking only temporary abid-
ing places, where they could find shelter while they ac-
quired the fortunes they came to seek in this new
land. Shanties made up the great body of the pueblo.
No common purpose was apparent, no community
of taste: no evidence of an intent to permanently
possess. Material and labor were extravagantly high,
and few cared to expend more than what was actually
required to secure a temporary shelter. It was a
straggling collection of habitations, built without de-
sign, grouped together without thought of founding
a city. Evident everywhere was the wild scramble,

44 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

the restless fever, the passion to gather riches and
to flee.

Beyond the heart of the town, everything was tem-
porary, constructed for present use, to be disposed of
or abandoned when fruition became the end of dreams.
Streets were mere open spaces cut out through the
brush, along which men could travel or climb. Side-
walks were a luxury, to be found only in the older
parts of the town. Mud in winter and sand in sum-
mer were everywhere, and men and beasts made
progress only by toil. Well we recall the long reach
of steps which led up the slopes of Telegraph Hill
at Montgomery Street, from Jackson, and the many
weary climbs we had up those rude and endless stairs.
There was no segregation, no division, between rich
and poor; the shack of the laborer was next door to
the more pretentious home of the banker. No special
part of the city had as yet, by a natural selection, been
claimed as the exclusive domain of the aristocrat.
There was a democracy of possession and use. Life
was too intense for frivolities and, while there were
dissipations which were the pastimes of the stalwart,
Vanity Fair had but few votaries, content to waste
life in idleness and vice. Men were full of push and
purpose and imprest their mood upon the place and
times. The little town became the center of tremend-
ous forces, guided by the brain and muscle of resolute
and daring men.

Over the portals of the great Alexandrian Library
was carved "Man know thyself." Had an earnest stu-
dent of ethnological science sought in San Francisco,
in 1850, for a practical insight into the manhood of the

SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849

world, he would have found the field ripe for his
studies, for here had gathered and were gathering the
children of all the nations, and the people of all races.
Types were manifest in groups, in racia! traits, appar-
ent in speech and conduct of the individual. The
Chinaman with his washhouse and garden, the German
dealing out his beer after the manner of the Father-
land, the Italian serving his macaroni or grinding at
tlie street organ assisted by his monkey lieutenant,
the Spaniard furnishing amusements for the crowd
with his fandango halls, the Irishman tearing down
the sandhills with his shovel and the son of Egypt
sweating under his burdens or polishing the boots
of his white brother — were part and parcel of the cos-
mopolitan population. The gambler and the outlaw
had hastened here like vultures to prey upon their fel-
lows and, while honest men toiled, plotted, individually
and in gangs and preyed upon the prosperity of the
community. At first men, with a purpose, were too
busy to bother with the offenses of these renegades
who, without morals, were brainy and of desperate
courage. From bad these outlaws rapidly gravitated
to worse; they mistook the indifference of good men
for cowardice, and undertook to control affairs and to
run the city in a high-handed defiance of law and
order. They finally focalized public attention upon
themselves until they were branded and recognized
as "hounds." Forbearance at last ceased to be a vir-
tue, and when it became apparent that the machinery
of the law was in the hands of these men, their asso-
ciates and friends, the law-abiding, resolute, honest
wen organized for protection in 1856, They took

46 UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

possession of the city, with its affairs, made history,
established the ruk of good order that for years after
and until the time of the second election of Lincoln,
through the dominant "People's Party," made San
Francisco the best governed city politically, and the
cleanest cit)' morally, in the world. We can rely upon
these pages in our civic history and make defiant
proclamation to all doubters. The official records,
judicial, legislative and executive, of these Vigilance
Committee days, and the days which followed, dis-
closed the names of men who stood then and during
a long life after^vards for the highest ideals of man-
hood. H. P. Coon and Samuel Cowles, upon the
police bench ; H. L. Davis and Charles Doane in the
sheriff's office; Martin Burke in the police office,
stood up for probity, for public and private virtue.
The police force was free from scandal, and was made
up of men of the highest character. The District
Court benches were filled with lawyers of distinguished
attainments and character. Graft was unknown. The
entire situation was ideal. Politics did not enter into
elections. There was a single party, that was the
"People's Party." The best men of the city, irrespec-
tive of previous political affiliations, attended nominat-
ing conventions, and without log-rolling, chose the best
men of the community for all of the offices and nomi-
nated them. This done, the casting of the vote on
election day was a matter of form.

We were not in San Francisco during the time that
the Vigilance Committee did its effectual work, but
we returned shortly thereafter and became familiar,
as did all Californians, with the way it did things,

SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849

and what it accomplished in rescuing the city from the
hands of thugs, and firmly establishing' the reign of
law and nrder. Then, members of this Committee
were not triflers ; had no personal ends to subse
they were men of affairs, whose lot had been cast into
the community. The reckless disregard, even of the
forms of law, by those then in control, made condi-
tions too desperate for tolerance, and when the ad-
ministration of law became farcical or vicious, these
men acted with dispatch and courage. All men were
given a fair chance to prove their innocence, failing
in which, they were executed, where their crimes were
capital, and driven from the city when their presence
was a menace. Every act was done decently and in
order. Never before or since has such a group of men,
acting in such a desperate emergency, been so free of
the mob spirit. The decrees of the Committee were
Medean and beyond appeal, but were rendered only
upon evidence that could not be gainsaid. Absolute
was the certainty upon which the Committee acted;
and the history of those days, and of the Committee,
will reveal no hasty act, nothing done in which there
was any mixture of malice. The unity of motive was
complete, and while in the secret conclaves discussions
were had, often intense in character, final action was
a unity. No jealous controversies, no personal ambi-
tions marred its heroic work ; and as a logical conclu-
sion of all it did, when done, it handed over a clean
and purified city to the officers of the law, with power
to administer the law fairly and impartially.

Boy as I was, this work was inspiring and gave me
an insight into what clean men could do with an un-

48 UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

clean situation. The personal character of some of the
leaders of the Committee, we may discuss hereafter.
As a boy, I was familiar with conditions that made the
action of the Vigilance Committee a moral necessity.
We well remember one election just prior to the or-
ganization of the Committee, while a desperate crowd
of rounders controlled the city, our curiosity led us to
stand about the polls on election day, on Kearny Street,
between Clay and Sacramento, watching with a boy's
wide-eyed interest the crowd and its excitement. Sud-
denly a pistol shot rang out, and the frenzied crowd
sought safety around the comer. I was not long in
joining the rush for safety, and when I recovered
breath enough at a safe distance to ask what was the
matter, was told that a man had been shot for trying
to steal the ballot box. I did not quite comprehend
the situation, and asked what he wanted to steal the
ballot box for, and was told that it might be stuffed
with votes. Stealing ballot boxes and stuffing them
with illegal votes were the means used to secure and
hold political power by the desperate gamblers.

Returning to our relations, as a boy, with the early
city, growing daily from the accessions from all quar-
ters of the globe, it is fascinating to go back across the
stretch of years and to recreate things that were in
the presence of things that are. The conflagration of
1906 was the third sweeping fire we had seen, practi-
cally wiping the city, in its business part, out of exist-
ence. Three times have we seen the naked ground,
where now in their fine proportions stand magnificent
and towering structures, made strong and splendid
by modern art and design. The unquenchable energy

'FRANCISC6' AFTER 1^*9 '49

of those who suffered was not daunted by these, to
them, minor disasters. Time only was allowed for
the ashes to cool and again the hammer, the saw and
the trowel were in patient hands, reconstructing better
buildings on the old sites. These fires, so far as the
city was concerned, were special providences, for each
time the new far surpassed the old. The first neglects
were cured, a civic pride displaced indifference, and
the proportions and grace of an ambitious, sane archi-
tecture began to be a part of new edifices, public and
private. Better streets became a necessity; municipal
cleanliness was imperative; and thus by disaster was
the city aided in its development toward the perma-
nent. Trade expanded, commerce became as remunera-
tive and more certain than the mines, and those who
had been educated in counting-houses and marts of
trade saw opportunities of fortune in these occupa-
tions, and settled down to the steady accomplishment
of business. Dreams passed into hopeful activities, and
the fame of San Francisco traveled across the world —
not as a seaport, where men could land in a domain
of gold, but as a commercial rival with the oldest
and richest ports of trade anywhere in the world.
Her relation to the Orient was recognizedandprophecy
blew through her trumpet that here should yet be
builded a city magnificent in extent, beauty and wealth.
A vision of great things often locks the lip for fear
that the vision may have been a delusion. We are free
to say, however, if we are faithful to moral law in per-
sonality and resource, no man need be afraid to pro-
claim from the housetops that we yet shall rival all
ifae splendid capitals of the world.

^^Ae splendi<

so LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Evolution had her perfect work in San Francisco.
Steady as the march of the stars has been her advance
along the highway of progress. We stand in her
streets to-day like one in a dream, where, rising from
her ashes, falls upon us the shadow of splendid struc-
tures, while there beats about us the din of mighty
work. "Rome was not built in a day" was a copybook
maxim of our school days — ^no! But as memory
works it seems to us that San Francisco has been built
three times in a day. Desolation and ashes still cling
to a part of her scorched garments, but time and the
genius of our people will, in the new years, build and
renew the vacant spaces. She will be ready in due
time for the millions on their way to her gates, and
their dwellings shall be palaces, enriched by all that art
can do, in the twentieth century, to make them beau-
tiful.

It sometimes seems as if it could not be true, that
we have been a part of the evolution of this city of
wonder. It seems but as yesterday that we climbed
up the slopes of California Street hill, and, at Powell
Street, left behind the city, as we wended our way out
through the woods and underbrush to the beach, where
we gathered blackberries and wild strawberries, as
we watched our traps set for the cunning "Chippie"
birds. This was the schoolboy's Saturday relief from
school. This western part of the peninsula was then
a wilderness, nowhere were signs of occupation, ex-
cept now and then, widely separated, dairy houses,
lonely amid the bushes. The beach out by the his-
toric Cliff House, was a place of silence, except for
the voices of the sea as its thunders beat against the

SAN FRANCISCO AFTER 1849

^ cliffs. The s

1 the

now, were there, wallowing ii
sun and barking to their fellows. We can not now,
as then, at North Beach and South Beach, battle with
the salt waters, nude as a baby. We can not hail an
omnibus in Montgomery Street for the only ride in a
public conveyance in the city. This line of omnibuses
was a feature of the early city, and at the time of its
establishment it ran from the North Beach up Stock-
ton, down Washington, through Montgomery to
South Park, then the most fashionable residential part
of the city. We can not board a train of steam cars
at Lotta's Fountain, for a ride to the Willows, to spend
a holiday afternoon. We wandered at night in the
shadow of unlit streets. Truly the old things have
passed forever. It has not been all gain. Transitions
have their losses, and we often, in the beauty and
brilliance of the new, pine for the simplicity, safety
and freedom of the old, when we and the pueblo were
young together.

The fateful April i8th, 1906, did the world its
greatest harm in the destruction of priceless accumu-
lations of many minds; the patient toil of years in
many a field rich in historic interest perished in a
moment. Thi.s will finally remain as the real loss
to the world. Many material things were ready for
destruction to make way for better things. The three-
ufths of the city swept into ashes was that portion
P^hich could be removed only by some such disaster.
But the gain to the city, as such, and to the State and
to the world is immeasureable. Palaces of commerce,
temples of worship, splendid homes of drama, rising
I in the beauty of modern art, are crowding the main

L

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

avenues of the city, and everywhere the most magnifi-
cent city of the world is rising toward the sky.

The new city is a revelation of civic beauty. Truly
now the cleft in the hills we named, in an hour of
poetic fervor, the "Golden Gate" is such because it
opens up to the Pacific seas a highway to the countless
thousands of the world, by which they may enter into
the City Beautiful.

Three active agents wrought for our good in our
disaster. The earthquake shock smote the worn-out
buildings near to but not beyond the hope of repair,
and wrecked the water mains, the only agents of
safety, so that the fire wiped out the wrecked buildings
beyond the temptation of repair. The accumulation
of hundreds of millions of the world's insurance com-
panies furnished the capital for rebuilding. This was
an awful but splendid plan for the creation of a great
city. While the loss of the accumulations of genius
may as yet seem irreparable, it may be that the future
will disclose that this was also a providence, the
greatest of all; for yet, from our ashes, may arise a
distinctive art and literature that shall express on
these Western shores a beauty richer far than the
glories of Greece or Italy, because it shall be more
human. It may be that in the finer achievements of
the mind and soul of men, here shall be created "the
new Heaven and the new Earth ;" for God never works
in vain, and "the light that never was on sea or land"
may be the force that shall justify the genius of the
Anglo-Saxon and verify the dream of Rhodes, who
left to the world by his will and testament his vast
accumulations for this great purpose.

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 53

All great things have a radiating center. Nothing
focalizes human affairs like beauty, and the splendid
city was the primal need for a full development of dis-
tinctive Western genius, world-wide in energy, and hu-
man in the forces which shall quicken the minds and
hearts of its people. Here is the dream and the
achievement of Rhodes. Can any man say that there
is no relation between the dream of Rhodes and the
destruction of San Francisco? Could Anglo-Saxon
civilization meet the challenge of the Orient without a
splendid city on the shores of the Pacific ?

The challenge of the Orient comes at the hands of
the Japanese, a race hardly a half-century removed
from barbarism, yet standing beside its cradle and
waving commercial and mihtary defiance to the West-
ern world. The Chinese for centuries have traveled
in a circle; the Japanese strides toward mastery in a
terribly straight line as the shortest cut to Empire.
Our occupation of the Pacific Coast has been by moral
gravitation toward great things. If Berkeley was a
prophet when he wrote "Westward the course of em-
pire takes its way," then the dominant city of the
western slope of the continent must be great, beauti-
ful- How could it be such except with all that was in-
significant, inadequate wipedaway by shock and fiame?

As I review the wondrous changes from 1849 to
1909, I sometimes wonder that I am able from memory
alone to draw accurate pictures of things long past,
and to follow along the lines that lead from one his-
toric era to another, and to set in appropriate groups
the events that have molded the capital city of the
KTestem world.

Chapter V

PASTIMES, OCCUPATIONS AND PLEASURES
IN RURAL COMMUNITIES

rr^HE boys and girls of early California were a ro-
^ bust lot of youngsters, full of blood and vigor,
a happy-go-lucky, careless, laughing, shouting crowd.
They were the progeny of men and women who found
life in California inspiration and beauty. Home was a
real thing. Mothers gathered their children about the
table, sat with them by the fireside and instilled into
them the homely virtues that are potent builders of
character. In this atmosphere they grew up with
moral outlooks, respect for their elders and a rever-
ence for woman, but they were riotously full of life.
Temptations were few, and the happy-hearted child
grew up where old-fashioned morals were in the cli-
mate.

Schools were old-fashioned, but somehow the old
district schools turned out many men who afterwards
made history and became as famous as those who are
turned out by the modem universities. Webster's old
spelling book, Towne's old Fourth reader, McGuffey's
old Fourth reader and Murray's grammar have been
the foundations of many a solid scholarship of men

54

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 55

^Vfho have been noted for profound and brilliant attain-
ments. The speHing: school was held at the school-
house once a week during the night time, to which old
and young were welcome, and where the toddling
youngster and the gray-haired grand-daddy competed
in the same line of spellers. This made accurate the
knowledge of words and from the rivalry engendered,
many became so proficient that there was not a word
in the old spelling books that they could not correctly
spell. It was great fun, and one of ^he wholesome
vents for youthful enthusiasm. There were innocent
flirtations carried on between the bashful lads and the
winsome, coy, little maidens, which was a part of the
weekly spelling school, which ripened into lifelong af-
fections, culminating at last at the altar. In after
years Pa and Ma told their youngsters how they used
to go to spelHng school. These were, of course,
limited to the country schools, for the city children
had other chances for recreation.

The weekly debating society was another but more
pretentious and ambitious institution. This was also
held weekly, usually on Saturday night. The partici-
pants in this were the half-grown lads and young men
of the neighborhood, who organized with a ponder-
ous con.sititution and a long list of by-laws, and under
their protection fought out many a forensic battle over
questions that have puzzled the minds of sages for
ages and are still unsettled. To these debating so-
cieties a large part of the rural community used to
gather, old men with their wives, young men with
their sweethearts, listened to and applauded the elo-

r quence of the fervid young orators. The question

^vquence 01 1

56 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

to be debated on any night was selected by a standing
committee on the night of the preceding meeting, so
that all might have an opportunity to prepare for the
debate. Among the members of these societies were
many who were in deadly earnest, had deep-seated
ambitions to profit by their opportunity, and studied
during the week, after a day in the field, history,
rhetoric, logic and kindred wisdom. The history of
the State subsequently, in the records of the Legisla-
ture and the Courts, had names of bold, brilliant men,
whose first efforts were in the country debating so-
ciety. This record is not peculiar to early Califor-
nia life, but is a national one, for the House of Repre-
sentatives and the Senate of the United States have
been thrilled by lofty ideals and beauty of speech ac-
quired by the orator in some backwoods debating so-
ciety. The influence of these societies upon the rural
communities was substantially good. Social relations
of families 'were established, courtesy polished crude-
ness of manner, and the kindly but awkward lad was
made familfer with the usages of society. That this
last result was possible may seem strange, but not
when it is known that in almost every society there
were men who were scholars and refined gentlemen,
who did not regard it beneath their dignity to partici-
pate in these deliberations. Such models of demeanor
to the rustic youth he studied and copied. The con-
tests were often spirited but were always in good
humor, and we can not recall a single instance where
in the surge and grapple of the battle rude speech ever
marred the temper of the debaters.
The presence of the rustic belles gave grace and

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES

57

i occasion, while their presence was a
hey were to many a lad the inspiration
of his speech.

Both the spelling and the debating societies were
over-shadowed by the weekly singing school. In
every community there was some man who at least
thought he was a budding Caruso, and was ambitious
not only to exhibit his talents but to add to his purse
the little revenue to be derived from musical instruc-
tion to those who had musical talent. The singing
school was a pay institution. A series of lessons were
given, usually running over three months of the win-
ter. The fee for the course was very reasonable and
within the means of everybody, and as the school was
a sort of center of social life while it lasted, it was
usually crowded. TJie doors were open to spectators
and visitors, and from all directions on meeting night
young and old gathered. Before the call to order and
the serious work, the old farmers gathered into knots
and discust the weather, the crops and the state
of the market; the kindly housewives chattered over
those small things that make up home life — their chil-
dren, the price of butter and eggs, and what they bad
seen on their last visit to town ; the young lads and
lasses were not apt to group, were more often to be
found two by twos, a little apart from the others,
and bright-eyed and happy-hearted, laughed thenv
selves into moods that made the music crude, how-
ever it might be from an artistic point beautiful
and attractive to them. The old country singing
school was wholesome. It brought neighbors closer
1 together, fixt kindly relations, relieved the tedium of

i

^■together, l

58 LIFE ON THE PAQFIC COAST

secluded lives on the ranch, and kept fresh hearts that
otherwise might have grown tired, and callous from
the loneliness of country life. It humanized, set
moral standards wider apart, and brightened the out-
look of daily lives that were too likely to become but a
treadmill between dawn and sunset.

The master was usually some member of the com-
munity, with a little talent for music and a limited
knowledge of the art, with a voice more ambitious
than melodious. It was taken for granted that he
knew more than did his scholars, and this qualified
him for his office, and he usually made up in zeal what
he lacked in culture. His chief qualification may have
been that he was fairly good-looking and a bachelor
of marriageable age. To any young damsel he was
a possibility and this increased her interest in her
studies. The little rural maiden was cunningly pro-
ficient in all the arts of flirtation and but little behind
her stately sister of the city. Her environment was
more simple, her opportunity more limited, but the
human heart everywhere, in the country and the city,
beats with the same rhythm, and the little wood nymph
is as expert in the interpretation, often more so, than
the princess who stands within the circle of the
throne. Often, if some favored swain was a little shy
or slow and needed a little prodding, it was easy for
the wise little witch to quicken his interest by letting
him see her flirt with the teacher.

Sunday in the country was a day universally ob-
served. There was real reverence in the hearts of the
simple folk in the old days for the "Lord's Day."
Work was laid aside. It would have been disreputable

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES

59

then for a man to have driven his team afield, or to
have done more than necessary chores — feed his stock,
I milk his cows and groom his horses. The men and
women folks cleaned up and put on their "Sunday-go-
to-meeting" clothes and sedately enjoyed the calm and
silence of the hours of real rest and refreshment.
The district school was, on Sunday, tlie usual place
of warship, except in more ambitious neighborhoods,
where a church was erected for the use and benefit
of all denominations. The roads leading to this house
of worship would be lined with vehicles, more or less
pretentious, carrying the good country folks to
church. A sedate gravity was on all of their faces,
as if the time and place were serious. There was
always something beautiful about these Sunday meet-
ings, where the simple folk, without regard to de-
nomination of the preacher, gathered to sing hymns.
I and devoutly listen to the "old, old story." A curi-
ous custom derived from whence we never knew was
'ihe division of the sexes. To the church-house door,
lot

1 man would walk
hey entered the door,
> their seats on one
with her daughters

i^ith his family, and as soon as
, he, with his sons, would walk
ie of tlie aisle, and the mother
the other, and thus divided
as merest strangers they remained during the service,
.\fter the service was over occurred the main social
hour of the week. Preacher and his congregation
spent half an hour or so in friendly talk, neigh-
bors shook hands and made kindly inquiries, the
women folks, old and young, had the weekly renewal
of friendly relations, and the preacher, who was most
^■lOften from abroad, was carried off to dinner to some

6o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

farmhouse, where there had been prepared the his-
toric chicken, and neighbors who also lived at a dis-
tance were made by loving compulsion to go with
neighbors nearby for dinner, and thus with the sim-
plicity of perfect hospitality, the lessons of the sermon
were enforced by the touch of hearts made warm and
genuine.

It would be well for us now, if under the swelling
dome of the modem cathedrals, "whose arches gather
and roll back the sound of anthems," we could lay off
the cares of life, its pride and greed, and feel once
again the sympathy of hearts as true and sweet as
those that worshiped in the old country schoolhouse.

The Fourth of July was the great day of the
country. These celebrations are becoming year by
year less observed, unfortunately for the country. It
was looked forward to for weeks. If the nearest town
did not undertake a celebration, a meeting was held
in the neighborhood and a committee appointed to
secure an orator and brass band, arrange for a bar-
becue and the amusements. This committee was a-
competent body, and they devoted themselves with
earnest enthusiasm to their work. The orator and
band were easily secured. The barbecue required
more effort. The provender to feed the crowd must
be secured by free contributions, which were gener-
ously made. Gifts were abundant, and when all else
was secured, dishes, knives, forks and table-cloths
for service must be obtained, and these were found
by levies upon the homes, which were never refused.
With them came the women folks to serve the crowd.
It was a labor of love and volunteers were numerous.

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES

' The day before the cooks dug trendies, built their
fires and roasted whole bullocks, hogs and sheep. The
preparation of fowls was left to the housewives, to be
roasted in their ovens and brought with them, with
loads of cakes, pies, breads and condiments, galloi
of coffee, tea and milk.

When the exercises of the day were over, the
hungry, happy patriots were invited to "fall in," and
they did. It was always a great feast, worthy of the
day. The feast over, the afternoon hours were spent
in simple amusements — dancing, ball-games, wrestling
matches, foot races, and sometimes a horse race or

I two between the rival horses of the neighborhood.

I In all of these there was a good natured, hearty par-

I ticipation that came from simple hearts and healthy
bodies, loving their country; the enjoyment of those
who lived largely in open 6elds, children of nature.
nourished by the wholesome air and peace of the
farm, who found in the day's toil satisfaction, the
repose of undisturbed nights. Life was not large

Lbut it was peaceful. The disquiet of restless ambi-
ftions were unknown in the simple homesteads in the
^d country of California.

The annual camp-meeting, held by some leading

Sdenominations or by a joinder of several of them.

1 some popular rural center, after the harvest was

(ver, was the most serious, extended and largely at-

mded of all the functions of the year. The denomi-

' nations, that most frequently held these particular ser-
vices, were the Methodists, Baptists and Christians
or Campbellites, as they were then called. These
irere great mass-meetings held in a grove under the

62

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

authority of the church leaders, to which the whole
country was invited and welcomed. It having been
declared that a camp-meeting should be held, the
time and place fixed, there was a general rounding
up of the resources of the church for its yearly at-
tack on the stronghold of the Devil, and the "big
guns" of the church were invited to take charge of
the situation. The faithful, with their household
goods, gathered and erected their tents, joined in a
common plan for the free entertainment of strangers,
who might be attracted so that a Christian hospitality
should supplement the religious services.

The camp was always in some attractive part of
the country where the shade of groves and the fresh
running water were abundant. Two weeks were
usually the time during which the meeting was held,
and so arranged that at least three Sundays should
intervene. These were field days, during which from
dawn until midnight, Satan and his cohorts were
bombarded with sermons, songs and prayers. Vast
crowds were in attendance on these days and the
whole countryside laid aside every pursuit to swell
the crowd. These camp-meetings were a psychologi-
cal study, and he who desired to make a study, safely,
was wise to do so from a distance, for unless he be
of rare coolness of blood and steady of mind, he was
apt to be caught in the ebb and flow of emotions that
were dangerous to scientific analysis, for there was a
tremendous volume of deeply stirred feeling, that at
times rose into ecstasy and mysticism, and men and
women, whose experience of life was ordinarily along
uneventful ways, fell under the spell of intense reli-

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES 6.i

gious fervor, and for the time were transported into

the exaltation of the old prophets. We have many
times witnessed these strange exhibitions, where the
mass yielded to the influence and seemed to be tossed
and shaken in the throes of a tremendous spiritual
stress. That a compelhng moral force was at work
could not be denied, for when the calm came, there
emerged from it, with changed characters. Hves out
of which the dross had been shaken and into which
had entered new beauty and sweetness. The Parable
of the Sower was often verified at these meetings.
The seed fell upon differentiating ground and the
harvest was according to the fertility of the soil re-
ceiving the seed.

The camp-meeting has passed, with many other in-
stitutions of the old age, but we are constrained to
say that when they were a part of the social and re-
ligious economy of the rural people, they were of
great moral use and force. Once a year, at least,
they cleaned up the lives of the people and inspired
them with nobler aspirations and larger hopes.

In those portions of the State where, over the great
valleys and the ranges of hills, thousands of cattle
ranged in freedom, there was admixture of herds,
whose ownership was indicated by the brand and the
earmarks. These brands and earmarks were all regis-
tered so they were protected from piracy. The great
body of the country was still a pasture, whose occu-
pation was in common, and he who desired to keep
separate his lands from his neighbors was, by law,
compelled to fence. The evolution of the State from
this condition to the occupation by green fields, or-

i

K of th

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

chards and vineyards, brought about a change in the
law, and the cattleman was finally compelled to fence

in his herds.

While the ranges were in common, some common
plan was required by which the cattlemen should be
able to count his herds and to brand his increase.
To meet this necessity the Mexican "Rodeo" was
adopted by law, and once a year, on a day fixed, all
of those, who claimed cattle ranging in any section,
met with their vaqueros, and from the exterior
boundaries of the range drove all of the cattle, old
and young, to a common center, and out of the vast
mass each owner separated those bearing his brand
and earmark. These were carefully counted and the
calves branded and earmarked, and after a careful
overlook by the assembled owners, the status of own-
ership was fixed and the herds allowed again to sepa-
rate to their accustomed ranges, all except such as
were driven by their owners to market.

These "Rodeos" often lasted for several days, and
while they lasted, they were exciting, turbulent, noisy
scenes. The rush of noisy, excited, bellowing cattle
beating the plain into dust under the thunder of hoofs,
the shouts of the vaqueros, who with lasso roped and
tied the victims of the branding iron, stirred the
pulses of the visitor and made him familiar with the
process of cattle raising on a large scale, and gave him
some insight into the things that made the cattle busi-
ness fascinating — for the ease and freedom of it ties
a man to it as long as the ranges are open to the run-
ning of his herds, and he only gives it up at the call
of the inevitable — the loss of ranges from the con-

EARLY RURAL COMMUNITIES

65

I

tinual lessening of the boundaries by the occupation
of the individual farmer and fruit-grower.

Before we close the chapter, let us take up the purely
boyish sports of the old days of the country. There
was one thing that the California boy was compelled
to do or lose caste, and that was to be able to ride a
"bucking" horse. Unless he could successfully sit on
a wild horse, saddled for the first time, he was con-
sidered a "Molly-coddle," and not entitled to ride with
the more robust and daring chaps who bad this
capacity and this courage. Saturday, being a non-
school day, was the favorite time for the indulgence
of wild horse-riding, and many an afternoon on Sat-
urday, we remember, when the older boys of the
school would gather at some particular farm, where
there were a number of such wild horses, and the
afternoon would lie spent in riding these for the first
time. We remember several of the occasions when
we undertook this venturesome and strenuous sport,
and it was allowed as one of the rules of the boys,
thaf a boy might be thrown once or twice in his first
endeavors, but that after that he was not entitled to
enter the ring of the true sports unless he could sit
on a "bucking" horse. We had our experience with
the first two or three jumps, and know how hard the
ground is when you strike it from the top of a big mus-
tang. We can truthfully say that there is no motion
in the world exactly like that of a "bucking" horse, al-
though in the earthquake of 1906, when we endeavored
to find something to which we could tie the motion,
we really did recall the exjierience we had upon the
back of one of the "bucking" mustangs.

Chapter VI

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

fnpHE chief contribution of the world to California
-■• from 1840 to 1849 was a virile manhood, in
which was mingled all the noblest qualities of mind
and heart. Those who came prior to 1849 were hardy
men who followed the sun across the continent, search-
ing for breadth to their lives, freedom from the limita-
tions of conditions that on the Eastern shores, and even
in the then expanding West, tended tocrush out the am-
bitions of men who had begun to feel the splendid pro-
portions of the land where the Puritan and the Hugue-
not had laid the foundations of a new order of govern-
ment and practically a new civilization. The moral
purpose of the Puritan and Huguenot, — ^the freedom to
follow their own consciences, — having been accomplish-
ed, the restless genius of the new generation sought
not only for moral liberty but also for freedom to
grow in the great empire which was then but silent
spaces, where native tribes divided among themselves
the land as their hunting grounds. It was the evolu-
tion of species, the Anglo-Saxon expanding in obedi-
ence to the strain of his blood. His lungs were big,
and to fill them full needed a continent, and he took it.

66

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

67

The Hugiietiot was more content with his land, lying
in the sunny lap of the south, whose romance and
beauty and plenty lulled him to satisfaction.

The ceaseless beat of storm for half the year upon
their dwelling places drove the Puritan's sons out into
the forests and levels of the West, where he found
breathing ground but still within the chill of snow and
ice. There floated to him somehow out of the heavens,
as if shaken from the wings of migrating birds, the
story of a land of summer, sunshine, radiance and
roses, and his sons set forth to find where the sun sank
to rest over the western rim of the continent. These
were stalwart, hardy men, restless with the matchless
genius of their race, — energized but not fevered, for
they were stern of faith, full of hope and steady in
nerve. They were like the first drops of rain from
the clouds preceding the storm, compared with that
ceaseless current of people that like the flow of a great
river in the near years were to overflow from the
whole world to populate and build the new common-
wealth of the republic. — masterful and brilliant.
These pioneers builded better than they knew. Sub-
consciously, doubtless, they had dreams that they were
a part of manifest destiny, but it takes time for the
mind to grow to appreciation of large things,
and so without plan they worked as individuals, not
as a part of a nation. Out of the silent breadth of
mountain and valley the pioneer sought grants of do-
mains, affiliated in life and manners with the race
among whom he had cast his lot. He modified but
never lost his close relation to the race whose blood
■|an rich and red in his veins and beat strong in his

68 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

steady heart. Youth and hope, companion artists,
painted pictures of an empire of peace and plenty.
These were large men, coming to possess a large land ;
their best equipment was the sturdiness that had been
worked into brain and brawn by the very hardness
of early conditions. They were not cavaliers seeking
for new pleasures, rather round-heads ready to force
open Fate's hands and compel all that belonged to those
who were self-contained and competent. They were,
as we have said, obedient to the manifest destiny of the
race to which they belonged, — the spirit that crossed
unknown seas in the cabin of the Mayflower, that made
Plymouth Rock the shrine of those who love liberty,
in all the world, and that yielded itself in the terrible
years from 1861 to 1865 to carnage, mutilation and
death, to give freedom to a despised race with whom
affiliation is an endless impossibility. They walked
oftentimes with aimless feet, buried their beloved dead
in lonely graves, looked forth at noon into stretches
of burning skies, beheld the sun sink in the waste of
deserts, wandered confused in the wilderness of doubt
but ever with quenchless energy pressed on. Many a
gaunt figure stripped of its robust strength by terrible
strains lost all but deathless faith, yet stumbled on
toward the Western shore, sustained by the genius of
his race, conquering and to conquer ; for he knew that
"God's in his heaven: all's right with the world."
The same providential manhood that possest the
icy shores of New England' made its way through des-
olation to hold the Western shores, the advance guard,
until the mass could move forward to make populous
the wilderness, to build cities, create communities, rear

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

tomes, establish freedom and live in the splendid abun-
dance of matchless California. First the individual,
strong, clear-brained, pure-hearted; then groups that
made the loneliness of solitary lives fragrant with com-
panionshp; then communities where women sweetened
the days with their love song', and shout of children
made melody among the hills and in the valleys.

The first pioneer was not seeking for wealth. He
sought empire, was free from the commercial fever
of these days, when the best in man and the race is
eaten out by the hunger for dollars, when commerce
is of more importance than moral gifts, and the lofty
spirit of our ancestors clouded by temptations to sur-
pass our neighbors in quantity, rather than in quality
of possessions. The men who came West were fit for
the land they sought. They measured up to the glory
c:nd the beauty; they made history, that is, romance,
beautiful because noble and generous. The Latin
possest before the Anglo-Saxon romance which be-
came the Anglo-Saxon's by adoption and assimilation.
There was enchantment in the baronial life of the
Spaniard, and it did not take the Anglo-Saxon
long to yield to its charni. It made life beauti-
ful and sweet and winning, but did not weak-
en his strength. The dominance of the Spaniard in
religious life did riot disturb the stern faith of the Pur-
itan. With clear visions of the future he built his
altars within the sound of the matin and vesper bells
of the Missions, and cast in his lot with the kindly
Latin, finding companionship among his sons and love
among his daughters. There came the admixture of

tby inevitable marriages, for the virile son of the

70 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST

North was as fascinating to the dainty seiiorita of the
South, as she was to him. And so, without loss of
fiber he settled down among the roses and dreamed
and loved and grew.

Had there been no discovery of gold resulting in
the submergence of existing conditions, and the occu-
pation by cosmopolitan population greedy for gold, the
history of the Pacific shores would have been slow in
the writing, but would have been written by poets
and dreamers ; a new race would have evolved from the
Latin and the Anglo-Saxon blood; men would have
lived and wrought inspired by the joy of living; the
shores of the Pacific would have vied with the ancient
shores of the Mediterranean in the genius of its people
and the splendor of their intellectual life. It would have
by natural attraction become the home of genius and
beauty and excellence. Here the mind of man would
have been quickened by noble sceneries, lifted to the
heights by Shasta and Whitney, and wooed by sunny
vales under the sun. Every human excellence would
have been factors of life; it would have become the
repose of the world, where art, poetry, song and science
would have been its hosts. That this development would
have been the logical sequence if California had been
left to the expansion of its resources, outside of gold,
is apparent now in the South where men have seized
upon these larger realities, and have found in sunny
skies, in orange groves and fields of bloom, the perfect-
ion of life. Here the heart-sore, the stricken and the ill
divide the fragrance and the beauty with the scholar,
the painter and the poet. Here men are beginning to
know that "the toiler dies in a day but the dreamer

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

lives alway;" that homes beautiful are more attractive
than counting-houses ; that human intercourse is more
than a pastime; that the spirit illuminated and purified
by daily lessons drawn from roses, from orange blos-
soms and lilies, can find rest from care, turbulence and
ambition, and men are beginning to learn how great a
thing it is to be alive when the visible world and the
uplifted heavens are their companions.

Men still refer to the character of the pioneer and
grow eloquent when they speak of those who laid
the foundations of the young State. The appeal of the
populace in San Francisco, in the desolate days of
igo6, when they stood in wastes of ashes and despair,
was to the spirit of the pioneers. To them it was as
the heart of Bruce flung before them in battle. It was
to them inspiration to build again a fair city, and they
have built and are building. Are they building as their
fathers did. laying its foundations broad and deep in
civic righteousness?

As lads, we were familiar with the home life of
many pioneers of whom we have written. We were
the playmates of their boys, welcome always to their
homes. They were scattered throughout the State,
wherever great stretches of fertile acres had won them
to settlement. Nathan Combs settled in Napa, where
in largeness of generosity he lived like a prince. In
the midst of the pastoral beauty of that perfect valley
he had chosen a fair domain, and was lord of the
Manor, large-minded, great-hearted, reaping abun-
dance and giving out of it with prodigal hands. Gold
had no alluring power, for while restless thousands
Kiured in about him, he "pursued the even tenor of his

72 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

v/ay," content with life because it was a thing to be
contented with. The measure of temporal things he
had accurately taken, and he found no reason to ques-
tion his measurement. His estate was broad and fine,
and his ways were "ways of pleasantness and all his
paths were peace." Men had not been stricken with
the fever that now consumes them. We were often
within his gates, a boyish guest, and there still lingers
in the mind the fascination that made his rancho to
our youthful outlook more like a dream than a reality.
We could not quite understand how life could be so
grand a thing, how a single man without the authority
of a governor could possess and manage so great an
estate. We wandered at will over the broad acres
and wondered at the capacity which had created a
dwelling place where, in the satisfaction of abundance,
so many people lived in peace, sheltered and fed by a
single hand. Had we then known of the feudal system
and its lords and their retainers, we would have under-
stood. We did understand later on, and in that en-
largement of knowledge it all became more and more
beautiful. He measured heroically every way. His
horizons were wide apart and it took a long diameter
to measure between his exterior boundaries. He work-
ed easily without fret, for he had a steady brain ; a rare
judgment aided by a fine taste was apparent in the per-
fection and order. His fields were tilled under best
conditions, his horses were of noted breeds, his cattle
of the finest herds, and the products of his fields and
orchards the best of their kind. He early became a
noted man, his fame broader than the State. On his
noble estate he lived a long life, satisfied with its fruits.

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

an example of what content can do to make a human
life noble.

In like conditions and estates, in Sonoma, lived Fitch
and Alexander; in Yolo, the two Wolfskill brothers;
at Santa Clara, Murphy ; at Santa Barbara, Cooper ;
at Los Angeles Wilson, the other Wolfskill brother,
Workman, Temple and Stearns ; this is not a complete
list but is ample to fix the type, for they were all of the
same order of men who were of the royal family,
tho not bom to the purple. When a boy, we knew
Alexander, the Wolfskills, Wilson and Workman, and
were comrades of the sons of Fitch. Before California
passed from territorial days, Fitch himself died.

Cyrus .Alexander, whose grant of three square
leagues now constitutes the charming valley east of
Heraldsburg-, known as Alexander Valley, in Sonoma
County, now a populous region, was one of the most
remarkable of all those who came to California in the
ancient days. His life was one of adventure, his
career a history of heroism, and his character a study
in fine humanities. In i860 we first saw Alexander,
when the glorious spring was calling out the blossoms
and the delicate grasses and the leaves of the trees. If
was at his manor house, where for years he had lived,
rearing his family of half-castes, for he, like most of the
early pioneers, had married into a Mexican family.
From this union there had sprung a family of boys and
girls in whose form and face were traceable the traits of
the distinct bloods. These children were shy and silent.
Tliey inherited this from father and mother, for there
was about both a quiet dignity; a consciousness of
@oral resource: a capacity finding in life the fulness

74 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of peace within the spirit rather than in outward cir-
cumstances. This may in a measure have come from
the uneventful years, free from noise, beyond the whirl
of wheels, the rumble of cars and the whistles of loco-
motives, which in the future ended the pastoral silence,
and disturbed with the voices of commerce the Sab-
bath silence and replaced the simplicity of secluded
life with the energies of a new era.

To be a guest at Alexander's home was to enjoy
one's self according to one's own tastes, for, added to
a wholesome, hearty welcome, there was always an
invitation to undisturbed freedom to come and go as
one wished. Simple, unostentatious, charming, was
the touch of these self-contained lives, that without art
or simulation made the stranger within their gates sure
that so long as he chose to stay, he was not only wel-
come, but that his presence was regarded as a contri-
bution to the pleasure of his hosts. We tasted of this
generosity, for we were under that kindly roof often,
and in the atmosphere of its freedom learned how per-
fect was the hospitality that was without limitation.

Alexander himself was a man of moral genius.
There was not a common fiber in him anywhere. He
had not been to the schools where men were taught
ethics and self-control, but he was by nature qualified
in these supreme qualities. Were we competent to
fairly make clear in words his lofty character, we
would be adding an enticing chapter to literature,
wherein the virtues of noble men are made the inspira-
tion of those who read, — ^those rare records of clean
men to whom honor was life, justice a thing to be obey-
ed not feared, whose allegiance to truth was steady

BEFORE THE AGE OP GOLD

75

as the gravitation of the spheres. Alexander was of
sturdy stock in which the Pennsylvania Dutchman
was a little overtopped by the New England Puritan.
There was strength in both bloods, and in him neither
was lost, for all that was best in both was welded to-
gether. His life had been adventuresome, often full of
deadly perils. When a mere youth he left the quiet an-
cestral home near Philadelphia, then hardly more than
a country village, although it had been the center of
stirring colonial history, and wandered through the
forests and prairies of the then unpopulated West.
Stories of the Hudson Bay Company's and Astor's
success in the Northwest had fired his imagination and
hope, and he was on his way to the Rocky Mountains
to find in their wilds a field for his ventursome spirit.
He had a single companion, and they hunted and
trapped with varying success, not large enough, how-
ever, to fill out his dream of life. He crossed now and
then the trail of the emigrant and learned something,
though vague, of the great land that skirted the shores
of the Pacific.

Oftentimes by the lonely camp-fire, he would dream
of the great Western land, until he grew restless
with his uncertain pursuits, and it needed only some
slight event to drive him on to the shores of the
Western sea. This event came soon in the loss by
drowning, in one of the treacherous streams of the
Rockies, of his partner, and he joined an emigrant
band and came on to the promised land. Providence
was with him in this, for in the account of the accident
as he told us, if he had been a swimmer, he would
doubtless have been lost also, for, when the canoe was

J J

76 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

swamped in the currents of the swift rapids, his com-
rade, a strong swimmer, struck out for the shore, only
to be caught in the icy whirl and dashed to death, while
he clung to the overturned canoe until at last, tho
beaten anfi bruised, he reached the shore. His sit-
uation was desperate, for he was alone in a land of
solitudes and peril. The only human beings near were
hostile Indians. His Dutch persistence and Puritan
faith stood him well in hand, and he, without food or
gun, struck out through the gloom of the forests, along
rocky cliffs, over desperate mountain heights, in peril
from wild beasts and wilder men. searching for the
western trail which, when found, might be but the
deserted path of trains long since gone beyond his
reach. He was too strong for defeat, too young for
despair, and he pressed on with hope, and before many
days found safety in the camp of the last train of the
year, and with it came on to California, to find under
its sunny skies, in the beauty of one of the most de-
lightful of valleys, home, wife, children and peace.

Henry Fitch, an Englishman, had, before Alexander
reached California, secured from the Mexican Govern-
ment a large grant of land lying on both sides of the
Russian River, in the territory which is now part of
Sonoma County. He and Alexander met, and at once
Alexander took charge of the grant as major domo, it
being agreed that for three years' service he was to
receive three square leagues of land lying on the eastern
bank of the Russian River. In this way Alexander
became a landed proprietor, owner of a principality,
where he cast in his lot, lived and died. The increase

i

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD

in values made him rich. He sold much, gave away
liberally, but retained much.

Beautiful as are many of the Coast Range regions
in wooded hills and intervening valleys, nowhere can
be found a more lovely spot than was chosen by Alex-
ander. The eastern horizon is filled with hills that slope
toward the sky. with woods that color them with the
lights and shadows so peculiar to the Coast Range.
On the west flows the river, across which another noble
line of lesser hills filled in the western sky. Between
these lies a great park glorified by majestic oaks and
open spaces, where, before the plowman tore them up,
fields of wild flowers, dainty in shape and color and
full of perfume in the springtime and young summer,
bloomed in the soft airs. In this wilderness of beauty
and delight great bands of cattle and horses roamed
at will. In the midst of this glorious place, on a
commanding mound that jutted out from the eastern
hills, stood the great adobe manor house, two stories
in height, nearly two hundred feet in length, and sixty
feet wide. Around this massive structure ran a wide
double veranda. It was a noble building, and an
index to the largeness of its builder. We remem-
ber that within its walls there were, in addition to a
vast kitchen, dining hall and family room, forty great
rooms for guests. This splendid plan gives one some
idea of how the early pioneers of California looked
upon life, for what was found upon the Alexander
Rancho was to be found in the others. Everything
was big and generous. The hospitality dispensed
1 this home was without ceremony, but had in it the
^rit of graciousness that made it an experience to be

^1 ness

78 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

remembered always as a: fine expression of man's kind-
ness to his fellows. Their ordinary daily meals were
as rich as a baronial feast. The noble Mexican,
Alexander's wife, who spoke no language but her
own, seemed to live and move and have her being in
the storehouse of t!ie kitclien, where she directed her
servants in the art of perfect cooking, and with her
own hands prepared for her table, in which she gloried,
delicacies that would almost tempt a dying man. We
frequently sat down to these wonderful feasts, won-
dering always at their perfection and prodigality. It
was always a colossal culinary masterpiece. The days
are gone forever, when such noble living shall be a part
of daily life on the rancho, for this baronial life is now
a romance of ancient history.

The foregoing furnishes some insight into the large-
ness of his home life and habits. Alexander was a
man in the all-around attributes of true manhood. To
us as a boy he was a study, for we had not yet become
used to men of such mold. We remember him as first
we saw him. He was over sixty years of age, silent
and of great dignity. His reserve was an attractive
part of his personality. Tho the vicissitudes of his
youth had bent his form a little, and cut deep lines
across his brow, he was still strong and wholesome.
When standing still, he was like a bronze statue. He
would at any time attract an artist, be he painter or
sculptor, for there was in his pose a suggestion of
power. His face was his most attractive feature, for
it was the face of a good man who had lived a noble
life. It was that nobility shining through the stern-
ness which held the eye of a stranger. It was like the

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 79

illumination which shines through the windows of a
great edifice when inner lights make its beauty visible
in the night. It was the light of a serene spirit at
peace with itself and the world.

Tho for years he had been in the wilderness and
afterward beyond the sound of church bells, he had a
deep and abiding spirituality, that had its root in per-
fect conviction that the Bible was the word of God,
who created the heavens above him and the earth be-
neath. He lived in the atmosphere of this simple faith,
making no declaration of his beliefs, — just believing
and living as one who knew his moral obligations, and
within his lights lived up to them. In later years he
longed for religious companionship and was liberal in
his contributions to the church of his faith. In 1858
he presented to a well-known pioneer minister of his
church, a noble farm near his home, and for years
thereafter paid almost his entire yearly salary. He
built a home for education and worship and dedicated
it to public use. Here for years on every Sunday
morning he would be found a silent, devout figure in
voiceless satisfaction, drinking in what to him were
indeed words that made clear "the way, the truth and
the life." He had found by experience that "wis-
dom's ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths
are peace," and thus this nobleman, in the quiet and
content of well-earned possessions, in the "peace that
passeth all understanding," unswayed by passion or
ambition, slowly, quietly, strongly, walked down the
paths of the years, an example of the grandeur of a
man, able, under conditions that might w'ell have
daunted him, to live a long life unmarred by vice. He

8o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

died as he had hved, a silent, strong, faithful man,
leaving to his wife and children abundant possessions,
and a memory fragrant with the sweetness of a great
spirit. A commonwealth made up of a citizenship
such as Cyrus Alexander would have been mightier
than Rome in her days of splendor.

In the orange groves of Wolfskill, at Los Angeles,
where now are blocks of fine buildings and the rush of
a busy city's traffic, we played with his boys, while
nearby, sitting in the cool shade, Lady Wolfskill with
her needle worked on the finery so dear to the Mexican
feminine heart. About her was grouped a circle of
Indian maidens to whom she had taught the skill of
the needle, and in the Spanish tongue they chatted
and laughed away the sunny hours. Wolfskill was
one of the three brothers who had been attracted to
California in the pioneer days, one to settle on the
banks of the Los Angeles river, just beyond the pueblo,
where he planted the vine and the orange, and cast in
his manhood with his young Mexican bride, to find in
the beauty of his southern home peaceful days. Mem-
ory yet sets before us the loveliness of his home, with
its spacious adobe mansion, its great rooms full of re-
pose. A fine brood of young ones grew up to man-
hood and womanhood here, the boys robust with the
perfection of strength and health, and the girls win-
ning in the loveliness that the wooing climate gave to
the southern seiiorita as a heritage.

Many a glorious day we spent in the vintage time
among the burdened vines, and when the orange trees
hung heavy with their golden fruit with no one to say
us nay or hand to stay us, we enjoyed the free and

happy life, careless of tlie pain, the toil and the terror
that were in other lives somewhere. No one can know
.low perfect is such an undisturbed life until he has
had opportunity to become part and parcel of it, — to
sit down in its security, feel its sweetness, be nour-
ished by its strength. Others of the same type as
Wolfskin were part of the population of the country,
but they had sought for more extended grants and
were homed on great ranches, where their herds gave
them occupation and recompense. Among these were
Stearns, Workman, Temple and Wilson, — names that
were honored and whose characters gave a tone to
social life. They compelled by a living force the re-
spect and admiration of the people among whom they,
as young men of a different race, language and faith,

I were neighbors.
In Yolo County, near where Winters now stands, a
flourishing village finding its wealth in its famed or-
chards, the remaining Wolfskill brothers, John and
Sarshel, settled and built their roof-trees, carving no-
ble estates out of fertile lands and making the wilder-
ness blossom as the rose. Their estates joined each
other. The mood and heart of these men were visible
also in the largeness of everything about them. There
was silence and loneliness here where these brothers
first made their homes, but the serenity of the skies
above them, the beauty of the hills that lifted just be-
yond their dwellings on the north, and the radiant
reaches of the great Sacramento Valley that stretched
on and on until lost in the far-off southern horizon,
called them to peace as the vraper bells call the devo-
[lee to prayer. They grew under the influence of the

82 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST

physical world about them, and they and theirs becam
and their descendants remain, noted to this day for
the quality of their honor. This nobility, like an at-
mosphere, made fair and gracious the things about
them. Years after we had been made welcome in the
orange groves of the brother at Los Angeles, but as
a boy, we knew these Wolfskill brothers. It is years
ago, but as yesterday we recall the evening of a heated
summer day, when up out of the weary miles of a
tenantless valley, that stretched from the Sacramento
river to the foothills, we rode into the rancho of John
Wolfskill, It seemed as if we were in the midst of
dreams. The contrast between the drear, uninhabited
spaces through which we had ridden during the weari-
some hours of the day, and the cool of noble trees, the
breadth of glorious fields, the fragrant breath of or-
chards, and the sweetness and perfume of a wilder-
ness of blossoms about the spacious dwelling rested
the senses. It was at first too alluring to be fully
imderstood. We were not stunned but moved by that
sort of uncertainty that attends a suddenly awakened
child in the presence of something he does not recog-
nize but knows to be beautiful.

The physical beauty was made exquisite by the
beauty of hospitality, as we sat down to the evening
meal. The setting sun was making golden the sum-
mits of the glorious bills, and filling the place where
we sat with an overflowing splendor. To a robust and
unemotional boy this all seemed very good.

John Wolfskill was true to the type of- which we
have written, and it was always a matter of wonder to
us that this type was so perfectly preserved in the

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 83

"mass, with such slight modification in the individual
wherever you might find him. He was easily recog-
nized. Physically they were like twins ; mentally and
morally they were kinfolks. The same strain of
honesty, kindliness and generosity ran through them
all, as a great river nms through the heart of a con-
tinent. We can not now recall among the many we
knew an instance where a single one failed to measure
up to the very best of human nature.

We could not close this chapter without some word
about the brother of John, who lived nearby. This
was "Uncle Sash" as he was called — just the same
kind of man. We can not in any way better illustrate
him and his life than to describe the incidents of a
beautiful day we spent upon his rancho, for man may
be measured by his estate. It was during the almond
harvest, and as we entered the rancho we found
"Aunt Peggie," the good wife, who was thus affec-
tionately called by the whole country, because she was
indeed through her qualities the "aunt" of the country.
About her was a host of neighbors, young and old,
sitting under the shade of the trees, shelling almonds,
and we were invited to become one of the workers,
which we did. A more delightful day we have never
known than that spent among, that happy crowd of
almond shellers. Work and laughter, badinage and
song, were mixed together, and the happy hours flew
away. We were all grouped under the shade of great
fig trees, half a century old, and during the mellow
afternoon shelled and shelled without tiring, in happy
rompetition. Aunt Peggie was a fountain of good
cheer, and her happy heart flowed out over us all.

84 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

The noontime came, and into the great dining hall
we trooped, mitil nearly half a hundred crowded about
the table. It was such a royal feast as we have de-
scribed before, — that same delightful welcome, the
same cheerful hearts, the same atmosphere of content.
The flock, the herd, the vineyard, the orchard and the
field, each had contributed to the abundance of the
table. The first diners having been satisfied, the table
was again laid and replenished, about which again sat
down nearly half a hundred. These were the joyous
lads and lassies, and the great room rang with laugh-
ter at the sallies of some rustic wit; bright eyes, ten-
der and merry, drooped, grew soft and shy, as across
the table some youthful swain "looked love to eyes that
spake again." A stalled ox, at least a juicy joint of
him, was a part of the feast, but if he had not been
there by this proxy, there was not a heart that would
not have voted quickly that David was inspired when
he wrote out of his experience centuries ago, "Better
is a dinner of herbs with love, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith."

After dinner under the trees again the merry almond
shellers gathered, and some one said "Why can not we
have some watermelon?" This was enough for Aunt
Peggie, and a nod to a nearby employee, a whispered
order, and within half an hour a monster wagon,
piled as high as the sides would hold with watermelons
and muskmelons, drawn by two great mules, arrived,
and Aunt Peggie, with a merry twinkle in her gentle
eye, said, 'There, dears, you all can have a slice of
melon." A slice! Hardly! For soon each possest
a whole melon and was digging out its luscious heart.

BEFORE THE AGE OF GOLD 85

taking only of its daintiest meats. We had become
somewhat used to the grand way these people had of
doing the simplest things, but there was something
touching in the splendid whole-heartedness that could
not meet even a request for a mere slice of a melon
without delivering a wagon-load. These simple acts
were the measurement of the soul of the pioneer, male
and female. There were giants in those days, but
they were giants in soul. What immeasurable moral
distances lie between the simple beauty of lives like
these, lived in the open, made tender by enriching
sympathies, the association of kindred souls, loving
their neighbor because he was human, and God be-
cause He was divine, — and the reckless lives of mod-
em cities, where hate sits down with hate, suspicion
poisons his brother's cup, scandal stabs its victim with
a smile, where days are dissipations, and nights Vanity
Fairs. Esau was not the only man in history who
has sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, for an
auction of man's heritage, his nobility and manhood,
is held daily in every modem city of the world. Tmly
we may conclude by comparison of lives lived in the
country and the city, that "God made the country but
man made the town."

\

Chapter VII

SIGHTS AND SOUNDS IN THE GREAT CITY

^iTiES have a character, as marked as individuals.
^ Babylon has for ages borne, in sacred and pro-
fane history, an unsavory name. Athens was a classic,
Rome a conqueror. Paris is the synon)mi for indefin-
able fascination. The character of the old city of San
Francisco exhibited noble types of human expression.
We hope that the present character of San Francisco
is evanescent and transitional, but he is wise
above the ordinary who can formulate a creed for
common use by a majority of her sons and daughters.
She is neither better nor worse than many a metropo-
lis, where vice and virtue walk side by side, gowned
alike and equally dainty. It may be well asked : What
is our chief pursuit, — business or dissipation? Out
of the babble of our streets, do we hear the voice of the
oracle, or the coo of Delilah as she fascinates her
Samson ? Will Delilah yet rob Samson of his strength,
shear him of his locks, and deliver him over to his
enemies ? It might be well for us if, instead of boast-
ing through trumpets from the housetops that we arc
a pleasure-loving people, more fond of the electric-
lighted night than the sunlit day, that we grope
awhile amid the desolation and ashes of famed dead

86

aft

Kof

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 87

capitals, and learn from the cry of the jackal baying
to the moon from the broken column of a king's pal-
ace, that vice is the dry-rot of empire.

Are we. in politics, business and social Hfe, climb-
ing or shding? If we should lift into the night the
old cry: "Watchman, what of the night?" would we
surely hear out of the silence : "All is well ?" Are se-
date strangers within our gates imprest with the
solidity of our public and private life? Are moral
waste places in our make-up as forlorn as the hill
slopes left still to broken walls and ashes? Is it true
that we have no defined character at the present; that
we have no settled purpose except to revel? The re-
bound from the shock of April, igo6. may be responsi-
ble for much that is not satisfying and we may be on
the swing toward sober thought and action. The
character of the old city was a known quantity. Cour-
age, honesty and integrity made strong and fair pub-
lic and private life. It was no Puritan village, where
men spoke in subdued voices, and women veiled their
faces. It was intensely human but clean. Men were
decent, even in their sins. Nothing could more forci-
bly illustrate this than the fact that for years the Po-
lice Court was presided over by the mayor of the city,
H. P. Coon, a man of great dignity and honor, and
after him by Samuel Cowles, a distinguished lawyer,
of winning personality, gracious presence and personal
larm. He was in form and face a perfect man; the
poise of an artist's model was in his head and shoul-
ders, and honesty was the base of his being. In dis-
cussing Cowles one day, a prominent capitalist of that
day said, "I hate Cowles, and I would not speak to

i

88 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

him on the street, but if he is alive when I die, my
Will will disclose the fact that I have made him my
exeaitor without bonds." Did any man anywhere ever
have a more beautiful testimonial to his integrity?

Such were the men who administered justice in the
Police Court, where now the scum of the earth are
herded for punishment of low offenses. In the Police
Court of the old city the character of its magistrates
radiated from the bench to the courtroom, and order
made the air wholesome. The docks were clear of
blear-eyed prisoners, dug up from the moral sewers
of the city. Offenses were committed, for the punish-
ment of which the court was maintained, but these
were in the main of violence, involving often desperate
moods and passions, but clear of moral turpitude.
Leading lawyers of the city practised at its Bar, and
more than once, when a law student, I saw Hall Mc-
Allister, General James, James A. Zabriskie, Alexan-
der Campbell, Reuben H. Lloyd, and other lawyers of
marked attainment, trying cases with as much ear-
nestness and dignity as they exhibited when arguing
cases involving millions before the Supreme Court of
the State.

Many, perhaps most, of the offenses tried, originated
in the gambling houses of the town, where violence
seemed to be a necessary incident to the business, for it
was a business in those days ; as gambling was not pro-
hibited by law, and many open houses ran day and
night, sustained chiefly by the floating population from
the mines, returning with their purses full of gold,
homeward bound. Many a poor fellow got no further
than the El Dorado, a celebrated gambling-house on

S IN THE GREAT CITY

the corner of Washington and Kearny streets, next
door to the City Hall. Here music, beautiful women
deahng at the tables, refreshments dealt out with lavish
hand, fascinated men who for long months had, in the
lonely ravines of the far-off camps, plodded and dug,
until they had in their buckskin purses what to them
was a fortune. Visions of home began to be the scen-
ery of their dreams by night and an ever-present
thought by day. The wild energy for acquisition mel-
lowed to a longing for home, and, selling his claim,
many a miner shipped his dust by Wells Fargo or
Adams express, and followed it to San Francisco, to
take the next steamer for the East. He had not seen
the sights of the city for months; his companions had
been men, as busy and lonely as himself, and he found
the atmosphere of the city sweet. It was a day or two
before the steamer would leave, and meeting fellows
like himself, homeward bound, with their piles, they
formed a little community of sightseers. Night is the
favorite hour for the prowler the world over, and so
in the night they wandered from one point of interest
to another, until the music, the brilliance and the crowd
of the El Dorado lured them inside. Music intoxica-
ted their senses, gold piled in stacks of twenties upon
the tables thrilled their pulses, a glass of champagne,
cool and tasteful, fired their blood. The winning of
some fortunate miner like themselves set forces at
work, and soon, judgment overruled, submerged and
fascinated, one bet was made for luck, a second for re-
venge, and then one after the other for recuperation,
until in the wee hours of the night, or perhaps just at
dawn, worn, wild-eyed, haggard, the poor fellow stag-

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

gered to the street dazed with disaster. Sach experi-
ences as these often furnished cases for the PoHce
Court — acts of violence, not of turpitude.

Steamer-day. occurring twice a month, was a great
event. The only route to and from the Eastern States
was by the Isthmus of Panama. A line of steamers
plied between these points, connecting at the Isthmus
with steamers for New York and New Orleans. The
day before steamer-day was fixt upon by common cus-
tom as a day for collection of moneys for the drafts
for the East, and moneys for the purchase of goods
must go forward by the 'Steamer on the following day.
This custom grew permanent, and for many years
after the incoming of the railroad, with its new condi-
tions, steamer-day was still recognized in collections.
The arrival and departure of these steamers always
gathered a crowd, for they were notable excitements
of the city. There were no wireless telegrams in those
days, and the incoming of the steamers was watched
for by messengers who were connected with the Mer-
chants' Exchange, maintained by the merchants of the
town for the purpose of getting first news from the
sea. At a high point, near Fort Point, was main-
tained a station where a messenger was always on duty
watching for ships. When a ship was near enough
for its name to be determined, a messenger upon a
swift-footed horse was sent into the city to report the
inocming ship to the Merchants' Exchange. Mer-
chants and those expecting friends upon steamers, were
on constant watch at the Exchange, and the moment
that a messenger reported, the town was alive with ex-

_^ ^

J

'S IN THE GREAT CITY

citement, and the word went abroad that the steamer
was coming.

These steamers carried the only mail and express
matter that went out or came into California, until
some years later, Ben Holliday, the great stage man
of the coast, organized what was known as the "Pony
Express," which carried letters only across the conti-
nent, by relays. Only important letters were sent in
this way, and the postage of such letters was twenty-
five cents. The Pony Express was a great improve-
ment upon the slow steamer, which required a month
from New York to San Francisco. The Pony Ex-
press made the trip in two weeks.

The Central Pacific Railroad changed all this.
The building of the Central Pacific Railroad was a
matter of great political moment. Great antagonism
later grew up against the Central Pacific Railroad and
its kindred roads, but at the time of which we write a
Pacific railroad was a political question, and no man
could be elected to Congress or the Senate of the
United States, who was not pledged to its building.
The antagonism which grew up against this great
corporation and its kindred came about by reason of
the unlawful processes by which their promoters se-
cured from the Government great subsidies in moneys
and lands.

While the people of the city were fond of amuse-
ments, these were not the engrossing pursuit, but were
simple reliefs from the strain of business. People had
fine literary taste, were fond of music, and demanded
the very best, and for years San Francisco had the
I'faest, in music and drama. The theaters, while not

i

I

^■'best, in mu!

A J

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

buildings of any particular size or beauty, were suffi-
cient for the needs of the day. The old Union Theater
was on Commercial street, above Kearny, Commercial
Street to-day is given over to the Chinamen, but in
those days it was an important street. Here, in i86r,
I made my first acquaintance with the theater, and saw
Julia Deane Hayne, then a popular actress, in "Ernest
Maltravers." The audience was mixed, made up of all
kinds and conditions, — the man of affairs, with his
wife, seated beside the rough-garbed miner and his
companion. There was a democracy of feeling, with
no divisions by reason of wealth or habit.

Here "Little Lotta," as she was then known, and
who afterward gave to the city Lotta's Fountain, was a
great favorite. She was a young girl, with wonderful
fascination, with jnst the mood and temper to catch
the fancy of miners from the mines. She was always
attended at the theater by her mother and father. Her
mother was a sedate matron, but her father was fond
of the creature comforts, and spent his time during the
performances in indulgences with his friends. He was
a "character" in his way, and was quite important be-
cause he was the father of "Little Lotta." Many
times have I seen her, after her song and dance, stand
in a rain of gold flung to her by the enthusiastic
miners, who were captivated by her charm.

"Gilbert's Melodeon" was situated on the corner of
Clay and Kearny Streets, where three beautiful girls
known as the "Worrill Sisters" held nightly levees.
They were as popular as Lotta with the miners, and
with the people generally. This "Melodeon" was a
clean place, but was frequented by men only. The

93

old "Bella Union," situated on Kearny Street, near
Washington, was a famous place, but of different char-
acter. The amusements of this well-known place were
not as clean as those of the other places of the town,
and there were times when disorder prevailed. It was
owned and carried on by an old man and his wife,
known as "The Tetlows," both of them characters, —
large of form, rotund of face, and shrewd. None but
men ever visited the "Bella Union," for some of its
scenes, while not absolutely vulgar, were along lines
that would have been rather offensive to women. It
was a combination of theater and general-entertain-
ment-house, and it was not a difficult matter for a
stranger who occupied a box to become acquainted with
the actresses upon the stage, during the intervals be-
tween turns. The performers were not of a high type,
being of that free and easy joviality acceptable to the
men in those days.

Here among the vocalists, for several years, was a
once brilliant, beautiful and still sweet-voiced Italian,
formerly an operatic star of the world, who, through
dissipation, had fallen from her high estate. We called
her "Biscicianti." Often have we seen her, staggering
upon the stage and leaning for support against a table,
sing until the air was sweet with music. It was a
melancholy sight, for beauty and talent had in her

I been drowned in drink.

I On Montgomery Street, near Jackson, was the Met-
ropolitan Theater. On Sansome Street, between Clay
and Sacramento, was the old American Theater, where
many of the noted actors of that day were found. On
Washington Street was Maguire's Opera House, a

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

popular place of amusement in its day, where varied
performances were given, — sometimes legitimate
drama and at other times vaudeville, although "vaude-
ville" was an unknown term at that time. Here some
of the most remarkable characters of the time amused
the people. Ada Isaacs Menken, a celebrated actress,
a woman of great beauty of form and face, for many
months performed as "Mazeppa," She was a wonder,
and crowded the house during these months. The
principal scene of the play was when she, lasht to the
back of a supposed wild steed, in fact a beautiful horse
o%vned by her, apparently nude and exhibiting a match-
less symmetry of form, was carried across the stage,
back and forth, while the audience went wild. She
was a woman of varied accomplishments, and was the
author of a book of poems under the title "Infelicia,"
which contained many poems of rare poetic beauty and
much pathos.

Here also Alice Kingbury for months played to
jammed houses "Fanchon, the Cricket." She was a
delicate little damsel, but was married. It was said
that her success was due to the fact that she was the
wife of a young man dying of consumption. They
had been destitute and stranded in the city. What to
do they did not know. Finally, she said to her husband
that she was going to see Tom Maguire, and see if he
would not give her an opportunity to play "Fanchon,"
which she had committed to memory. She had no
stage education, was a mere novice, but her love carried
her through. She won in the tests she was submitted
to, and was given the opportunity, and upon the first
night thrilled the audience by her recital of the pathetic

SIGUrs IN THE GREAT CtTY

little story. It caught the town, and for months she
filled the theater, and it was said made comparatively
a fortune. She disappeared and was gone for several
years and then came back. She was advertised to
appear at the same theater, and of course everybody,
remembering the beautiful story and her wonderful
acting in former years, Bocked to see and hear her. It
was not the "Fanchon," but some more pretentious
play was presented, and she failed to draw, and then
and there passed out of theatrical history. The mo-
tive was gone and with it the genius she had exhibited,
when she was fighting for bread for her beloved.
Indeed, love is master of the world.

Maguire's Opera House was owned and carried on
by Tom Maguire, a noted man. He was of magnifi-
cent presence, of great energy and business capacity.
He was uneducated and depended largely upon his
brilliant wife for direction in matters which required
education. He had great ambitions for the drama, and
it was said spent more than a million dollars in search-
ing through Europe for the best talent obtainable,
maintaining agents in various countries hunting for
new stars.

At this house we saw McCoppin, the great FalstafF.
He played a season in San Francisco, then left for
Australia, and was lost at sea. He was a natural bom
Falstaff, in face and form, and gave to the celebrated
character a wonderful exposition. The younger
Keane came out from London, and played "Louis the
Eleventh," and the "Merchant of Venice." We re-
member the crowded houses and the intense interest
[connected with this engagement. The younger Keane

96

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

had much of the elder Keane's genius, was a marvel-
ous actor, giving to the characters of Louis and the
Jew great brilliance.

The Booth family began their career here, and Ed-
win Booth, altho a young man, exhibited the genius
which made him an immortal in after years.

Barrett and McCuUough, young men at that time,
came to Maguire's to support Edwin Forrest, who
came from New York under special engagement.

Well we remember Mrs. Leighton with her laugh-
ing song. She was a woman of great beauty and
magnetism, and in her celebrated laughing song con-
vulsed the house at her will. It was perfectly im-
possible for any one to resist the melodious laugh
which was the chorus of her song.

Lady Don, beautiful English Lady of quality, from
Australia, played a season at this house, with great
acceptability. One of the actors who was here con-
stantly engaged was Harry Coutaine, a young Irish-
man of handsome presence, great versatility, and mag-
nificent face. When he was sober enough, he was very
popular, but this was not very often. He was a vic-
tim of the drink habit, and it was impossible for him-
self or friends to break him of it. His wife, a devoted
woman, endeavored for years to win him from his dis-
sipations, but she was unable to do so and finally was
compelled, in self-defense, to leave him to his fate. We
saw him often during those years, on the streets, rag-
ged, foul and drunken — a creature to be avoided.

The "Metropolitan" was the staid house of the
town, where the operas were generally given, although
it was frequently occupied by stars and lecturers of

ers oi ii

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 97

fame. Here we saw Boucicault, during; a three months'
engagement, when he played his own productions, —
"Arrah Na Pogue" and "Colleen Bawn," — to crowded
houses. George Francis Train, for a couple of weeks
amused the people, and Artemus Ward, with his won-
derfully pure wit, was a leading attraction at one
time. One thing is to be said in favor of the old town
that can not be said in favor of the new, and that is,
that the best of operas were given at the popular prices.
A dollar and a half for a reserved seat was the highest
price asked at the old "Metropolitan," for the best
opera rendered by such artists as Pareppa Rosa,
BambilHa, Sconcia and like known stars.

One of the principal places of amusement of the
city was the Minstrel Theater, at 330 Pine Street,
where Billie Birch. Ben Cotton, Sam Wells, Dave
Wambold, Charlie Backus and Johnny De AngeHs
constituted the main features of the San Francisco
Minstrels, a big band which was popular in San Fran-
cisco, and popular In New York after they went there.
Poor Sam Wells was a great minstrel and a genial soul,
who came to a tragic end by accident, in Virginia City.

We had our restaurants in those days, not like those
we have now, but offering to the gourmet the best that
was afforded not only by California, but by the world
itself. The principal restaurant, frequented by ladies,
was Peter Job's, on Washington Street, opposite Ports-
mouth Square, where for fair prices the best could be
had. There was no adornment in the restaurant itself,
but the food was the best ; the service excellent, and
here the ladies of the town were accustomed to gather
during the afternoons for refreshments. The present

98 UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

after-theater custom was not in vogue in those days.
People hved at home; dined at home, except when they
were on an afternoon outing. Peter Job was an irasci-
ble Frenchman, in constant bad humor, but an excellent
caterer.

The old "Poodle Dog:" was in existence on Dupont
Street, near Clay. It was at that time a French Rotis-
serie. We did not then have grills and cafes. The
"Foodie Dog" was kept by an old Frenchwoman, fat
and unattractive, but a great purveyor of good things
to eat. She had a dirty-haired poodle dog, of which
she was very fond, — her constant companion, — and
the name of the restaurant was derived from this dog.
Miners when coming to town, discussing where they
should have their dinner, would say, one to the other,
"Oh, let's go up to the Poodle Dog," and thus the
name was fixt.

There was a class of restaurants that we do not have
now, known as the "Three for Two," — that is, three
dishes for two bits, or twenty-five cents. They made
no pretentions whatever to style, but supplied to their
customers good, substantial food, well cooked, and
fairly served, and for the floating population of the
town these were the best, for they were democratic.
The chief of these were the "New York Bakery" on
Kearny Street, near Clay, and the "United States Res-
taurant," on Clay Street, below Montgomery. There
was one in earlier times called "The Clipper" restaur-
ant, on Washington Street, which extended from
Washington to Jackson, and was so large that meals
were served from the kitchen on a little railway, upon

which the food was transmitted from the stove to
the guest.

The Coffee Houses of those days were celebrated,
ahho they were mere "holes in the wall" in the
water-front principally, kept by foreigners. They
; the rudest kind of eating places, but the cofifee
served was of the finest, and gave them great reputa-
tion. On Merchant Street, near the Montgomery Block,
a little "hole in the wall" was kept by three Swiss
brothers, under the name of "Jury Brothers." This
was a favorite place for lawyers, judges and profes-
sional men. It was across the street from the well-
known Clay Street Market, where everything good to
eat was to be had, and from this market the "hole in
the wall" found its provender. At Jury's a man
could reserve a table, walk over to the market, choose
his own food, return to the restaurant with the same
in his arms, and have it cooked to his order, paying
only for the service. Oftentimes have I seen Alexan-
der Campbell, Milton Andros. George Sharp, Judge
Dwinnelle, and other well-known lawyers and judges
dining at this little place. Campbell was the caterer
for the crowd, and he would go over to the market
and order from the stalls what to his taste would seem
good — a feast for a king. He would return, followed
by one of the market men, into the kitchen, and all
was delivered to the cook. While the dinner was cook-
ing, they discust the fine wines kept by the Jury
Brothers ; and when the dinner was served, here, from
six along till nearly midnight, these lovers of good
things would enjoy themselves to the limit. Those
dinners were almost daily occurrences.

lOO LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

The city had a saloon life, as now. Some of the sa-
loons were historical places, and no history of Califor-
nia or of San Francisco could be written that did not
include some mention of them. In the corner qf the
Montg;omery Block, at Washington Street, was the
old "Bank Exchang;e," kept by the Parkers. One of
the adornments of this saloon was a ten-thousand-dol-
lar picture of Samson and Delilah, which splendid
painting was spoiled by an anachronism, — a pair of
Sheffield shears dropt in a corner of the room by De-
lilah after having sheared Samson of his locks. This
old picture was destroyed by the fire of 1906.

Barry and Patton, two distinguished looking men,
both scholars and gentlemen in the highest sense of the
term, kept what was known as "Barry & Patton's," on
Montgomery Street. Here might be found the litera-
ture of the world; books to gratify the taste of the
most exacting scholar. There was no disorder in these
places. Everything was done decently, and with the
highest regard for good conduct.

Billy Craig, an erratic old Scotchman, for years kept
a wholesale and retail liquor house at the corner of
Washington and Duport Streets. His whiskys and
other liquors were of the best, for he was a connois-
seur. Here, for years, he was the celebrated dispenser
of "Hot Scotches" to the leading men of the town. It
was the custom of those who liked such things, at least
once during the evening to call on Billy for something
good, especially some of his wonderful "Hot Scotches."

Billy Blossom, a well-known and beloved old chap,
kept a first-class place on California Street, below San-
some, where he dealt out the very best the world af-

thii

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY lOi

forded, and in addition thereto he gave his customers
at noon a splendid repast. This was a popular place
among the merchants, often at noontime crowded to
suffocation.

Garibaldi, a relative of the celebrated liberator of
Italy, for many years kept a saloon on Leidesdorff
Street, near Sacramento. This was also a popular
place, for he dispensed rare punches, for which he had
the formula, and which he concocted personally. They
were delicious, and a couple of them would make a
man dream dreams or write poetry, if he had any
poetic sense.

The hotels were sufficient for the needs of the day,
but had nothing of the magnificence of our day. They
had no gril! attachments. Everything was table d'hote,
and one who wanted a meal had to be on time, for the
dining-room door opened and shut at fixt hours.

The principal hotel was the "International," which
for many years stood as the first-class hotel of the town,
on Jackson Street, near Kearny. Here many of the
distingiiished men of the State made their homes.
The proprietor was "Old Man Weygant," who be-
came known to almost every leading man in California
by reason of his eccentric and kindly character. He
was a natural born hotel man, and lived and died in
this work.

A place, perhaps never duplicated in the world, was

'oodward's "What Cheer House," on Sacramento
and Leidesdorff Streets. This was a hotel for men
only; no woman was ever seen on the premises. It
was managed by R. B. Woodward, who made a great
fortune there, and his management was along peculiar

iJ

t62 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lines. The main hotel was at the point stated, while
the upper floors of many adjacent houses were occupied
as annexes. The rooms were plainly furnished, but
were scrupulously clean. Complete changes were
made every day in the rooms. This was the favorite
home of the miner and the farmer. Of course, there
were but few farmers, but they knew and availed
themselves of the comforts of the "What Cheer
House." It was the first house in San Francisco run
upon the European plan. A large restaurant was con-
nected with the main house, where the guests could
take their meals, or not, just as suited their whim.
Here a meal from ten cents to ten dollars could be ob-
tained, according to the purse and appetite of the guest
A fine museum was a part of the establishment, and a
splendid library, free to all the town, for nobody was
ever turned away from the "What Cheer House,"
whether guest or not. A free bootblack stand was
maintained, where every one could black his own
boots without charge. In the library could be found
men who were literary men, and actors beginning to be
known and who afterwards became famous, not only
in California but throughout the world. Here have
I seen bending over some book Mark Twain and Bret
Harte, and others of lesser fame, together with
judges, doctors and lawyers. This was the only free
library in San Francisco at that time.

Woodward had the catering instinct in a large de-
gree, and after the growth of the town bought "The
Willows," a little entertainment place at the Mission,
which he transformed into the famed "Woodward
Gardens" that for many years was the only place where

_ * . ^ * *

mm

THE GREAT CltY

103

the poor of San Francisco could find amusement. All
these places have passed into history.

The Mission at this time was a separate settlement,
altho a part of the municipality. It was reached
in the earlier times only by a planked road running
along what now constitutes Mission Street. This
■was a toll road and led across the marsh lands which
covered this portion of the town, and was the creation
of that underflow which comes from the hill slopes
lying to the northwest of where is now the City Hall,
The underflow referred to caused the discussion over
the site of the present postoffice, for about the corner of
Seventh and Mission Streets was a creek, crossed by a
bridge. A stream of water flowed out into the levels
lying between this point and South Beach, until it
formed a morass, which required in after years filling
up from the sandhills before it could be used for build-
ing purposes. This toll road was a matter of profit
to the owners, and the only means of communication
with the Mission; later, however, the sandhills of
Market Street were cut through, Valencia Street
opened and a regular standard gauge railroad built
and run out, from where Lotta's Fountain stands,
through Market and Valencia Streets, to the Mission.
The beautiful Golden Gate Park was then unknown,
but people began to enjoy the beach and a toll road was
built out as an extension of Geary Street, the sand
dunes were leveled, and macadam made a fine road-
way. This became popular, and on afternoons, after
business hours, here could be seen the best of our peo-
ple, driving teams, racing like the wind. It was often
■^d that the money represented by the horse-flesh that

I04 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

was owned by our citizens at that time mounted into
the minions.

Oakland was a terra incognita, and but few people
ever thought of going there for pleasure. There was
no continuous ferry service between the places, only
at intervals little, dirty boats carried people up the
creek and landed them at what was known then as
San Antonio. There were no inducements for the
pleasure seeker, and business was the only thing that
called a San Francisco man to Oakland.

There were certain sections of San Francisco, as
now, celebrated, and the most celebrated street was
Montgomery Street, from Market Street northward.
It had two sides, facetiously called the "ddlar" side
and the "ten cent" side. The dollar side was on the
west, and here, day and night, could be seen a
promenade of the aristocrats of the town, for this was
their parade ground.

Kearny Street was a second class street, not so
wide as now, a narrow, dirty street, g^ven over to all
classes, and by its dirt and squalor unattractive to
the eye. Dupont Street, now Grant Avenue, was also
a narrower street than now, and was given over to
small trades, low saloons, and at certain northern
points to the "red light."

Washington Street, from Stockton, was the prin-
cipal street used by the better classes for going and
coming from the residential to the business parts of
the town. It was a clean, well composed street, upon
which were situated many of the retail stores, and
here was the celebrated Job's restaurant.

The Chinaman, as his numbers began to increase,

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY

fixt his eye on that portion of the town which in-
cluded Washington Street, and a slow but sure occu-
pation began. His plan was to commence at a corner
and work round a block, which he did with great
success, until Chinatown now constitutes the section
which could be said to have its center at Washington
and Dupont Streets, with a radius reaching on the
east to Kearny and on the west to Stockton Street
Two leading churches of the town, the First Baptist
on Washington, and the First Presbyterian' on Stock-
ton Street, were taken in by this encroachment, and
I believe before the fire they had both been converted
into Chinese lodging houses.

North Beach and Meigg's Wharf were important
points at that time. They were places where the popu-
lation went for fresh air from the sea, and here could
be seen at any hour of the day groups of the best
people, strangers and citizens. Meigg's Wharf was
the depot for the fisherman, where he fitted out for
the deep sea fishing, and to which he brought his
harvest. Crab fishing in those days was a great pur-
suit, and here' in the early morning could be found
piles of crabs, ready for distribution to the markets.
The wharf was built by Harry Meiggs, who was at
that time a noted, active and honored citizen, but who
fell into bad ways and fled the country finally, to show
up in Peru, where he became, by reason of his genius,
a prominent character, building a railroad into the
Andes, and assisting in developing the resources of
that wonderful country. He bad a hunger for the old
town and for the State, and endeavored more than
once to come home, by offering to pay all that he owed

106 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

through his follies and crimes, on condition that the
edict of banishment be removed, but the State would
not consent to dismiss the indictments. He finally died
an outlaw, so far as California was concerned, in far-
off Peru. Of a truth "the way of the transgressor is
hard."

At North Beach, just at the beginning of Meigg's
Wharf, was situated one of the curiosities of the
town, a place of enticement to the crowds from the
country who were searching for points of interest in
the city. It was an o!d tumble-down saloon, connected
with which was a museum and menagerie. The mu-
seum was filled with all sorts of curious and rare
things, some of great value, and was the object of in-
tense interest and examination by people who fre-
quented Meigg's Wharf, more particularly to the
countrymen, who found this one of the most interest-
ing places in the city.

West of Meigg's Wharf, between it and what is now
Fort Mason, were a number of bath-houses, where the
people of the city took their sea-water baths. From
six to nine o'clock in the morning hundreds battled
with the cold waters of the ocean. It was exhilarat-
ing sport. The waters coming in from the sea through
the Golden Gate were cold, but this did not deter the
energetic swimmers from tackling them in the early
morning. It was here that Ralston, the great banker,
lost his life on the afternoon following the historic
failure of the Bank of California. Before this time
he was frequently seen here in the early morning, en-
joying to the utmost the vigorous swimming in the

d

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 107

A history of the city would not be complete with-
out some reference to the Long Wharf. Commercial
Street, although nOw an unimportant side street, de-
voted to commission and produce houses, was in those
days the principal street of the city leading to the
water-front. From the water line had been built out
into the bay a long wharf, and that was the name given
it. The life on this street and wharf was full of
ciirious sights, for they were constantly crowded with
all kinds of people engaged in all kinds of pursuits,
with straggling crowds who found here many kinds of
divertisement. Cheap John auction shops, old clothes
stores, gambling houses, saloons and second-class
hotels constituted the business places of the street.
The auction stores were usually full of people, lured
in by the loud voice and wit of the auctioneer. Plated
gold watches and flashy cheap jewelry were sold "for
a song" — ^not always for a "song," for some Rube
from the country, imprest by the statements of the
auctioneer, would be induced to pay four times the
value of the article sold. The auctioneer was always
a character, rude and vulgar generally, but full of
wit, and able to attract and hold a crowd.
I In one of the gambling-houses was for many years,
las an attraction, a remarkable Liliputian, called by
' everybody "Auntie." She was not a dwarf, but was
well-formed — a dainty little negro — full of kindliness
and cheer. Many a man was drawn into the house to
see "Auntie," for she was a fine conversationalist,
and full of ready knowledge and wit. Of the casual
visitors, many a man remained to spend his money
I at the gaming table.

io8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Another of the attractions of the water-front was
the landing place of the Sacramento and Stockton
steamers, the only means of transportation between
these cities being by the Sacramento and San Joaquin
Rivers. The steamers were built for comfort and
speed. Every afternoon, at four o'clock, Jackson
Street wharf was crowded, not only with those about
to embark, but with their friends and the usual sight-
searching crowd. The incoming and outgoing of
these steamers were always matters of the intensest
interest. Th'ere frequently arose great competition
between river steamboat lines, and several tragedies
grew out of this competition, by collisions on the rivers
caused by intent or recklessness of the captains.

Benicia, on the Straits of Carquinez, at one time the
capital of the State, was the first landing-place. At
that time it was quite an important station for the rea-
son that many of the best citizens of the Sate, during
the "Capital" days, had settled here, with their fami-
lies, and became attached to the town, and made it
their dwelling place even after the incoming of the
railroad and the consequent change of conditions.
Here were situated military barracks, which may
yet be seen by the traveler on the railroad to Sacra-
mento. "Uncle Sam" is still in possession, but so far
as their occupation is concerned, they have become un-
important except as a storing place for ordnance.

There were some unique characters in San Fran-
cisco, known to everybody. Among these was "Em-
peror Norton," an insane old Frenchman, who im-
agined himself to be the Emperor of the World. He
had been, during previous years, a man of affairs as

SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY

a merchant. He was a man of vast experience, with
courtly manners and great kindness of spirit. He
was seen upon the streets constantly, and was a great
frequenter of the theaters and churches. Altho of
disordered mind, he was mild-tempered, and a friend
to every one he met. He had been a member of a
Masonic Lodge, and on account of this affiliation he
was taken care of by the Masons. He had carte
blanche to all places of amusement, and to many of the
eating places of the town. Everybody knew and
liked "Emperor Norton." He was always drest in
military garb, which he obtained from the officers at
the Presidio, who gave to him from time to time
their uniforms that had passed beyond their own
use. When he wanted money, which was not so very
often, he would issue his "bonds," and these he would
sell to the people he met at fifty cents apiece, redeem-
able some years off, at double their face value. For
many years he was a well known figure, but iinally
disappeared, we suppose, to the Great Unknown.

Another peculiar character was "Uncle Billy
Coombes," who was also of disordered mind, imagin-
ing himself to be George Washington. He evidently
had some means, for he was never known to apply
for any privilege or charity. His parade ground was
Montgomery Street, on the western or "dollar" side,
where on almost any pleasant afternoon he would be
seen strutting up and down, from block to block,
garbed in a Continental uniform, spotlessly clean,
and made out of finely tanned buckskin. In face he
was very much like the portraits of Benjamin Frank-
Ijio. He was, in form and feature, a perfect "Conti-

J

no LIFE ON THE PAQFIC COAST

nental." A great jealousy existed between him and
Emperor Norton. Norton did not recognize the right
of any other aspirant to public favor, to parade upon
the streets of the city. On many occasions they met
and theirs was a physical collision, and the police
were on constant watch, to prevent them from doing
each other serious harm.

Another well known figure on the streets was an old
Frenchman, a miserable specimen of htunanity, seedy
and decrepit, who crawled through the streets, gather-
ing out of the waste barrels of restaurants and in the
slums of the street the food which sustained his poor
life. He was an abject sight, unclean and wretched,
and his nicknames indicated this, for he was called
"Old Misery, The Gutter Snipe." Many a time have
I seen him gathering up the refuse from the street,
but I never saw him speak to a human being. Where
he lived, no one ever knew. He appeared like a bird
of prey in the morning, and disappeared from sight
about noon. From whence he came and where he
went, no one knew.

Another character, who frequented Kearny Street,
during parade hours, was a man who was never seen
to converse with anybody, never paying any attention
to any one or anything but himself. He was fault-
lessly drest at all times, and appeared to have an
unlimited wardrobe. His clothes were of the finest
material, and he seldom wore the same suit more
than two or three times. He was referred to as the
"Great Unknown." What he did for a living, where
he lived, or who he was, was never discovered. It
was surmised that he was a lay figure of the tailors of

Ill

the town, on account of his constant change and the
fineness of his apparel. He also, after several years,
disappeared.

Two other well known and remarkable characters
were not human. Two mongrel dogs made their head-
quarters at the corner of Merchant and Montgomery
Streets, around the old Blue Wing saloon. Here for
years they were found every day, always together,
and there existed between them a relationship beauti-
ful, altho it was a mere animal affection. "Bummer"
and "Lazarus" were known to all the people of the
city, and were the subject of frequent mention in
the Press, They had no trouble to find support, for
they were kindly in disposition, attended to their own
business, and by reason of their peculiar relation to
each other, made friends, and these friends always
saw to it that "Bummer' and "Lazarus' had their
daily food.

We had a remarkable artist, who had much of the
genius of Nast, the celebrated artist of the War, whose
caricature of Tweed in "Harper's Weekly" led to
Tweed's arrest in Spain at the hands of a Httle Spanish
constable, in a far-off and remote village in the Pyren-
nees. It was said that Tweed, by reason of his person-
ahty, had made himself noted in the httle Pyrennean
village, and attracted the attention of the local con-
stable. Finally there drifted into the hands of the little
constable Harper's magazine. He immediately recog-
, nized Tweed and began to make inquiries, and finally
fraphed to New York, asking if this man was
wanted, and this led to the arrest and return of Tweed

112 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

to New York, and his trial and conviction and death
in Sing Sing prison.

Our artist had much of this talent for keeping in his
caricatures the face and personality of his subject
His face work was as perfect as Nast's, but his art
was not as fine. He was a rapid artist, and was fond
of grouping into his caricatures numbers of the best
known people, were they politicians, merchants, actors
or i^rofessional men. Before the fire, many of these
caricatures could be found in old saloons, but they have
all disappeared in ashes and smoke. In these carica-
tures one acquainted with the old city and with the
public characters, or the well known men of the day,
was able without effort to pick out the persons repre-
sented in the group. The legislature was a favorite
place for his work, and members of the legislature
were grouped together in some of these historic cari-
catures.

Chapter VIII

SOME OLD NEWSPAPERS AND THEIR
GREAT EDITORS

TT AS the Union come?" This phrase was at one
^ -^ time in California the most frequently uttered
of all phrases in the English tongue. It was at the
week's end on the lips of farmers, miners and home-
folks, and meant had the Weekly Sacramento Union
come. At that time the Union was published at
Sacramento and was a great newspaper, full of news
from all parts of the civilized world, and with full
narratives of local incidents. It contained also wis-
dom, literature, poetry, science and religion, to quicken
and satisfy the cravings of the multitude for educa-
tion, advice and culture. It was a great journal in
the hands of great men, and to it the people looked for
information and guidance. Its daily issue was limited
to the cities that could be reached on the day of its
' issuance. The Weekly covered the entire coast, and
was to be found in the farmhouse, the country hotel,
the village home and the camp of the cattleman and
the miner. A man could not In those days travel far
enough on the coast to he beyond the territory where
this paper was not a welcome visitor, a trusted coun-
"3

II4LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COA!

sellor, wise teacher and familiar friend. It was a
stalwart in all things. It had views upon all living
questions and gave to them vigorous expression with-
out fear or favor. As an educational force it had no
equal in the State, either then or since. Its pro-
prietors were men to whom the Press was a trust;
commercialism had no part in its creation or life. Its
columns were not open to purchase. It stood, as all
papers should stand, for worthy things, the things
that counted for righteousness in political, social and
commercial life. Its editors were men of lofty ideals,
great erudition, extended experience, with great gifts
as writers. They worked from love of their craft,
and thought and wrote upon all questions that entered
into the warp and woof of life. Local news was gath-
ered from all accessible territory, and cast into shape
in the columns of the Union. Masters of the art saw
that no waste of words padded long-drawn out col-
umns ; clear, clean-cut facts made iip its news items.

Upson, Seabaugh and Weeks, three wonderful men
in the newspaper world, worked together with the ease
of well-oiled machinery in the news and editorial col-
umns, giving out of their disciplined and equipped
minds, during the very noon of its existence, the great-
est newspaper the Pacific Coast has ever had, and
giving to it rank and place among the great journals
of the world. The Union was no mere business
concern, altho by reason of its vast circulation, it was
of profit to its owners. It recognized and executed
a great mission, that of leading and inspiring a people
building a new commonwealth. With clean lips they
proclaimed the truth, and with clear hands adminis-

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 115

tered its affairs. The Union worked to create popu-
lar opinion, to exalt virtue, to drive vice into the ditch,
and to lift the hopes of the multitude to the higher
levels of noble thought and living. It stood behind
public men only when they were worthy, upheld public
measures only when they were righetous. It avoided,
as far as possible, the purely personal attack: wielded
the battle-ax or the bludgeon against men only when
it became a necessity in behalf of the common
good. Sin it crucified with pitiless vigor, the sinner
it left to the correction of his own conscience. He
was a strong man and it was a rugged group of men
who could long withstand the bombardment of the
Union against any of his or their schemes for public
plunder. Gain had no part in its discussion of men or
measures. Its attacks were made from principle, and
like all attacks so made, were to the death. Steady,
disciplined, unyielding, its influence was thrown against
a wrong with the quenchless valor of an English
Squire on the field of battle. It won its victories for
the people by the tremendous gravitation of a steady,
moral pressure. This high character was maintained
until the death of some, and the removal of others,
of its guiding spirits left it the prey of designing
interests; and by change of ownership and policy it, at
last, slowly but surely, in later years, declined from its
high estate.

From out of the shadows of the past let us recall
its great spirits, whose worth and genius were as
much a part of the paper in its day of power js was
the ink and paper upon which it was printed : First, the
I elow-motioned, taciturn Weeks, who with tireless

^K «iow-ma[ione

ii6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

energy gathered facts and made local history, who
molded simple news items with unerring skill into
the force of epigrammatic statements. He had no
superior in this department. His instinct for news
was like unto the instinct of a hunting dog for a bird.
News flowed to him by a sort of magnetic attraction.
Men brought to him items of interest with the same
impulse that moves them to bring to the scientist rare
specimens of rock or fish or bird. He was a master
of orderly arrangement and subconsciously grouped
into attractive shape the history of the day. He lived
and moved and breathed in his work. The columns
of his paper were all of the world he cared to know.
If he dreamed any dreams, none were the wiser; for of
silent men he was the most silent. For years he
came to and went from his desk as regularly as the
sun comes and goes in the sky. He was a kindly
soul, but withdrew from the common association of
his fellows and had the rare faculty of great men to
find in self-communion sufficient for inspiration and
solace. The business office of the Union was to
him holy ground, and no devotee at a religious shrine
ever yielded more of reverence than did he to the ab-
ject of his endless work. He died an old man, in the
service of his paper, to which be had lovingly given
his best years and work. How could a paper fail to
be great, that had among its workers such as he,
pouring into it the choicest of a devoted life!

Upson, the managing editor, was a gracious figure,
full of spirit and charm. He was tempered as finely
as a Damascus blade, winning and sweet in manner.
The term "gentlemen" described him accurately.

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

Suai'iter in nwdo, fortiler in re was perhaps his distin-
guishing characteristic, for to a persuasive gentleness
there was added the inflexibihty of steel. He gravi-
tated toward high ideals, and once fixt in the cer-
tainty of what was right, he was immovable. He
combined in rare measure the man of affairs and the
dreamer. His visions were clear outlines of truth, and
to a faculty of profound reasoning was added an im-
agination active and brilliant. His mind was framed
by the highest culture and stored with the wisdom of
the ancient and modern world ; his range of learning
was from the centers to the horizons: a compre-
hensive, aggressive intuition, opened a vast field of
accurate detail. He seemed subconsciously to arrive
at the exact truth. Like an eagle from the sky he
surveyed situations in atmospheres free of mist and
cloud, and like the eagle also he swept in great circles
of endeavor. Aggressive, incisive, direct, was all of
his editorial work. When any important public move-
ment was on foot, men waited for Upson's editorials
to make sure of the road as a guide to them for action.
He was at once forceful and reliable, reasonable and
faithful. Men trusted his wisdom and his honor. As
a controlling factor of the Union's forces his busi-
ness instinct was unerring. His policies were based
on established principles and an obedience to a set-
tled purpose. This was the mainspring of the in-
tellectual and commercial machinery of the great jour-
nal. It was fit in every way on the Western fringe
of our country to rank with the New York Tribune,
the Times, the Sun and the Springfield Republican.
While not the equal of Upson in many respects,

^m While not

ii8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Seabaugh as an editorial writer was his superior.
In fact, in his special department Seabaugh had
no superior during; his prime, in California, or in
any other State. In spite of habits which wouid
have sapped the faculties of a smaller man and clouded
his vision, Seabaugh to the day of his death remained
the most brilliant newspaper man in the State. He
was born, not made, and his instincts for the highest
work were as sure as the instinct of an eagle for the
sky. A recent writer has made the statement that in-
tellectual women are ugly, giving notable examples of
great women whose faces were devoid of personal
charm. This is not true either physically or psycho-
logically, so far as gifted men are concerned, for
many of the noted men of the Pacific were favored
in perfection of face and form, as they were in the
fine order of their minds. Among such was Sea-
baugh, for he was a marked man in any group by his
splendid physique, and his face as attractive as the
face of a Greek model. Tall, erect and graceful, he
stood a perfect specimen of the courtly gentleman and
refined scholar. Delicacy was in every motion, and
to all he added an artist's instinct for perfect apparel.
He was always the clean, well-dressed, attractive man,
the choice companion of his fellows, and the despair
of women.

Just before the Civil War Seabaugh was engaged
in the editorial work of a country paper in a moun-
tain town in the Southern mines. He had attracted
attention by the vigor of his writings, and as the
issues of the war became more intense by reason of
the divided sentiment between the men from the North

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

119

and the South, he was brought to Stockton to edit
the Independent, then, as now, one of the leading
papers of the central portion of the State. There ex-
isted here at this time a large number of Southerners,
among whom was the fiery Terry, whose dominant
spirit and courage had much to do in fostering a spirit
hostile to the Union, and the war. These men were
aggressive, and largely controlled the political situa-
tion. The Union men needed a spokesman with no un-
certain voice to uphold the loyalty of the masses who
were true at heart but lacked the capacity of expres-
sion. Multitudes there were who loved the flag and
longed for victory, but who shrank from a bold front.
Social relations had been close between Northern and
Southern families; business connections existed be-
tween neighbors whose hearts were divided over the
great national struggle ; everywhere there was tension
and strain, the blood was moving hot in the veins,
the pulse was high, and passions in constant danger of
outburst.

The Independent was loyal, but it lacked aggres-
sive vigor, and Seabaugh was given freedom and told
to write as he knew how, to write for the maintenance
of the Union, for a firm conduct of the war at all
costs, for the freedom of the slaves, if this were found
to be a war necessity — for a unified country. He

as unswervingly loyal, he saw clearly the issues, and
the columns of the Independent he poured out
his heart in burning editorials, the best that was in
him and the best was good. He was the master of a
diction brilliant, clear and convincing. He had the
capacity to reason from premises founded upon recog-

^^ than (

120 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

nized principles to the irresistible conclusion. His
editorials were clothed in choicest language, eloquent,
majestic and luminous. He tore sophistries to rags,
beat down specious reasoning, and built up the faith
of the people by appeals sweet and winning. He wrote
as one whose love saved him from weariness, and
day by day with unceasing fervor, he poured upon the
country's enemies terrible words of condemnation,
and as with a trumpet from the heights called the
faint-hearted to act like men who loved the institu-
tions of their country and were ready to stand with
her in her days of trial. To Lincoln and the soldiers
he extended a great support and sympathy; to all
measures he gave intellectual and moral strength. He
quickened the hope and conscience of the people. It
would be a liberal education in love of country for the
young men of these days if Saabaugh's editorials in
the war days were available. To him it was a day
of inspiration, and he spoke like a seer. The In-
dependent became in his hands a political power, its
columns were read everywhere, and men formerly of
doubtful mind were won to steady allegiance. It was
a great work, performed with clean heart and hands
in a great cause, and by it he won a grateful remem-
brance at the hands of future generations.

The fame of Seabaugh extended and he became a
member of the staff of the Sacramento Union in the
reconstruction days. He was rising now, still in his
prime; Stockton and the Independent had expanded
and ripened his genius, and in the new and larger
field he found a greater constituency. He was more
than equal to all of these, and he grew in grace. He

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

still gave his best to his country, and in the measures
of the country's reconstruction found place for whole-
some advice and suggestion. There was never a weak
place in his work; all was strong and instructive. It
must not be understood that he was great only as a
political writer. He was versatile and of the widest
range. No question was too deep, no place too ele-
vated, for his easy reach. He was a ripe scholar, and
to his editorials brought the riches of a world-wide
philosophy; of science, political economy, education,
religion and human experience. He was equally happy
and at home in all. There seemed to be no limit to
his capacity, no horizon to his vision. He sang with
the poets, talked with philosophers in the schools, sug-
gested new tints to painters, new curves of beauty
to the sailptors, dreamed sweet dreams with dreamers,
and laid new sweetness upon the lips of orators.

After a few years at Sacramento, he came to the
Chronicle in San Francisco, and became its chief
editorial writer. The times had become settled and
there was no call for the intense work of former
years. The Chronicle had a right to its claim of
literary excellence, for it had on its staff a group of
first-class men. The demand in those days was for
the editorial column, and no paper held a prominent
place which did not deal out well-considered, mature
and well-exprest opinions upon all questons. The
coarse illustrations, silly pictures, and rot of the pres-
ent day would not have been possible in the days of
great journalism in California. Of course, the people,
not the newspaper, may be said to be to blame. Papers
publish what the people demand ; they have long ceased

122 LIFE ON THE PAaFIC COAST

to create and compel public thought They used to
lead ; now they follow.

Personally, Seabaugh was dignified and reserved,
with perfect manners and the air of a courtier. He
was a lover of the good things of the earth, a bon
vivant, and this taste oftentimes led him into indul-
gences that in an ordinary man would have been disas-
trous. They seemed, however, to have no power over
him and he was always the brilliant writer, no matter
what his condition. We remember on one occasion,
as we entered one of the old restaurants of the city,
we noticed him sitting, asleep, over his soup plate,
oblivious of the surroundings and dead to the world.
He so remained for the time that we were taking our
meal, but just as we were about to leave, he roused
himself, took a survey of the situation, settled his bill
and went out Knowing the wonderful capacity of
the man, we wondered what would be the morning's
paper in so far as Seabaugh was a part thereof. We
looked for something good, for he could never be
commonplace, biit were not prepared, as we unfolded
the paper on the following morning, for the learned
disquisition upon an exciting topic then in the public
mind, requiring in its discussion great care and skill.
The article was ablaze with logic and illustration, a
marvel of intellectual achievement. It was an astound-
ing exhibition of the perfection of his mind and its
immunity from all disint^^ating influences.

For a time he gave his very best, while in the zenith
of his powers, to his profession. He was a star of the
first magnitude, but like a comet blazing with light
seen for a while in the mid-heavens, he drifted off into

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

123

the unknown, and we can not at this day recall his
career after he left the Chronicle's employ.

Speaking of the Chronicle, we well remember its
birth and evolution from the Dramatic Chronicle.
Many years ago. when the old California Theater was
in its heyday, the De Young boys, Charles, Augustus
and Michael, then very young, published a little paper
for free distribution as an advertisement and pro-
gram for the theater. For many months it was
published on Montgomery Street, near Clay, distri-
buted by boys on the street during the daytime, and
at night handed out in the theater as the program.
It was a small four-page sheet, but was in addition
to the theater prograni full of spicy items, and fre-

tquently had editorial matter of great merit from the
pens of some of the best known writers of the day —
and that was the day of good writing. We were in
those days a law student in the Montgomery Block.
much given to theater-going, and read the Dramatic
Chronicle with daily interest. One morning there
was thrown into the office a copy of the Morning
Chronicle published by the De Young Brothers. This
^^ was the surprise of the hour, for its first announce-
^^Lment was that on account of the unprecedented sue-
^^Vcess of the Dramatic Chrojiicle, the boys had con-
^^ eluded, without more ado, to make a try in the more
pretentious field of journalism. That was the begin-
ning of its career, and it became a part of the State's
economic, political, and social history.

The history of journalism on the Pacific Slope

would be incomplete without a reference to The

^^^Bulletin, and its heroic editor, James King of Wil-

124 LIFE ON THE PACIHC COAST

liam. He lived a hero and died a martyr. He fear-
lessly fought for the welfare of the people, for decent
living, pure administration of law, exact justice, and
the supremacy, of public morality. Against a horde
of desperate and brutal men he battled with his might,
regardless of personal danger. He walked in the pres-
ence of constant threat, in the shadow of tragedy.
Assassination dogged his footsteps and yet he did not
flinch; his dauntless spirit was without fear. He
recognized the duty of a leading newspaper to the
community and to that duty he gave full measure.
The people stood behind him with moral support, and
in this support he found his solace and consolation.
The desperate despoilers who preyed upon the city
felt his power and feared him. He could not be
Iwught or intimidated, and he began to be a marked
man. It was up to the desperadoes to leave, or to
silence his voice that cried aloud for justice and de-
cency. In desperation he was assassinated in the
public streets by a crowd. Like other similar events,
in other times and places, his fall was a call to arms.
Suppressed indignation became a flame and an aroused
people were moved to action by an avenging spirit.
It was the mood that fired the Nation when its soldiers
marched to battle singing "John Brown's body Hes
a-mouldering in the grave, but his soul goes marching
on."

King's death was terrible, but it was proved to be
a providence to the city, and for years his martyr-
dom was a controlling factor in the city government
and in a perfect municipal rule. Heroism stirs and
fascinates the human spirit, and his is a mean soul that

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

does not in the presence of the martyr's ashes grow
warm with yearning for nobler things. No event from
the outbreak of the war had as deep and widespread
influence for good as had the untimely, tragic taking-
off of King, in the prime of his life, by cruel and
bloody hands. Men saw through their tears their
duty and did it with determined hands. It brought
about the reign of morals in public affairs, followed
by the peace of well administered law.

The career and work of King can be contrasted but
not compared with that of t1ie editor in these days,
who looks upon his newspaper as the banker does upon
his countinghouse, the merchant upon his warehouse,
and the manufacturer upon his machine-shop — a place
to make money — his paper a commercial enterprise,
fearing to offend iniquity in high places, for fear, for-
sooth, business may be injured. Men are too weak-
lunged now to blow blasts upon trumpets from the
housetops to warn a plundered and outraged people.
It is an easier and more profitable task to lay bare,
with picture and column, scandals in high life, or de-
tail the rounds of a prize-fight between a brutal negro
and a more brutal white man. This is what the people
I want? Granted; but it is under a low, public con-
l science permeated by an equally low and possibly lower
administration of laws governing public morals. The
newspapers of the city could in a week, by a concert of
action, firmly carried out, make it impossible to carry
on amusements in the city and county of San Fran-
cisco that were detrimental to the morals of its chil-
dren. There would be fewer nickels in the coffers, of
I course, but there would be a sweeter atmosphere

126 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

everywhere, and the environment of our school chil-
dren would be cleaner and safer. In discussing this
subject recently with a well-known, seasoned news-
paper man, engaged upon one of the city's leading
papers, I said : "You are the father of a family of
growing children ; do you allow them free run to the
columns of your paper?" He looked me in the eye
for a moment and said "No, to be truthful, I do not,"
Then I remarked "What about the other men's chil-
dren?" A shrug of his shoulder and he was off down
the street. Oh, no, he was not his brother's keeper.
How easy in the feverish rush for gold it is for us
to shed our moral responsibility, and to put money
into our purse — honestly if we can? Will the old
days ever come back when our papers shall be again
standard-bearers, crying aloud for order, law and
decency? Will they ever again create and uphold high
standards of moral excellence in human affairs?

There was a marked literary difference in the papers
of the early and intermediate years. Various pro-
fessions and trades had their respective newspapers.
The Bulletin was the merchants' and professional
men's paper. The Alfn California represented the
auctioneer interests. The Morning Call the work-
ing men and the working women. The Southern
Democrat had the Daily Examiner, and the literary
people the Golden Era. The Bulletin was owned
and conducted by Fitch and Pickering, two active and
resolute men, who were men of genius in newspaper
work. They also owned the Call. The Call at
this time was widely read and abundantly supported
by the working people. Fred McCrellish, aided by

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

John McComb and Noah Brooks, took care of the
Alta, and Frank Washington and Phil Roche, under
the ownership of an old farmer from the San Joaquin,
W. S. Moss, dealt out in the Examiner the stuff rel-
ished by the Democrats who hailed from south of the
Mason and Dixon line.

We well remember the afternoon when we stood on
Washington Street of the day of Lincoln's assassina-
tion, and watched the mob toss into the streets the
type and press with which the Examiner was
printed. The Examiner had been shaving close to
the Hne of disloyalty to the Union and the Flag, and
in their hour of frenzy the people worked upon it
their vengeance. It became wiser and better by the
experience after its resuscitation, tho Frank Wash-
ington would once in a while forget the serious after-
noon and take a fling at the Flag and the Army, both
then invading the soil of his birthplace.

During this period there were several minor literary
ventures supplied chiefly by the effusions of seminary
girls, and the maiden efforts of youths who were am-
bitious to try their wings in the literary sky. These,
of course, had a precarious existence, and came and
went like the seasons, and about as often. There was,
however, one steady old publication, the Golden
Era, that lived for quite a period, and was the one
outlet for the real literary talent of the coast. It was
published once a week by G. B. Densmore, a fine
old chap, and was given to essays, reviews, original
poems and short stories. It had upon its list of con-
tributors names that have since become immortal —
Bret Harte, Mark Twain, Prentice Mulford, Orpheus

128 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

C. Kerr, Steve Massett or "J^n^s Pipes of Pipes-
ville." Massett did the funny business for the whole.
It runs through our mind that Ambrose Bierce, once
in a while, took a fling in its columns, but of this we
are not quite sure. The matter published in the
Golden Era was not at all bad, and oftentimes much
of it was really good— on a par with matter which
came from the pens of some of its distinguished con-
tributors in after years. Steve Massett was a quaint,
easy-going, genial soul, full of good humor and the
friend of everybody. He was a charming companion,
with an unfailing flow of fun. For some years he had
his home on a creek then flowing near the present
comer of Mission and Seventh Streets, where the
United States Postoffice now is. Here he lived the
life of a bachelor Bohemian, in his little shack, which
he called "Pipesville." He was never lonesome, for
his geniality acted like a magnet to call his friends
there, where in perfect freedom they enjoyed the best
of material things, and the best of Steve as well. We
remember him as he frequently drifted into the law
office, where we were a student. He was always wel-
comed by his old friend the New York lawyer. Here,
of course, by accident, at the same time would drift
in the Bohemians of the town, among whom was
George H. Ensign, the Beau Brummel of the town, the
organizer of the Spring Valley Water Company.
Massett and Ensign were great friends, and it was a
treat to be in the presence of these two, at the same
time.

One of the things we miss in these sordid days is
the close, real friendship that existed between men

V NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 120

" then. It seems that these relationships have lost their
savor. Bret Harte was a silent, preoccupied, unap-
proachable fellow. We never could determine
whether this was by reason of his temperament or
of his dreams. At any rate, he never seemed to be
much of a friend to anybody but himself. Twain was
of a different stamp. He was the friend of every-
body, would take a smoke or a "smile" with anybody.
and was a "Hail-fellow-well-met" at all times. It was
this quality which at last brought him fame, money
and long life. Shortly after the time of which we
write, he drifted to Virginia City, and convulsed the
Comstock with his witty contributions to the Nevada
papers. From thence he went to Honolulu, and thence
across the world with his "Innocents" and became
focalized in the minds of all who love a laugh.

Poor Prentice Mulford, philosophic soul, a lonely
dreamer of sweet things, was a welcome presence per-
sonally and in his writings. He was an occultist, and
loved the domain of mystery. He belonged to the
transcendentalists on the one side and to the Puri-
tans on the other. A rare purity pervaded his writ-
ings, and he was much read. Later he went East
and wrote much of things that no man could verify
except by personal, spiritual experience. His sad and
mysterious death, while alone in a boat, on the bosom
of an eastern lake, has made his memory to those who
knew him best very tender. He was as harmless as
a child, and of great simplicity; a lovable and gentle
soul irradiated his life.

The future, of course, must hold men of intense

^^^enius and charm ; but California will never again

I30 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST

have grouped together so peculiar and rare a lot of
literary men, to think and write for very love, as
did the early Bohemians. The Bohemian of that
day was genuine. He was as real as the climate ; and
the so-called limelight Bohemian of the present to the
early Bohemian is as paste to a diamond. Men were
Bohemians then because they were so, not because they
wanted to be so. They were "to the manner bom"
and were hopelessly beyond imitation.

During the war times, as the war editor of the
American Flag, an eccentric, reserved but virile
old Scotchman, D. L. McDonald wrote with his pen
dipped in vitriol. We recall him now, a slovenly old
figure, bowed with years or physical infirmity, as he
shunted in and out of the editorial rooms. He com-
muned with no one, but took keen notice of everybody,
and everything about him. He seemed to have no
associates, was always alone, and worked like a dray-
horse. During the short life of the Flag in the hot-
test times of the war, he filled its colimms with burn-
ing stuflF. He either had, or simulated, a passionate
love for the Government. Whether this mood was
from love for the country or from an intense hatred
for his opponents, having its foimdation in the vin-
dictive nature of the man, we never were able to de-
termine. His physical make-up was opposed to all
softness of spirit. At least this was the outward ex-
pression of the man. It is difficult to analyze a human
spirit from the outward shape, but a close touch with
McDonald for several months gave us the idea that
love had no part in him. As a literary man he had
no superior on the coast. Even Seabaugh in his prime

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

131

did not exceed him in versatile brilliancy. He was
confined to no specialties but was equally vigorous
on all subjectf. To his enemies he was as merciless
as a blade. He wielded his pen as the fencer does his
sword, and cut or thrust with unerring skill at his
opponent's vital parts. Withering sarcasm, cruel
criticism, torturing ridicule, were ready weapons in
his hands.

It was, however, in the use of invective that he ex-
hibited extraordinary genius. He pursued his victim
with a relentless spirit ; when he camped upon a man's
trail, he stayed there until he had wrought his venom
on him. He left him only when he was full of wounds.
The deadly coldness of the man was something terri-
ble, and you almost shuddered as you watched the con-
tinued attack. There were in him, however, some
sweet places where beauty and fragrance had a hom-
ing. Amid the rocky and frowning summits of his
mind were valleys where there were sunshine and
birds, streams and flowers. There were hours when
he turned from the battle-field to revel in the beauty
of the natural world, to drink in the sweetness of the
fields, to lie down by living waters, to listen to the song
of birds, and to lift to the glorious dawns and sun-
sets the poet's eyes, and then to phrase it all into
speech beautiful beyond compare. He was too stern
for poetry, but no man could make prose more beau-
tiful than he. We remember the result of a trip he
made into the Yosemite many years ago, when that
great valley was known only to those who were lured
into the heart of the Sierras by the "call of the wild."
^^^e was resting from a fierce campaign and wandered

132 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

off alone into the wilderness, to hold c(»nmunion with
inanimate shapes whose grandeur and beauty would
aid him to forget the strife of man. He spent a week
in the great valley and studied its features with a pas-
sionate interest. He stored his memory with pictures
of its sky-line domes, its stem-faced cliffs of rock,
its waters falling from the sky, its streams flowing
amid the green of the valley's floor. He caught and
held the splendor of the early morning and the mellow
shade of the evening. All these he made his own, and
when he came back out of this antechamber of the
Almighty, he brought with him these memories and
made them immortal. In a series of six double-column
articles he wrote of the Yosemite as no man has ever
done before or since. It was a revelation of the man
and his capacity to interpret the divine as it exists in
the caress of the hills, the curves of the heavens, the
drift of cloud and mist, and the silence of mountain
solitudes.

In keen contrast to this fine pastime of brain and
heart was a series of philippics hurled, shortly after
this diverting vacation, upon the California Bank and
its management, more particularly against its then
popular manager, Ralston. The occasion of the
enmity of the American Flag toward the Bank and
Ralston we do not remember, but we do recall the
determined, persistent, vicious, daily attacks made
against the bank. It was a battle to the death,
and was waged without the hope of quarter. About
the same time George Francis Train was holding
forth in his eccentricities at the old Metropolitan
Theater, and he soon joined in the hue and cry, and

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS

it was said as a part of the history of that time that
to these influences was largely due the historic run
upon the bank, its failure and the subsequent tragic
death of the beloved Ralston. The bank had its revenge,
however, for the American Flag was upon unsteady
financial legs, and soon the sheriff closed its career.
For years we lost sight of the old Scotchman, and
heard of him only during the last year as a sad, wasted
wreck of his former power, dying without kith or kin
to deplore him, in a public institution of Alameda
County. Such as he have seldom the saving instinct ;
they live from day to day, often finding more necessity
for drink than for bread; the present is all that con-
cerns them. "Let the dead past bury its dead" is
their motto. They are careless for the future. How
many drifts there are that float out of the literary sea
into the haven of the hospital or poorhouse, brainy
derelicts wrecked by temperament! It is one of the
mysteries of life that from such as these the world
receives many of its richest gifts.

The history of municipal journalism shows the
usual ups and downs, some going out of existence,
some into decline, some retaining nothing of their
original character except the old name. The Call
is a shining example of this last kind. The Alta
was a notable death known to this generation. There
were many newspaper deaths in the old time, but they
are forgotten. The Morning Chronicle of 1856 and
the Herald of the same date were important in their
day, in the hands of able men, and yet no headstones
in the graveyard of newspapers tell men that they
I ever lived. The Post has had a precarious life and

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

varied experience. It had its birth at the hands of
Henry George, the brainy advocate of the single tax,
author of "Poverty and Progress." He was an honest
soul, gave his life to the proclamation of what to him
was the central truth of political science. He was
essentially a man of the people and sought to be their
deliverer. He may not have wrought entirely in
vain, for a larger wisdom may yet illustrate the width
of his faith.

The Post was started as a one-cent paper, in the
hope that it might afford by its cheapness a journal for
the very poor, and make them readers of current news.
It was well edited and deserved to have fulfilled its
mission, hut alas, the expenses of metropolitan dailies
are too great to be met, in days of expensive labor
and materials, by the limited flow of pennies. As a
cheap paper it lived long enough to break the pro-
jectors and passed into the hands of Colonel Jackson,
who had means and ambitions. It lived a while be-
hind Jackson's pohtical hopes, and again passed into
the possession of well known political schemers who
for a while labored to infuse into its visible life the
strengthenings of political support, and more recently
it has been transferred to other ownership and joined
with the younger Globe, now flourishing as the
Post-Globe.

What of the future under the peculiar conditions
of the resuscitated city? Money is king, and to its
dominion we are compelled to yield. Things precious
to former generations are handled with careless hands.
We are too busy to waste time wandering in old fields,
for we must keep up with the procession. The mid-

NEWSPAPERS AND EDITORS 135

night oil burns no more on the lawyer's desk; prece-
dents are more easily found than principles ; the painter
paints for the market; eloquence is a matter of com-
merce: the sculptor carves no more for immortality,
and the newspapers grind out news for the purchas-
ing multitudes with an eye single to bank accounts.
They are content to prosper financially, forgetting the
old days when newspapers dominated the conscience
and thought of all the people.

Chapter IX

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS

J N early days the Bar was not behind any of its kin-
-*- dred professions in the number and high charac-
ter of its members. Some of the names then written
upon the signs of practising lawyers have since been
engraved upon the pages of judicial history and be-
come the symbols of learning and wisdom. To gather
together now such a group of immortals would re-
quire a patient search through the world's centers of
learning. Possibly even then it would be a vain task,
for the lawyer of the **old school" is a rare creature.
He still is to be found, though rarely, in the higher
forums, a man of years, to whom still clings the old
habit and tradition of the profession.

The field was a great one for judge and advocate.
Complex questions were arising out of the conditions
attendant upon the acquisition of California. The
Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo sought to firmly pre-
serve the rights of the Mexican, and to keep inviolate
private as distinguished from public rights. The re-
lease of the public domain from the operation of the
Mexican law was absolute, but private property was
still held under the tenure of the old Mexican and

136

137

Spanish laws and customs, which laws and customs
were by the Treaty, so far as private property was
concerned, continued in force and made the supreme
law of the land.

So far as personal property was concerned, the
rights of the Mexican were easily preserved; it was
no difficult task to construe and apply the old laws
and customs, but the adjustment and recognition of
titles covering great grants of lands were more diffi-
cult, and for years taxed the patience and minds of
great lawyers and great judges. Years of litigation
followed the Treaty and the acquisition of California.
There was more or less chaos in the condition, and
much fraud. This made easy solutions impossible,
even where the main title was plain. Crudeness of
description and imperfect detail of attendant incidents
made ultimate certainty a difficult task, even at the
hands of the most skilled.

This was the field that invited the best equipped
minds of the entire country. The work was abundant,
its long continuance certain, and its fruits promised
to be rich. To fix definite boundaries by surveys at
the hands of national surveyors, who measured under
the authority of congressional statutes and the de-
crees of federal courts; to construe the often doubt-
ful terms of ancient grants; to establish in court
records the evidence that often rested in uncertain
memories, and to expose villainies in forgeries and
perjuries, were but a part of the task presented to the
robust young lawyers, first of the Territory, then of
the young State from 1850, and thence through suc-
L ceeding years.

*

138 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

International law, Spanish law, Mexican law, Span-
ish and Mexican customs, State legislation and federal
enactments were all mixed in a sort of hotch-potch,
and the mere tyro was certain to be lost at the very
beginning in the tangled mass. It was a great work,
possible only to the greatest in the profession. This
opportunity, as. well as necessity, attracted men com-
petent to master the situation, and for thirty years
following 1850 California could proudly call the roll
of a list of lawyers whose names quickly became
famous, and in after years illustrious, and whose
achievements enriched legal history. Some were but
temporary residents; most, however, permanent citi-
zens who closed here their careers and their lives.
Those who moved to other spheres of action did not
decline in fame, but in other commonwealths and in
other lands rose to and held, with masterful ability,
their station in the profession. Among the latter
were Judah P. Benjamin (afterwards Queen's Coun-
sel in England), General H. W. Halleck, a notable
soldier in the Civil War, Frederick Billings, his one-
time partner. General E. D. Baker, splendid orator
and gallant soldier, and Judge Stephen J. Field, the
contribution of California to the Supreme Court of
the United States. The list of those who cast in their
lot with the State and made here their homes is long
and illustrious. No city of its size in the civilized
world ever had as contemporaries such a splendid
group of supreme men in a single profession. It is a
roll of fame, and as we read it and recall the faces
and figures of many as we saw them in office and
court, the heart grows tender, for with many of them.

OUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 139

as a law student, we had personal relations. To have
been a law student in those golden days of the profes-
sion was a privilege unattainable in the present.

We can name from memory many who in their
prime adorned life as lawyers and as men. Among
those whom we knew, some personally and all by
face, were: Hall McAllister, for forty years the ac-
knowledged chief of the legal fraternity on the Pacific
Coast; Joseph P. Hoge; John W. and Samuel H.
Dwindle; Alexander Campbell; John B. Felton;
Samuel M. Wilson; John Garber; Lorenzo Sawyer;

E. D. Sawyer; Nathan Porter; Frank Pixley; John

F. Swift ; Calhoun Benham ; Elisha Cook ; Milton
Andros : A, C. Peachy ; Trenor W. Park ; James McM.
Shatter: Oscar L. Shafter; John Curry; A. P. Crit-
tenden ; Sharp Brothers ; Nathaniel Bennett : Silas W.
Sanderson; Edward F. Head; Joel L. Blatchley; John
Satterlee: T. I. Bergin; H. P. Barber; Henry Byrne:
Harvey S. Brown ; Samuel Cowles ; James A. Zabris-
kie; Henry E. Highton; Morris M. Estee; Edward
D. Wheeler ; Solomon Sharp ; James H. Hardy ; H. P.
Irving; W. W. Cope: H. H. Haight: William Hayes;
W. H. L. Barnes; W. T. Wallace; W. H. Patterson;
W. W. Stow ; Delos Lake ; Tod Robinson ; Henry Ed-
gerton ; Thomas H. Williams ; O. C. Pratt and Eugene
Casserly.

We could extend this list, but enough has been writ-
ten to emphasize our claim that we had a great Bar,
Two only of these immortal names represent living
men: John Curry and T. L Bergin. The others have
passed on into the silent republic of the dead.

Most of these men were content to remain in the

4

i

^_ 1VJ.IJSI L

I40 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST™

field as advocates; some -were called to the Supreme
Bench and some to the Federal Bench, and some to
the nisi prius courts. Oscar L. Shatter, John Curry,
Nathaniel Bennett and Silas W. Sanderson sat with
distinction upon the Supreme Bench of the State,
Lorenzo Sawyer was their associate, and was after-
wards called to preside over the Federal Court, being
Circuit Judge of the United States for the Northern
District of California during the latter part of his
life, Samuel H. Dwindle was the acceptable Judge
of the Fifteenth District Court for many years; K D.
Sawyer in the Fourth District; O. C. Pratt on the
Twelfth Bench, and E. D. Wheeler in the Nineteenth
District. W. T. Wallace sat upon both the Supreme
and Superior Bench, and J. P. Hoge closed his life
as one of the Judges of the Superior Court of the
City and County of San Francisco.

A comparison of the old names on the District
Benches and the old roll of the earlier lawyers, with
modem judges and lawyers, does not detract from the
fine old names now a part of the State's judicial his-
tory and a part of its glory. The comaraderie of the
old Bar was delightful. Its members were genial and
congenial. A fine confidence in a common int^rity
and generosity was in force, and while conflicts were
often fierce, they never marred the genuine friend-
ships that existed between the warring advocates.
The friendships were based upon a mutual respect
one for the other, moral and intellectual. They were
members of a republic of wisdom and morals, and to
each other they extended kindness and confidence.
They called each other by their Christian names, were

i

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 141

full of cheery salutation, rejoiced with each other in
victories or condoled in defeats. They made up a
noble brotherhood, having a community of interest in
fine things, and treating with a common scorn the
things that were mean and unholy. It needed in those
days no carefully drawn written stipulation between
lawyers in the regulation of practice, tho the law re-
quired it. They extended to each other professional
courtesies without writing, and a word given was a
bond never broken. Oftentimes millions were de-
pendent upon a verbal promise given upon the street.
They warred like giants but dwelt together like
brothers, A wide, warm charity was the climate of
their intercourse. It was a charming hour for him
who happened to be present before the opening of court
on some field-day, which called together in the court-
room many of these genial souls; it was an hour of
eloquence, wit and repartee. Hall and Sam and Joe
were full of wisdom or fun, and the merry crowd
made the moments radiant with the happy intercourse
of lofty-minded men. These were hours when they
were free from care and ready to sweeten their own
hearts by adding joy to others.

Motion day in the District Courts was always a
congregation day. It became a custom to gather there,
drawn by the attraction of social intercourse, if not by
legal engagements. Each one seemed to bring to this
gathering the best in him for his contribution to the
general fund of wit and wisdom. Here, too, in the
I discussion of motions or demurrers in great cases in-
I volving tremendous issues, were heard arguments that
■were the perfection of learning and eloquence. In

4

142 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

these discussions such giants as McAllister, Wilson,
Patterson, Felton, Thompson, Campbell and Dwindle
often took part. It was a liberal education in law,
logic and rhetoric to sit in court when these men were
holding forth with their might, their minds made
radiant for the occasion by a preparation, the intensity
of which would astound the lawyer of these rushing
days. Men could then give a reason for their faith,
and call upon history, poetry or science for an illus-
tration, draw from the deeps of erudition forgotten
lore, or appeal to lofty human experience for prece-
dent. The common was made brilliant and the bril-
liant glorious. Many such days were filled with ar-
guments upon the details of evidence or upon the
principles that were at the base of the case. These
were classics, worthy to be made permanent gems of
thought and language. Those who first listened could
only wonder in amazement that men could exhibit such
power. These splendid efforts were so frequent, how-
ever, that one ceased to regard them as rare exhibi-
tions of the capacity of the human mind, and becoming
familiar with greatness at last to cease to wonder at
it. One felt but could not describe the spell. The
charm was beyond analysis, just as the perfume of a
rose is a something that homes in the personality, a
fascination understood by the spirit but too evanescent
for the portraiture of speech. Personal magnetism
is a phrase that seems too coarse to suggest the spiritu-
ality of faculties that made these men winning to all
who were fortunate enough to be within their recogni-
tion. To be taken into the inner house of their friend-

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS I43

ship was like the initiation into some secret rite. Their
confidence had in it the comfort of a benediction,

Young' as we were when these men were in their
prime, we were thrown into close personal touch with
many of them by reason of their relations with the
law offices in which we were student and clerk.
We shall never forget the kindliness, the condescen-
sion so gracious that it had the warmth of a personal
regard, that characterized them. We never look upon
the statue of McAllister standing on the fore of the
City Hall grounds, that we do not feel the charm of
the old days, when he gave us salutation and audience
with a dignity as serene and with attention as close
and patient as if we had been his equal in age, learn-
ing and achievement. If we were disposed to become
a pessimist, to look upon our race as degenerating, to
read in the signs of the times a decline in our civiliza-
tion, we could not hold to the pessimism while our
mind was brightened by the memory of McAllister.
When we first knew him in 1871, he was at his zenith,
if there were possible to him any highest mark, while
his mind was free from the later weakness which the
tremendous labor of years brought upon him with a
partial eclipse of faculties.

No matter how lofty may tower a mountain range,
there are always summits that lift above the average
lines and become individualized. These uplifted peaks
attract and hold the eye, no matter how lofty may
be the mountains from which they spring; and so out
of a group of prominent men there are a few to whom
by their uplift is accorded the first place. This held
L.good among the members of the San Francisco Ear,

144 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

and no one will ever challenge the leadership of Hall
McAllister, the brilliance of General E. D. Baker, the
eloquence of Henry Edgerton, the great tho eccentric
genius of Rufus A. Lockwood, or the profound learn-
ing and acumen of Nathaniel Bennett.

The qualities of these great men were imprest
upon one as the sweetness of a summer morning is
imprest upon the senses. The artist needs the fre-
quent presence of his subject that he may catch and
make permanent the personality upon his canvas. Our
recollections of McAllister are so vivid, that had we
the painter's art, we could glorify a canvas with his
form and face, without this exterior aid. He was of
splendid physical mold, a massive figure whose dig-
nity and poise made a fit framework for the supreme
mind of which it was the temple. The proportions
of his body were in keeping with the noble head that
crowned a breadth of shoulders which would have
made him an athlete in the Olympic Games, had he
not been a giant in the athletics of the brain. Strength
was suggested in every movement of his superb body,
a strength that was strong and beautiful. To retain
for so many years the leadership without question or
challenge, as did McAllister, was a great achievement.

Men of ordinary mold strive and toil to acquire and
hold such places. To McAllister it came by moral
gravitation. Story, in speaking of the great Chief
Justice Marshall, said that he was bom to be the Chief
Justice of any county in which Providence had cast
him. So of McAllister. He was born to the purple
robe of leadership. The wonder of it all was his
modest acceptation of it. His fellows placed him

I
I

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 145

where he was, and with no self-consciousness he simply
went about his work, careful in it, but careless of his
fame. He was always, outside of his profession, a
simple private citizen. The law office and the court-
room were his world, and there he worked and lived.
He was never known to take part in public office, never
seen in popular assemblages or upon public platforms.
Politics had no attraction for his busy mind. He was
essentially an advocate who served the law, which to
him was a jealous mistress. He wandered in no other
fields, cocjuetted with no outside loves, remained to
the end an example of the hig-hest type of the pro-
fessional man, to whom his profession was an in-
exhaustible field for earnest, lofty endeavor. The
simplicity of greatness gave him wonderful nobility
of presence. He was stately on occasions, like a Ro-
man Senator in the forum. A woman's sweetness was
his normal mood; it was the climate of his spirit and
made irresistible the grandeur of his mind. Resist-
ance to this quality was impossible to him who came
within the circle of its influence.

In trying a case he was urbane and gracious, care-
ful of the very accent of his speech, lest his adversary
might be wounded by a seeming arrogance. A
courtly deference marked his intercourse with the
Judge upon the Bench, and his fine regard for the
proprieties of the profession was an education in
courtesy. Strong and thoroughly equipped he entered
into and ended his trials. He loved a trial and gloried
in the struggle at the Ear. Careful preparation made
him the master of the law and evidence, and he moved
forward with the terrible certainty of success. He

146 LIKE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

had the genius for hard work, and loved work. He
never went into court until the minutest detail was
a clear and personal possession of his mind and the
whole case revolved about some well defined princi-
ple, as upon a pivot. We were often near him in the
trial of great cases and became famihar with the care
he g;ave to mere minutix — the arrangement of his
evidence in detailed notes, the careful grouping of
his evidentiary exhibits, and the arrangement of his
law books wherein were stored his authorities. In
those minor details was tlie work of a master. He was
especially great in the preliminary statement to. the
court of the facts upon which he intended to build
his case, and it became a maxim of the courtroom that
when McAllister had stated his case, it was half won.
There was only one other among all the gifted law-
yers of that day that approached him in this capacity
for clear and luminous statement, and that was Wil-
liam H. Patterson, a member of the distinguished firm
of Wallace, Patterson and Stowe. With the Court
and Jury in possession of his facts through this clear
statement, McAllister, through the examination of
witnesses, piled up in seeming mountains of truth, the
mass of evidence, so clear, so logical, so impressive,
as if to make it apparent that modesty alone had held
him back from being cruel to his adversary by a state-
ment of all of his facts. He was a generous and
kindly adversary but terribly dangerous, and was
rarely defeated. How could he be defeated with jury
and witnesses but plastic clay in his hands, to be
molded as the potter molds his clay?

McAllister was an all-round man, equally at home

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 147

in all departments of the profession. He was too large
for a specialist. He stood upon the summit and saw
clearly all below him. There must have been in his
mental make-up a profound sub-conscious faculty, for
he read men and things and their relations to each
other with unerring certainty. He measured men by
the length and breadth of their environment and knew
them to be the scientific moral product of this mold-
ing condition. Thus, becoming familiar with the un-
derlying character, he was able to read as from an
open book, and thereby became a ruler of men. There
was no brutality in his searching after a man's soul.
It was a psychological effort, and the touch he was
compelled to lay upon some sore spot in the spirit was
very gentle. As if it was but yesterday, we remember
his first criminal trial. For years he had been en-
grossed in great civil business, with a wide clientage
among the leading commercial men and corporations,
and had never been engaged in the trial of a case in-
volving criminal law.
I A simple old man named Johnson, living south
I of Market Street (then, as before the fire, the home
of the laboring classes), had warned a young hoodlum,
who was paying undue attentions to his daughter, to
desist and to leave her alone. It was a simple com-
mand, but, as it developed, it had in it a deadly earnest-
ness. The warning was unheeded, and one night the
old man waited, with his shotgun, at his gate, and
slew the hoodlum. It was a tragedy of the lowly,
and would have awakened no public interest except
for the fact that Mc.'Mlister was retained to defend
I Johnson. Immediately an intense interest focalized

^B Johnson.

148 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

about the case, it became a cause cclebre. People ««^
Johneon was one of the remarkable murder trials of
the State, The neatness of McAllister was illus-
trated in his professional relation to this deed of ven-
geance. Men wondered and speculated as to what
McAllister would do in the new field. The trial was
had before Judge Dwindle in the Fifteenth District
Court, and so intense was the interest, that it was the
one topic in the public press and mind. Curiosity
was a-tiptoe, and almost the entire Bar of the city
was in daily attendance for nearly a week. Curiosity,
however, soon gave place to wonder, as McAllister,
with the same grasp and power he had always ex-
hibited, unfolded and elaborated the defense with the
same irresistible detail of law and evidence. His ad-
dress to the jury was a tremendous arraignment of
the despoilers of women — a defense of the inviolability
of the lowliest home, and a sweet and winning narra-
tion of the sanctities of domestic life. No man, un-
less he had been blind and deaf, could have swayed
away from that marvelous appeal, and within an hour
after the jury had retired, the newsboys on the streets
were shouting the acquittal of Johnson. From that
day no mati questioned the range of McAllister's
genius.

His preparation for a trial was an engrossing con-
centration. It seemed as if every physical energy were
marshaled in the 'brain, and he worked with an almost
superhuman energy. On one occasion, on a matter im-
portant to him, which was the sole reason for our
being allowed to intrude into his working den, we
found him in his shirt-sleeves, without his collar,

I

I

^^ him in

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 149

walking up and down the room like an aroused lion.
He looked like a man in the grip of pain, and beads
of sweat stood like dew upon his face. On every avail-
able desk and chair and table were open books which
he had been consulting. He was the personification
of work. We dared not risk more than a moment with
him, and we said, as we asked his pardon for the in-
trusion, "Mr. McAllister, you seem to be a busy man."
With the winning smile so common to him, he said :
"I have to work harder than anybody else at the Bar
to keep up with the procession." He told me once
that a speech, a masterpiece of eloquence he delivered
to the jury in defense of a well known citizen charged
with an assault with a deadly weapon, was dictated in
its entirety four times to his stenographer. Of course
the jury acquitted his client, for what other result
could follow such devoted labor?

This capacity for continuous, exhaustive work was
the secret of his success. It was the habit of his mind.
It would naturally be supposed that such as he would
be arrogant and proud. He was too sure of himself
for such artificial aids, and was of all men most simple
and always approachable. He was especially kindly
to and regardful of the young practitioner at the Bar,
and never failed to recognize and counsel him. Once,
as we were walking down Montgomery Street, in the
days when it was the main street of the city, he over-
took us, and slipping his arm affectionately under ours,
said "Walk along with me; it might do you good for
people to see that I hke you." It was a beautiful
condescension of a great spirit. Years after we saw
him in Stockton one time, after court, when he needed

150 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

a little relaxation, and he was playing pool with the
bellboy of the hotel, and both of them were as joyous
33 kids.

In Nevada, at one time, it became necessary for us
to give references in connection with a possible pro-
fessional employment. When asked for reference, we
took the chance and referred to McAllister. In a few
days a letter was received from him, couched in the
kindliest phrases and highly recommending us by rea-
son of old recollections and affiliations. By such ser-
vices as these he ingratiated himself into the life of
his fellows, and what wonder that men loved him as
much for the greatness of his heart as the greatness of
his mind.

It would be an incomplete sketch that did not In-
clude some analysis of his power of speech, so far as it
is susceptible of analysis. He was not given to flights
of oratory, had none of the arts of the mere actor.
He strove for no effects artificially attained. In pure
and musical English he talked conversationally, but
as one who was terribly in earnest in a faithful effort
to perform a duty. The occasion was too full of moral
responsibilities to permit of vain words or doubtful
appeals. Calm and deliberate was every phrase, and
the flow of thought and word was as steady as the
march of the day. No halt marred the integrity of
his argument, but by logical climb he reached the alti-
tudes where the lands were clear and men could see
the tmth as he saw it. He dealt in principles largely,
and relied but little upon mere authority. He fre-
quently quoted from the best of modern and ancient
authors, and would also often quote from St. Johi

>hn^^

^m the Tv

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 151

David, Isaiah and Christ. This appeal to the Scriptures
was a favorite habit, and his apphcation of its sublime
truths to a case was always timely and happy. His
power before the courts lay in the clearness with whicli
he presented the facts, and the application thereto of
the legal principles which governed them. He had
perhaps no equal at the Bar in this capacity to apply
the law to a given state of facts. With a jury he was
irresistible by reason of the consideration he gave to
them; he made each individual feel as if he were a
personal friend. This same influence he exerted upon
the most hostile witness. With persuasive smile he
appealed to the reason of the jurymen, pleased their
vanity, and by graduated climaxes grouped his facts
into their appropriate relations to the case. He was
like a skilful general, paying attention first to the in-
dividual soldier, then to the companies, and then to the
regiments, until he had molded the personnel of the
army into a victorious fighting force. He always
built his case about a central fact and worked with
unerring skill to make all subordinate evidence verify
it. When he left his case in the hands of the jury,
there was no mist or cloud; whatever the case might
be, it was always clear. He never asked for the benefit
of a doubt.

Whatever the future may hold of greatness in the
legal profession on the Pacific, however splendid may
be the achievements of its members, the day is re-
mote when its most gifted son shall be equal to more
than a comparison with Ha!l McAllister.

There were great law cases frequently on trial in
the Twelfth District Court. One we recall. Michael

152 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Reese, a well-known and uniquecharacterof thoseda]^
a great hulk of a man with a keen instinct for money,
held title to a lot on the northwest corner of Wash-
ington and Kearny Streets, then a central location.
Many years before an old man, named Sill, whom,
if we recall correctly, had been in San Francisco when
it was a Mexican pueblo, was one of the sailors of
a ship that had drifted into the little port for hides
and tallow. He was a blacksmith, and he had ac-
quired from the then occupant, or at least thought he
had, the lot in question. He was gone for years
and then died. Years afterward, in 1864, his son
appeared, and finding the property valuable, entered
suit for its recovery. John W. Dwindle, a distin-
guished lawyer, was his counsel, and Reese was rep-
resented by S. M. Wilson, John B. Felton and Thomp-
son Campbell. It was a battle royal, of absorbing
interest, because of the great advocates ranged on
each side, the local questions involved, and the char-
acter of the witnesses. The Sill title ran back into the
days of Mexican possession, and of course depended
upon Mexican laws and customs, outside of the statute
of limitations under the State law. The trial lasted
for weeks, before a jury, and a host of witnesses, who
were familiar with the condition of aiTairs before Cali-
fornia became American territory, testified. Careful
preparation on both sides made respective counsel his-
torians, as well as Mexican lawyers, and if the testi-
mony in the case was not burned in the great fire, it
is full of exact narration of the traditions, customs,
habits, and laws existing on the peninsula from Por-
toln's time down to tlie transition of the Mexican

" A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 153 '

pueblo, known then as Yerba Buena (good herb),
into an American city. Witnesses were called, whose
heads were white with the frosts of years, well known
Mexicans and Spaniards, familiar with events here
from their youth ; Englishmen and Americans, who
had in years long before become identified with life
in this then remote seaport.

Wilson, then a noted practitioner, famed for his
keen analysis and a persistent pursuit of facts, was at
his best, and his efforts in this great case would have
made him famous, if he had not already risen to the
very front of his profession. He was a frail man
physically, naturally irritable, but of great nervous
energy, and with an endurance of steel. He was re-
garded as one of the most dangerous of adversaries,
and his record was full of work successfully done.
A noted figure in the case, however, was Thompson
Campbell, a great lawyer, of marked individuality,
physically and mentally. His absorbed attitude, asso-
ciated with over six feet of attenuated frame, crowned
with a deeply lined face deadly in its paleness, attract-
ed the spectator with a sort of occult charm. You
looked at him with a strange fascination, for he seemed
to be the personification of brain, as if the mind in
him had become flesh, and one, in looking at him,
more thoroughly understood the psychological state-
ment of St. John, when he said : "The word was made
flesh and dwelt among us." In Campbell the mind was
made flesh and moved among men. He walked as a
man of silence, capable of living in the solitude of his
own nature. A profound sadness rested on his pale

lures and even when deep in the discussion of great

154 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

things, no dame of interest or passion ever wanned up
their terrible pallor.

As a counsel in a case Campbell was a tower of
strength. His acute intellect grasped every detail, and
his power of analysis was so masterful that he was able
to discard all features that were not of controlling
value. There was no waste in his work. Like a skilful
sculptor, he chipt off unnecessary material until he
presented a perfect case. The aid he rendered to the
trial lawyer was along the winning lines, for he was
like a pioneer cutting out a clear path through the com-
plexities of the evidence and the law. His tempera-
ment was too cold for the advocate, and he seldom par-
ticipated in jury trials. His strength lay in the pres-
entation of the law to the court. To the trained mind
of the lawyer his arguments were great treats. They
could not be understood by the civilian, for he rea-
soned out his position with about the same enthusiasm
with which a mathematician calculates the coming of
an eclipse. His spirit was able to find companionship
within himself. He was usually alone, able to find
solace such as he desired in self-communion. He had
the habits of lonely natures, and indulged them to the
full. He was fond of stimulation for its own sake,
and he was as unique in his use of stimulants as he
was in all other things. He was a stranger to the
resorts of pleasure, where men usually gathered after
hours of toil. It was in the quiet of his own chamber
that he often outsat the night, seeking in the power
of wine to stir his forces to the warmth of common
men.

We well remember once at Benicia, an intermediate

I

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 155

port, between Sacramento and San Francisco, when a
queer old dominie asked us if we knew Campbell, On
our replying that we did, he said, "Well, he beats all
men I ever saw ; he comes to my place and sits up all
night and drinks twenty battles of champagne, and in
the morning he is sober, — what a man, what a man !"
It must have been in this tremendous stimulation he
found that he was human.

In those days intense individualities made men stand
clearly apart with the distinctness of cameos. This
was found in intellect and personality, and gave to
these men an attraction that vt'as compelling and force-
ful. General Baker was one of these, of the very high-
est type. In spite of the habit of frequent dissipation
that at times removed him from ordinary rational in-
tercourse, he was in his sober hours gracious and win-
ning, and the choicest of companions by reason of his
abundant kindness of spirit and his richness in human
touch and sympathy. He was of noble presence, clas-
sical in feature and with the manners of a prince. He
had great conversational gifts, and in the hour of good
fellowship became a fountain bubbling over with wis-
dom and wit. Free of vanity, unconsciously he be-
came the center of any group by common consent ; and
the hours flew on rapid feet while he poured out his
soul from the affluence of his gifted nature, as a foun-
tain pours out from secret caverns abundant pure and
sweet waters. He was a natural orator, with every
grace of speech and gesture, and on great occasions,
when his soul was stirred, he spoke as one inspired.
Words fell from his lips in joyous association and with
the melody of music. He was a magician, and under

IK the meloi

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

his touch common things became beautiful. His audi-
ences were to him as a great organ under the fingers
of a master. He called up from dull natures, from
cold hearts, unsuspected sweetness, and lifted high na-
tures into altitudes of lofty feeling. When his own
nature became flooded with the splendor of his dreams,
he was beyond resistance, for he spoke as one having
authority from the oracles. He was too much of the
orator and the dreamer to be a profound lawyer. His
restless spirit was too much in love with beauty to
waste itself in the silence of the study. His arena was
the open places of the world, where men toiled and
hoped and suffered. It was this quality that drove him
at the breaking out of the war, to the battle-field, and
led him to his heroic death at the head of his troops,
in the needless exposure of himself to peril. He was
a great soul, and this greatness was beyond the reach
of habits that would have destroyed him, had he been
within the power of mere animal tastes. Dissipation
blurred only for a time his immortal faculties, and he
rose from temporary degradation to the strong and
majestic figure of a noble man.

Baker's achievements at the Bar were confined to
criminal trials, where by reason of his magnetism and
eloquence he was successful. Before a jury he was
suave, gracious and compelling. He won their atten-
tion and affection by a rare sweetness of manner, and
made them feel that his client was a good man because
he was so earnestly pleading in his defense. He could
make the worst appear the better part, and then in a
great burst of passion lay in the hands of the jury the
fate of their fellow man. Such appeals were seldom

I

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 157

in vain. Baker had great political ambitions. He loved
popular assemblies, and gloried in the opportunity to
lead in popular movements. He saw in the political
condition of California no opportunity for the realiza-
tion of his hope, and became a resident of Oregon,
where his genius found sudden recognition, and he
was sent to the United States Senate. His heroic,
chivalrous nature could not resist the call of the coun-
try to arms, and he went to the front to lose his Hf?

I at Ball's Bluff in a heroic charge at the head of his

1 troops; and so ended a glorious life, of human weak-

I ness but essentially of divine qualities.

In the beautiful Napa Valley, when the State was

i young, there grew to manhood a rare native son. It
was long before the organization, which came into be-
ing later, that boasts as its membership only those who
are native born. Henry Edgerton grew in years and
in great qualities amirl the wooded htlls and inviting
meadows that make Napa Valley a restful and whole-
some dwelling place. The hills, the woods, the invit-
ing loveliness of fields and the balm of sunny skies
drew out and fostered the genius of Edgerton and
gave him that mental fiber that in after years, in legis-
lative halls and in courts, gave him conspicuous place
and entitled him to rank among the leaders of both
forums. A quick intelligence was enriched by an
imagination that in ordinary environment saw only
things that were fine. There was no coarseness about
him. He was as fine as a Grecian statue, and a gra-
cious manliness strengthened the grace and attracted
^^ attention in every assemblage and made him a delight-

1:

158 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

His mind ripened in his youth, and he was ahnost
a beardless boy when he became famous. To a body
graceful in every line of perfection there was in-
wrought a certain nameless magnetism that was a
constant influence, as much a parti of him as the per-
fume is a part of a rose. His features were modeled
after that type in which sculptors and painters have
in all generations imprest manly beauty. He was
far from an egotist, but was not unconscious of the
gifts that made him acceptable to his fellows. These
gifts were a part of his equipment as an orator, and
were the aids to his arts of speech, in which he had at
that time no superior. As an orator he was equaled
only by Starr King, the great Unitarian divine, of
whom he was a contemporary. Edgerton had a fine
legal mind, and would have been a first-class lawyer
had he devoted himself to the intensity of study that
success at the Bar demands, and he would have been
as noted in the profession as he was an orator. Had
he been gifted with McAllister's capacity for hard
work, he could have won the fame of a great advo-
cate. Perhaps these were faults of temperament, and
doubtless they were, for he, unfortunately for himself
and to the grief of those who cherished him, early fell
into habits of dissipation, that as he grew in years fast-
ened on him with a grip that could not be shaken off.
It may be that to such as he, high spirited, artistic and
imaginative, there may come dreadful hours of re-
bound that tear at the nerves and to whose despondent
loneliness there is no relief but in wine. Who that is
not so gifted knows ? Who is fortified to criticize and
sneer? Surely not those in whose veins cool blood

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS

flows, and the beat of whose hearts is as steady as a
piston rod. Edgerton's career ran nearly to the noon,
and then by reason of his habits, he declined to a sad
and lonely death in a friend's law office in the Mont-
gomery Block, This close of a brilliant life was full
of woful pathos. We knew him when he was in the
flush of his life, and in the long list of attractive per-
sonalities, grouped in the membership of the Bar, we
recall none more gentle or noble, a brilliant, artistic
soul, full of beauty and charm.

As a political speaker Edgerton was a master. He
was in great demand by his party, and always was
ready to stump the State. He commanded large audi-
ences, and people heard him gladly. As illustrating
his power as a public speaker, we remember but as
yesterday some exciting discussion of the policies of
the Government in reconstruction times. Edgerton
was called to defend his party, and in old Piatt's hall
on Montgomery Street, for four hours, to an audience
of men intensely concerned in the question and opposed
many of them to each other, he delivered an oration
that has never been surpassed for its clear grasp of the
situation, its flights and fancies, its beauty of illustra-
tion and its sallies of caustic wit. His opponents,
even, were held enthralled by his wonderful exposition.
The questions involved legal principles, and he read
from law books authority sustaining his argument.
It was the first and last time that we have heard an
orator read to a popular audience the dry words of the
law, as if they were as musical as a poem. It was a
fine psychological achievement, and could have been
^^done by no second-rate man.

i6o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

As a native, intellectual product Edgerton suggests
that the sunlit places, the noble mountains, the flower-
ing flelds and the glorious skies of California may be
the cradle of genius, at last, when we have come
fully into our own and the spiritual side of man, by
environment and atmosphere expands into those whose
brain and heart shall rival if not excel in their work
the intellectual development that glorified the shores of
the Mediterranean in the past. Much is expected
from our "newness of living" and unless all present
races have reached the summit and are looking down
the decline, there can not fail to yet arise somewhere on
the Pacific supreme men whose supreme race shall ex-
pose how nearly the merely human may reach upward
toward the divine. We may yet reach the promised
land where we will cease to hunger after the "flesh
pots of Egypt."

There are two characters of note, whose faces ap-
pear to us out of the past, and whose features are part
of the movement that gave so much of color and
strength to the "Bench and Bar" when we were young
and strong. One, Rufus A. Lockwood, came and went
like a comet, a strange, mysterious soul, of profound
learning, forceful and eccentric. He drifted into port
as a sailor before the mast, from whence no man
knows. We recite the story of his life as it was
current at that time, and while he was for a few years
a figure at the Bar, luminous and illuminating by the
exhibition of capacities almost measureless in their
range of scholarship and erudition. Upon his advent
into the city, he sought out a well-known law firm,
at that time engaged in extensive litigation affecting

i

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS i6i

Mexican grants of land. He sought only for a jani-
torship, which was given him. He came and went in
the office, faithful to his duties, until one morning the
leading member of the firm found on his desk a brief,
written in a scholarly hand, which dealt with the facts
of the case just decided, the transcript of which lay
upon the lawyer's desk. The lawyer glanced through
the brief in amazement, followed the clear statement
of controlling facts therein, and recognized the lucid
and apt quotation of the law applicable thereto. Filled
with wonder, he called the janitor and asked him where
the brief came from. He, with a quiet smile, said, "1
wrote it." "You wrote it — are you insane?" replied
the lawyer. "No, I am not insane and I wrote it last
night ; I stayed up all night to do it." "In God's name,
then, who are you?" "I am a lawyer and have had a
little experience in such work." The janitorship was
then given up and he was made an attache of the of-
fice, and was enrolled as one of the most striking, pe-
culiar and brilliant members of the California Bar, —
for a few years only, for there seemed to be a deep-
seated eccentricity and restlessness in his nature, and
one day he disappeared as silently and mysteriously as
he came. What became of him remains unknown to
this day.

One day, while examining a hostile witness, whom
he believed to be guilty of determinate perjury, and
whom he was unable to dislodge, after many ques-
tions he stopt a moment and paused as if in some
occult meditation. He then looked up into the eyes
of the witness with a piercing glance and said to him
quietly, "Would you believe yourself under oath?"

E ON THE PACIFIC COAST

This was too much for the witness, the attack was too
sudden, and in great confusion he seemed unable to
proceed with his testimony.

This chapter would not be complete if we closed it
without mention of the Supreme Court of the golden
days. California ranked high among the States of the
Union for the great names that made the decisions of
its supreme Court authority wherever law books were
read and known. Nathaniel Bennett was one of the
first Justices of this great court. He was then a young
man, and the reports for 1850-51 of the Supreme Court
decisions, many of which were written by him, were
and are quoted as authority in all courts, not only in
America but In England. Daniel Webster, while ar-
guing an important case before the Supreme Court of
the United States, after reading from one of these de-
cisions written by Bennett, said to the Court, with an
expression of his surprise and admiration: Who is
this young man Bennett? He seems to have a fine
legal mind." This was true, for he had unerring in-
stinct for legal principles. He was at this time vigor-
ous physically and mentally. For years after his re-
tirement from the Bench he practised in San Francisco,
and was in great demand as a counsellor.

About middle age, Bennett was much afflicted with
serious infirmities which interfered greatly with his
activity. He was a ponderous man and strong in every
way, but sometimes yielded to spells of dissipation,
which, while interfering with his continuous practice,
never interfered with the clearness of his mind. While
engaged in one of the District Courts as assistant
counsel in a case, he sat as if asleep, and some one

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 165

said, "Does Bennett sleep all the time?" To which
came the answer from opposing^ counsel: "No, but if
he is asleep, for goodness' sake don't wake him up."
It was in this same case, while he was apparently
asleep, in this attitude of indifference, that an opposing
lawyer was reading an authority to the court. All went
well for a while, until some phrase was read which did
not express sound law, and Bennett, arousing himself,
startled the Court by shouting, "It is not there, it is not
there." And a close examination of the case showed
that it was not there. He was a profound student and
read his books from love of them.

The Supreme Court of California maintained its
great character for many years, and in the sixties
Sanderson was Chief Justice, and John Curry, Lorenzo
Sawyer, A. L. Rhodes and Oscar Shafter were Asso-
ciate Justices. Reports of their decisions are illumi-
nations of the law. Sanderson, although harassed with
physical infirmities that would have weakened an or-
dinary man, and driven him into retirement from the
activities of life, worked like a slave and was as bril-
liant as he was sound. He was a scholar of the best
order, and into his decisions often wove by way of
illustration philosophy and poetry. In the case of
Fox vs. Minor, while he was castigating the faith-
less trustee of a minor, he quoted from Shakespeare
this: "He kept the word of promise to the ear, but
broke it to the hope." In Falkinberg vs. Lucy, a con-
test between rival soap-makers over a trademark, he
added much to humorous literature by his references to
the testimony in the case. The report of this decision
is humorous reading, and is to-day the leading author-

K

UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

ity on injunctions. He was always clear and illumi-
nating, and a lawyer leaning upon one of his decisions
as authority felt always sure.

Of this noble group, John Curry, in his ninety-fourth
year, as he recently told me, was a resourceful man,
stalwart in body and mind, given to the law from love
of its principles. In igio he still moves about the
streets of the shattered city, — an example of the impo-
tency of years to hamper a great spirit. That was the
Augustine age on the Pacific from 1850 until time's
scythe mowed down these masters of the law.

Before we close this chapter we must speak of two
old friends, Morris M. Estee, identified closely with
the growth of California since his early manhood and
deemed one of the best loved ones of the Golden State.
Both as lawyer and legislator he left the impress of
his thought upon the annals of California history. As
the author of a work on Code Pleadings and Proce-
dure, his name has been associated with code practice
in every state of the Union wherever a code system
prevails.

In 1900 he was appointed by President McKinley
to be the first United States District Judge for the Ter-
ritory of Hawaii, where his broad, liberal type of mind,
and keen, almost intuitive, sense of justice, impelled
confidence in his administration of the duties of that
Court, even from those opposed to him in opinion.
While still in active service in Hawaii, Judge Estee
died, in October, IQ03, after three years of fine judi-
cial work, beloved and regretted.

And Judge James V. Coffey, who was a law student
at the same time we were, and who with us and ten

A GROUP OF GREAT LAWYERS 165

others, on April 5, 1869, sat all day long before Silas
W. Sanderson, A. L. Rhodes, J. B. Crockett, Royal T.
Sprague and Lorenzo Sawyer, in the Supreme Court,
and from ten o'clock A. M. until five o'clock P. M.
were bombarded with legal questions. Students then
were examined in open court by the full Bench. Judge
Coflfey was easily the best equipped student of the
class. For twenty-five years, with distinguished abil-
ity and learning and a noble honor has Coffey pre-
sided over one of the departments of the Superior
Court of San Francisco. Recently celebrating his
sixty-third birthday, he is still in his prime, and we
want to go on reord as saying that when he retires
from the Bench, the community will suffer a loss
nearly akin to a public calamity.

Chapter X

THE PULPIT AND PULPIT ORATORS

npHE intellectual life of San Francisco, during the
^ period dating from the dissolution of the Vigi-
lance Committee to the building of the Central Pacific
railroad, demanded the very best of all things; and
the Pulpit, the Stage, the Forum and the Press re-
sponded. A fine moral atmosphere fed the conscience
of the masses, and lofty individual character was a
part of the social and religious life. The Church was
a revered institution, and to its support, by personal at-
tendance and finance, notable citizens contributed.
Church attendance was not mere fashion; rather the
result of a purpose to give to its services one day in
seven, for example of good living, even by those who
claimed no especial spiritual relation to it. Church-
going was a habit, and the Sabbath a day of repose and
calm. There was no complaint of empty pews, for all
classes found solace in the sanctuary. Noisy crowds,
perambulating the streets with banner and band, were
no part of the Sabbath in those days. It required no
Sunday Law to close the business houses and places of
amusement, to keep undisturbed the reverent silence,
and to give to the toiler the peace of sacred hours.

i66

PULPIT ORATORS

167

The people were a law unto themselves and were obedi-
ent unto their own laws. The Sunday Schools of every
church were crowded with happy children, with young
men and maidens, with mature men and matrons.
Women of the highest social standing, who gave char-
acter and sweetness to the home life of the city; leading
merchants, judges of courts, had charge of the Sunday
Schools and gave out of their minds and hearts uplift-
ing education. Auxiliary Bible classes, attended by
young and old, were presided over by men of piety
and scholarship. Here were discust, on Sundays, the
history, life, poetry, song and revelation, exposed in
the old Book to which mankind has looked and must
look in all the ages, for the beauty of holiness. I was
myself a member of one of these classes, at "Old Cal-

tvary," presided over by H. H. Haight, a leading law-
yer, and subsequently Governor of the State. The
membership of the class was young men, many of
whom in the succeeding years rose at home and abroad
to stations of honor. These Sunday hours were inspir-
ing and many a discussion arose, which quickened to
intense activity intellectual and moral fibers, deepened
the sense of personal responsibility, and broadened the
horizons of truth. A revival of such classes would be
a good thing for the city of the present day.

The churches were migratory, however, and there
^were only one or two in the entire city just before the
fire that occupied their first sites, — old "St. Mary's," at
I the comer of California and Dupont Streets, just reha-
Ibilitated, holds its ancient foundation. As the city
|.reached out and business houses encroached upon resi-
Ktlential sections, the churches gave way, and moved

i68 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

further from the center. Many have moved twice,
notably "aivary/* "Trinity*^ and the "First Unita-
rian," formerly known as "Starr King's Church."
There are no ancient churches in San Francisco except
the old '^Mission Dolores," established more than a
hundred years ago by the Padres. This simple struc-
ture, built out of the sun-dried adobe, is in a fairly
good state of preservation, and we may have here for
some time this lonely example of constancy, a histori-
cal church like St. Paul's and Trinity. This old
church is seldom seen by the tourist, unless he
searches for it, for it stands far from the
center, hid away on an unfrequented street There
is at present a newness about everything, and before
many years men will utterly forget how the main
city, built between 1849 ^^^ 1906, looked. Noth-
ing is familiar outside of streets and parks, except a
few substantial structures here and there, whose walls
stood the stress of fire and shock sufficiently to permit
a reconstruction without material change in outward
walls. These will stand as landmarks in coming years,
to assist the imagination in recalling that which has
passed away. Another half century must pass before we
will have a history. The present generation must pass
away before there can be either history or tradition in
connection with the things of to-day. The fire has
swept libraries and art galleries, with their books and
pictures, into ashes, and a new literature and new
paintings must come to preserve all we can know of
the old features.

The church life of the city was well represented in
its denominations, — ^the Jews with their Synagogue

PULPIT ORATORS 169

among the rest. The modern cults, if they had fol-
lowers, were modest, and were not, as now, "thick
as leaves in Vallambrosa." While it could not be said
that there were rivalries among the denominations,
each demanded and had in its pulpit men of distin-
guished zeal and of great eloquence. For some years
San Francisco could proudly say that she had five
of the most eloquent pulpit orators in America. Dr.
Stone, Dr. Wadsworth, Dr. Guard, Dr. Scudder and
Starr King, twice on each Sunday, preached great
sermons to great congregations. These were men of
wide scholarship, and wonderfully gifted in speech.

Dr. Wadsworth was called to "Calvary," the leading
Presbyterian church, after the discussions which arose
between Dr. Scott and the larger part of his congre-
gation because of his sympathy, openly exprest, for
the Southern Confederacy. Dr. Scott, in the flower
of his greatness, and he was a great man, came from
New Orleans to fill Calvary Church, then perhaps in
the character of its membership, its wealth and its so-
cial standing, the most powerful religious body in the
State. He was acceptable to the masses generally, and
soon, in the noble church building, on Bush Street,
between Montgomery and Sansome, became a popular
and influential factor in the moral life of the city. He
was a Southerner, loving the South with the strong
sectional affection that before and during the war had
the force of a passion. His Scotch blood gave him
intensity of feeling and conviction. The times were
tragic. Man lived in an atmosphere of battle, and he
could not suppress the expression of his love for the
South and hJs hope for her success. This was fatal to

170 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

his influence with the majority of strong men who
were on the other side. He retired from his pulpit,
and his retirement separated many friends, and later
resulted in the establishment of St. John's Church, to
which he was afterwards called as pastor. The old
charm and power, however, were gone, and he never
regained his old place in the esteem and affection of
the masses, which was his before this unhappy incident.

To this disturbed, and, in a measure, disrupted con-
gregation, in those stormy days, came Dr. Wadsworth.
Doubtless he profited by the example of Dr. Scott, and
while he was a strong Union man did not preach poli-
tics. In fact, in those days, men in the pulpit confined
themselves to the great truths of the Scriptures, fol-
lowed the Master in spirit and action ; found in the Ser-
mon on the Mount, the vision of the transfiguration,
the parables and the Ten Commandments sufficient in-
spiration for the spiritual necessities of their congre-
gations. A great preacher in California, in giving
expression to the intent and purpose of his coming to
California, preached his introductory sermon from this
text : *T jLtn determined to know nothing among you
but Jesus Christ, and him crucified."

Dr. Wadsworth was a commanding man, of large
and robust frame. His face was full and florid, attrac-
tive by its fine intellectual lines. His attitude and mo-
tions were those of a man of power, conscious of his
strength. He was eccentric in many ways, but his was
the eccentricity of a noble nature. He was exceeding-
ly absent-minded, given to great concentration, which
had in it the air of modest retirement from touch with
his fellows, as if he feared that he might be disturbed

PULPIT ORATORS

171

in his thought. These characteristics were marked and
at times caused him embarrassment. We recall an
evening when we, with others, at one of his weekly re-
ceptions, called to see him. We found him in his
study, although it was at a time regularly given to the
visits of his friends. His wife notified him of our
presence, and he came into the parlor, greeting us all
with kindliness and cordiality. For a time he talked
of general things, but by and by he grew silent, and
soon left the room. He was gone for a time, and his
wife, knowing his tendencies, excused herself for a
moment. She had gone to hunt him up. She knew
of his sudden moods of concentration, and of the for-
getfulness that was a part of them. She soon returned,

■ and, somewhat embarrassed, but smiling, said to us
that the Doctor, forgetting about us, had retired.
She begged our indulgence, and added that the Doctor,
during his absence from the room, had fallen under
the spell of his moods, and had simply forgotten that
we were his guests. He, however, afterwards remem-
bered the occasion and circumstances, for he had withal
a marvelous memory, and apologized for what he
feared might be regarded as an intentional affront.
He said that he was at times greatly annoyed by his
forgetfulness, but that he could hardly be charged with

I neglect when he had more tJian once gone to the post-
office for his mail, and forgotten his own name!
This peculiar forgetfulness was said to have been
true of John Adams. It is related of him that he too,
once, on coming away from the postoffice in Boston,
was met by a friend who said, "Good morning, Mr.

1

172 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Adams," and he replied. "Thank you, that was jusf
what I was trying to remember, — my own name."

The Doctor, in his intellectual make-up, combined
in a wonderful way reason and imagination. In his
sermons he reasoned like Newton and dreamed like
Milton. He had few of the graces of the orator, none
of the mere arts by which a piibhc speaker charms
his audience. He carried his eccentricities into the
pulpit, and often startled his hearers by the quaintness
of his gestures. One who frequently heard him said to
us, "Wadsworth's gestures always make me think that
he is catching at flies." This uncoiithness was in a
measure true, but as one became familiar with him,
was moved and satisfied by the eloquence of the man,
this peculiarity seemed so much a part of him that it
added to his charm, and made impressive his utter-
ances. It seemed as if carried away by his eloquence,
he physically lifted his thought out of the mind. A
frequent gesture as he laid his premises and reasoned
to his conclusion, which always seemed to be upward,
was to straighten himself upward as far as he could,
and then, as if he subconsciously saw something yet
above, he reached upwards with his hands, with a sort
of impatience, as if the glory of his vision was be-
yond his reach. It was a suggestive act, and added a
force to his words. It was a gesture peculiarly his
own, and no student of eloquence would have dared to
copy it as one of the graces of oratory. It was
great, but not graceful. He was a master of the Eng-
lish tongue, and the beauty of his illustrations re-
minded one often of the poetry of the Bible. The
Psalms, whose beauty and sweetness have been the

PULPIT ORATORS 173

source from which generations have drawn inspiration,
were not finer than many of the sentences of Wads-
worth, as he rose on great occasions to the heights of
loftiest eloquence. He was fond of logic, and delighted
to enforce the truth as he understood it by a priori de-
ductions. It was when enforcing some of these rea-
sonings that he appealed to his imagination, and
clinched the whole by some poetic outburst that capti-
vated the heart. This power seemed to come from
his perfect knowledge of the Scriptures, for he was a
Biblical scholar of the old order. Higher criticism
had not yet disturbed the learning of the Christian
world. We can to this day recalf a number of his
wonderfully beautiful utterances. In one sermon, in
which he was enforcing the ineffectual power of tem-
porary things to satisfy the spirit, he said, "These
things are as impotent to satisfy the soul as the sickly
scent of a dead flower is to comfort a dying man."

Another time be illustrated the maladjustment of
human action by saying "How often do we see
giants spinning threads and dwarfs bearing burdens."
And yet again, in declaring that the soul knew of its
immortality, be used this fine sentence: "The spirit
knows by its own consciousness that it is immortal, as
the eagle chained in the market-place, by the instinc-
tive flutter of its wings, knows that its home is in the
upper deep."

During the years that Dr. Wadsworth filled Calvary
pulpit he preached morning and evening on each Sab-
bath to congregations that crowded the large building
to its fullest capacity. Here at all services were to be
seen men from the highest ranks of business and pro-

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

fessional life, the rich and the poor, the old and the
ypung, the believer and the unbeliever, — all fascinated
by the marvelous words of the mighty man. His
congregation was not' drawn from the residents of the
city alone, for men frequently came from other cities
to hear Dr. Wadsworth, as they now go to the Opera,
and in one case, a gentleman, resident of Sacramento,
made a trip to the city every Saturday afternoon for
the purpose of being present at Calvary services during
the Sunday. The great preacher longed always for the
culture he had left behind in the Eastern States. The
new life of California had no charm for him, and after
a few years of devoted and faithful service he went
back to Philadelphia, his old home, and became the
pastor of one of its great churches, and within a few
years thereafter died in the midst of his acceptable
services.

The old Unitarian Church was on Stockton Street,
near Sacramento, and as the town moved south, the
congregation moved with it, and a fine new church was
erected on Geary Street, near Stockton. Starr King
became pastor of the church before its removal, and it
was due to him that the change was made. At the
time that he was called to San Francisco he was
preaching acceptably in Boston. In that center of
learning and culture, though a young man, he had won
his way, and was fast becoming noted for his nobility
and eloquence. It was in California, however, that his
genius expanded, and he soon became one of the
world's great orators. He loved the city and State
with great affection. He drank in from the sunny
skies, the hills and the fragrant gardens, the joy of life.

PULPIT ORATORS

175

With him hfe was a trust. By effort for good he grew
in grace. He was a toiler, and endless work made up
his days and nights. In fact, it was from the wear
and tear of overwork that at last he became an easy
victim of disease, which cut short, before the noon of
his career, his priceless life. In him was verified the
sad experience of humanity that "The good die
young."

His personality was magnetic and winning. Gen-
tleness radiated from him as light radiates from the
sun. His manners ahd speech were gracious to all
alike. No one could resist the fascination and charm
of his presence. He was delicate, physically, a spiritual
rather than a physical man. It is hard to make a pen-
picture of his face, for there were lines too pure,
lights too fleeting, to be caught by words. In the poise
of his head there was nobility and power inexpressible.
Passing on the street, to a stranger, he was always an
object of attraction, and one, looking on him, knew
that he was great and good. There was in his face
the serenity of him who had seen a vision, and to
whom the vision had become a benediction. His intel-
lect was cast in a lofty mold, had been trained in the
culture of New England, and ripened in the atmosphere
of the great universities. There was breadth and depth
and height to his mentality, sweetness and light in his
spirit. He was bound to be, wherever his lot was
cast, the guide and solace of the distrest. At the
time of his death he was the first pulpit orator in
America, and without doubt had no superior in the
world. His abundant spirituality touched and mel-

I

I

176 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lowed his hearers, and he was a hard man whose soul
did not respond to the g;reatness of Starr King.

The masses crowded to his services, and for a few
short years he lifted up his voice to teach "the way,
the truth, and the life." Spiritual truth was to him
more than creed. He was not what is called orthodox,
but believed with a mighty faith in the fatherhood of
God, and preached it with a terrible earnestness. Sim-
ple manhood was to him a splendid reality, and he saw
the divine in the human always. He had no compro-
mise with evil, sin was an abhorrence, and the salva-
tion of man was possible only through purity of
thought and action. He proclaimed the beauty of per-
fect life, and sought to win men by an appeal to af-
fection, rather than to fear. He sought to make holi-
ness so sweet that no man could afford to lose it. His
hunger for the pure, the beautiful and the true had in it
the intensity of a passion. What wonder, then, that he
was a power for the best in the life of the entire com-
munity, and that he was beloved by friend and stranger
alike!

His presence in the pulpit was commanding and gra-
cious. He knew he was a master, and his frail body,
under the inspiration of the services, towered like a
giant. In him were the feature, form, and voice of the
perfect orator. The pallor of intense thought made
him beautiful, and his perfect voice, as he read or
spoke, rose and fell in waves of sound, captivating the
senses like music. It was music. The range of his
voice was wonderful, and the deep tones were vibrant
with richness of inflection. We never heard him that
we did not wonder how a human being could be so

PULPIT ORATORS 177

gifted in our common speech. In the reading of
hymns, poetry took on new beauty, and through him
the texts of scripture gave out what was In the heart of
him who wrote them. To hear him read a Psalm of
David was the treat of a lifetime, and the parables
were made as new as when they were first spoken in
Judea. He had the faculty, by intonation and empha-
sis, of making dead things become alive. He could,
like Moses in the desert, smite a rock and make sweet
waters gush forth. We well remember a most sub-
lime service one Sunday in the long ago, when he had
persuaded Annie Louise Gary, a popular opera singer
in those days, who was in the city with an opera
troupe, to sing a solo as a prelude to one of his ser-
mons. After the usual service leading up to the ser-
mon, in the choir rose a fair woman in perfect white,
the organ pealed forth a familiar tune, and she, lifting
her voice, in the attitude of adoration, sang the old
song, heard a hundred times before in countless ser-
vices, but really never heard before ;

"When I can read my title clear to mansions in the

skies,
I'll bid farewell to every fear and wipe my weeping

eyes."

A breathless silence fell upon the great crowd, and
every eye looked upon her as if she had been an angel,
with this message from the sky. As she closed and
poured her soul into a triumphant burst of music, a
deep sigh of satisfaction in the audience exprest its joy
and gratitude, and King rose to preach. He had felt

I

178 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

the beauty and pathos too, and he preached as we never
heard him before. It was a service never to be for-
gotten.

Starr King loved his country next to his God, and
gave of his great life to its support during the Civil
War. He was the soul and providence of the Sanitary
Commission, organized for the aid and relief of
wounded and sick soldiers in camp and hospital. Cali-
fornia was called upon to aid in money, for great ex-
penses had to be met. King undertook the task, and
lectured in the principal cities of the State. At one
great mass meeting, held in Piatt's Hall, standing on
Montgomery Street, upon the present site of the Mills
Building, we were present, and never before or since
have we seen or felt the power of a mere man to do
with a great audience what he willed. Moved by his
own strong emotions, he magnetized the audience and
swayed them as the tempest sways the leaves of the for-
est trees. At the climax of a matchless narrative of
the heroism of our soldiers in the field, and of their
terrible sufferings from disease and wounds in lonely
hospitals, he lifted his hand in one of his gestures, al-
most as eloquent as his words, and the audience, under
the spell, rose to their feet and cheered for the soldiers
of the Union. It was like the sound of many waters,]

This was the supreme moment, and he called fc
subscriptions. The response was immediate and gener-
ous. A capitalist of the city, who was known to be
shrewdly close, with all his means, went to the sub-
scription table and wrote his name, and when King
read the subscription, men looked at each other in won-
der. The subscription read: "Five hundred dollars a

!ver I

for- I

ler

!rs ^^^

TS,^^H

179

I month, payable on the first day of each and every

month during the war." The magnitude of this sub-
scription was great, for the war lasted for three more
years. King had smitten the rock. The aggregate
sum raised by him for the Sanitary Commission was
in the neighborhood of three hundred thousand dollars.

In 1S64, the city heard that Starr King was dan-
gerously ill, and his life despaired of. It was hard to
believe that so splendid a factor in all good work could
be in peril when so young and so necessary. The sad
news was true, and in a day or two, men, with pale
faces, repeated with quivering lips, one to the other,
"Starr King is dead." And so, in the prime of his
life, at the zenith of his achievement, before its noon,
this sweet, great soul passed away, leaving to those
who loved him dust and anguish. Well do we remem-
ber that almost at the moment of his death, a minor
earthquake shook the city, and men said, "Even the
earth shudders at the thought that Starr King is dead."

The Centra] Methodist Church, at Howard Street,
near Second, was the center of the influence the Meth-
odists exercised in their zone of work. It was for
years their choicest pulpit in the city, and therefore in
the State, and the Conferences looked to it that here
should be a man in mental equipment and speech able to
hold his own, and the dignity of his church, on a level
with the distinguished ministers of other denomina-
tions. And so here, at the time Wadsworth, King
and others of like gifts, were filling other pulpits, Dr.
Guard held forth to a large membership, and to a great
outside congregation. At every service the spacious
building was crowded. One of the remarkable features

i8o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of the audience here was the percentage of the young.
A glance at any Sunday assemblage would disclose that
the great majority were men and women on the sunny
side of life, many indeed in the springtime. Dr.
Guard's sermons had a drawing power for the young.
This was easily understood. He possest a wonderful
imagination, and was given to extended illustrations of
his subject. His discourses were like lectures of travel,
illustrated by scenes of places spoken of. It was a sort
of mental painting. This quality of speech was fasci-
nating to the young mind, for it kept always within the
reach of their capacities. While it satisfied and grati-
fied, it made no severe demands upon the reason. His
texts were given as ex cathedra declarations, and there
was nothing to be reasoned out. Nothing was required
but to magnify, beautify and emphasize the conceded
truth. He preached to believers, not to those who
questioned. This was the order of his mind. The
truth was true, and stood without support. His of-
fice was to extend the view, lift the people to elevations
where the horizon should be widened, and the heavens
exalted.

Of the great orators we have listened to, — Beecher,
Hall, King, Wadsworth, Puncheon, Simpson, Fowler,
Ingersoll — we have never before or since found just
the same quality of eloquence as was part of Guard's
speech. There was an endless reach of descrip-
tion. He always seemed in the land of beauty
whose paths were endless, or ran in circles. One never
seemed to be at the end or within its reach. His ser-
mons were ceaseless flows of illustration. He did not
have reason and imagination combined, as had Wads-

I

PULPIT ORATORS

worth, nor did he move you by the indefinable sweet-
ness of the man and subject, as King did.

Dr. Guard had a pecuhar mannerism, one that al-
ways kept his hearers in expectation. He would often
hesitate at the close of a sentence, as if he had lost the
thread of his thought, a mental habit he had of seeming
to go lame. It would not be dignified to call it a trick
of speech, but one thing was always evident when he
quickly caught the thread, and that was that it had
been a readjustment of his fancy, for following these
halts he always soared into higher flights. Personally
he was of that type that fills the Methodist pulpit. His
manner was free and cordial, and he was a good pastor
as well as a fine preacher.

Dr. Stone, in the old Congregational Church at the
corner of California and Dupont Streets, was a dis-
tinct figure in church life. Exclusive and reserved in
manner, he had but little of personal magnetism, but
attracted by the signal eloquence of his discourses. He
was brilliant, and satisfied intellectual tastes, but seldom
warmed the blood with the passion of desire. He had
the mien and voice of the scholar. He loved the
Schools, and in his sermons drew his illustrations from
them. His literary taste was delicate, and a rude form
of expression would have been to him a pain. Smooth,
shining and beautiful was the flow of his speech. His
modulated voice was set to a perfect key, and words
flowed as if they were obedient to some gravitation
within the mind. Clean-cut and polished was every
phrase in which he gave utterance to his thought. His
discourses were as perfect and symmetrical as a Cor-
inthian cokimn carved from Parian marble, and as se-

i82 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

rene, — no sweeping toward the heavens in great bursts
of word? that thrilled. There were no arts of inflec-
tion; all was like the tide of a noble river, flowing be-
tween banks of trees and flowers, majestic in the sun.
His charm was in the placid utterance of brilliant
thought. His brain was a storehouse from which he
drew at will. There was no hesitation, for he was a
master in preparation and brought to the pulpit the
fruition of the study. He never fell below the line of
great excellence in his work. There was never any
disappointment to his congregation. They were al-
ways sure to receive that for which they came. His
capacity, for the high class work he did filled his
church, was great, altho in later years he broke some-
what under the steady strain and retired, a worn man,
full of well-earned honors in a high place.

Dr. Stone's genius and attainments were the posses-
sion of the entire Congregational Church. He was well
known in all parts of the Union, and no mention of
its greatest men could be had which did not include
him in the front rank. The history of religious life
and thought was enriched by the purity of his life and
the fineness of his great mental gifts.

The last of the quintette of great pulpit orators, who
filled pulpits in San Francisco, was Dr. Scudder, who
occupied the Mission Street Presbyterian Church, just
opposite the Grand Opera House. Dr. Scudder was
born in India, the son of the well-known missionary
to that country. The son was educated in India and
had acquired the acute mental acumen which has dis-
tinguished the scholars of that ancient land. He was
a fine scholar in the literatures of the East, was per-

^K cent

PULPIT ORATORS

fectly familiar with their faiths and cults. He was
also of wide erudition in the learning of his own land,
and intuitively made use of both cultures. His distin-
guishing quality was the capacity to reason down to
conclusions almost too fine for the slow and ponderous-
ly moving mental machinery of the average Western
mind. He often dove too deep or soared too high for
minor understanding. All of this, however, had a
good office, for he compelled a close concentration on
the part of his hearer, and no mere lazy listener could
hope to understand what Dr. Scudder said. He was a
master of Oriental reasoning, although he seasoned it
with the fresher Occidental lore. There was an ultra
fineness in his thought, as if it had been ground to a
razor edge. It was glittering and keen, pierced the
waste places of the mind and woke into life faculties
that had grown dormant through misuse. There was
in his speech the tracery of Oriental imagery and often
the poetry of his sentences was exquisite. He draped
his figures of speech with the laces of wisdom, and the
fascination was in both thought and utterance. His
faith was robustly orthodox, and he had in no respect
been harmed by the occult environment of his youth
and education. It was a liberal education to sit under ■
him. He illustrated truth frequently by appeals to
things that were part of the oldest lands under the sun.
He contrasted the old faith of the Hindoo with the life
of the Christian, and made clear to the mind the rea-
sons of both. He often alluded to the conditions of
human life, with its poverty, caste and squalor that the
religions of the East had left unsoftened during- the
centuries, and in the radiance of Calvary compared

i84 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

them with the product of the Man of Galilee and Hia*
teachings. Such was the opportunity of this skilled
master, and in this knowledge and its application to hu-
man conditions he had no rival. He combined the
knowledge and the genius of both lands.

There were minor men in those days doing good
work, who were far above the ordinary preacher of the
present day. They were, however, lesser lights, and
their efforts were lost in the splendor of larger men.
It would be a difficult task to-day to gather together
in any city of the world five men who would, in purity
of personal character, loftiness of spirit and might of
mind, equal Wadsworth, King, Guard, Stone and Scud-
der. Great men were everywhere here then, for it
was a great day in the city, — great in everything but
mere numbers of people, and the records of many of
those lives have been lost beyond the regathering. This
was a result of the fire, for these records can not be
rebuilt as can be the modern market place or the bank.
The immortal has perished, and men for ages will
suffer loss.

Before we close this chapter it may be well to glance
at a few of those who were among us for a time only,
• as strangers within our gates, who out of their abun-
dance gave unto our treasury. There was a natural at-
traction to California of many great men, who could
not resist the coming, even when the journey was one
of toil and discomfort. The Annual Conference of the
Methodist Church called here her Bishops, and it has
been the glory of that old Church that her Bishops
have been men of piety and eloquence. It was always
a day of intense expectation when it was announced

PULPIT ORATORS 185

that some famed Bishop woulS hold Ecrvices in a city
church. Here we have heard Peck, Simpson, Bowman

and Fowler. Each, after his own method and order,
unsurpassed in gifts of mind and heart, was of massive
mold, and their lips "dripped with the honey of the
Attic bee."

Peck was a ponderous man, weighing more than
three hundred pounds, A very mountain of flesh, he
had, however, a great physical capacity and seemed as
agile as an athlete. He, as men of such bigness usually
have, had a sunny nature, and made sunshine where-
ever he went by his genial presence. His smile was
beneficent and inspiring. Often have we heard him in
the pulpit, and here we forgot the physical proportions
of the man in his mind sweep. He had a wonderful
breadth of vision, — the world and its afRictions, its sin
and suffering. Its struggling masses moved him to
tenderness of speech, and when speaking of such mat-
ters he used to spread out his great arms as if he would
clasp and hold them all by his strength against the
shock of the storm. His was a great soul in a great
body, and his people loved him with a great love.

Bishop Simpson was just the opposite of Peck in
physical stnicture, and was the unchallenged head of
the College of Bishops. He was a most remarkable
man in every way, so great that his influence could
not be bounded by his relation to or his affiliation with
his Church, — could not be bounded even by any race.
He was truly a man of the world, recognized for his
matchless qualities of mind and spirit. In person he
was tall, rather ungainly, much like Lincoln in this
respect, whom he g;reatly resembled in mental and

^H respect,

I

i86 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

moral traits, and by whom he was greatly honored.
His face, except for its spiritual illuminations, would
have been unhandsome. His forehead, from the pe-
culiar slant of the head, looked low, but it could not
have been so and been a part of the brain of such a man.
I once heard a gentleman say. after having seen and
heard him in one of his services, "Simpson looked
like a spiritualized prizefighter." This came from the
shape of his head and forehead. He stood among
the great figures of the world, and his character added
luster to the American Church, irrespective of denomi-
nation. He was at once the foundation and the pillar
of ecclesiastic virtue wherever the Christian religion
was offered to men as the way of life. Once heard, he
could never be forgotten, for no life would be long
enough to make one willing to forget the man and his
work.

Nothing could more perfectly illustrate his power
than a simple story of one of his meetings in the
Grand Opera House on Mission Street, years ago: It
had been advertised that the Bishop would preach, and
it was known that there was but one house in San
Francisco that would hold the vast throng that would
flock to hear him, and so the Opera House was se-
cured. At ten o'clock the vast auditorium was jammed
from pit to dome, and the stage crowded, with only
room enough left for the preacher. It was a great
audience, made up of rich and poor, young and old,
the halt, the lame and the blind, black, yellow and
white, — a vast cosmopolitan crowd, gathered together
as if the world had been searched for an audience.
It was an impressive hour, and the Bishop afterwards

PULPIT ORATORS

187

said that it was the grandest audience to which he
had ever preached. A deep silence settled upon the vast
mass as the Bishop rose to preach. He was full of
majesty, and there was in his face the Hght of a divine
power. He stated his text as follows : "And every
knee shall bow to and every tongue shall confess Jesus
Christ." Beginning with the simple story of Christ's
birth, the fulfilment of prophecy in that event, his mar-
velous youth, and his glorious development, he lifted
his audience by his narration into a realm of history,
prophecy and fulfilment. He led them along the way
of the new gospel for the remission of sins, — step by
step, carried them from summit to summit until the
audience was at the tensest strain. But he was the
master. He knew how and when to remove the ten-
sion, and this he did at the climax, when with a voice
ringing as a trumpet, strong, passionate and prophetic,
he quoted his text. The mass was too wrought up for
silence, there must be relief and it came; for as he
closed and turned to his seat, a thunderous applause
shook the house, round after round, like the thunder
of the sea on a rocky coast. There was no pause to
the tumult. No one cared to stay it, for a crowd from
J the world was cheering the victory of Christ. What a
■triumph for the man, his mission and his effort.
, Doubtless no more inspiring audience ever stood in
I the presence of a great preacher, and so triumphantly
responded to the majesty of his subject. Thousands
were there — sinners and saints — all moved by a com-
mon pride in Christ, ail by common impulse cheering
I the vision of His supremacy in the world. At this mo-

i88 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

nient everything was great, — a great man, a great audi*
ence and a great theme.

Bishop Fowler was excelled by no orator of his day;
He possest an exquisite imagination, which he used as.]
a sculptor does his chisel to hew from the dead stonei
forms of beauty imperishable. The commonest
cumstance in his hands was made of interest, and the
large things of the world grew larger under his mag-
netic touch. He had a rare habit of climbing the
heights, instead of soaring above them. He was like
one who has made the ascent of a great mountain but
lingered a while in the valley at its base, — long enough
to feel the cool of grateful shade, to He down by the
laughing streams, to cull the blossoms and to drink in
their fragrance, to bend his ear to the song of the bird,
and then, lifting his eye toward the sky he climbed,
but not with toil, toward the heavens. Now and then
he halted, that the expanding horizon might reveal the
grandeur of the world. And thus from height to
height he led his hearers delighted to the summit,
where as a climax he waved his hands in a salute to
the beauty of the world. He was a splendid being,
rarely graceful in form, with a face as fine as a cameo.
If "beautiful" could be fairly applied to a man, one
could truly say that Fowler was beautiful. It was the
beauty of an exquisite mind and soul radiating every
feature, and refining every animal line. This fineness
held the eye like a picture, and it added greatly to the
grace of speech. A musical voice was added to other
perfections, and in the completeness of noble manhood,
he was a model for a sculptor. No one having heard
Dr, Fowler once could ever fail to do so again when

I

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PULPIT ORATORS 189

opportunity offered. He deservedly ranked high in the
councils of his Church, and was one of her chief or-
naments.

In addition to the frequent visits of the great
Bishops, we were honored by the presence of other
learned men, who were lured to our shores by our re-
pute. Beecher at one time lectured and preached here.
De Witt Talmadge also. Dr. Hall of New York, and
Morley Puncheon, the brilliant English Methodist, who
many years ago delivered a series of lectures that for
range of information, beauty of diction and splendor
of imagery have never been equaled in later days.
Two of his lectures, "Bunyan, the Royal Dreamer"
and "The Huguenots,'' were masterpieces of the lec-
turer's art. He preached several times, but his power
as a lecturer was greater than as a preacher. In this
he was the opposite of Beecher, who was a great and
unsurpassed pulpit figure, but not always so happy on
the rostrum. He never seemed to catch the spirit un-
less he was in his accustomed place amid his moral en-
vironment.

Chapter XI

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER AND

ITS IMMORTALS

BEFORE me lies an old photograph of a group of the
stock company of the California Theater when
it was a famous playhouse, where once gathered men
and women of genius and fame. It was a happy
family of free souls, held together by a community of
love and interest. Among these well remembered
faces there look out of the photograph many of the
world's stars, who came at intervals from other lands,
to shine for a time in these Western heavens: Edwin
Booth, Barry Sullivan, Charles Matthews, E. A.
Sothern, Edwin Adams, Mrs. D. P. Bowers, Madame
Janauscheck, John E. Owens, and others of like re-
pute. This old picture was taken by Bradley & Ru-
lofson, famous photographers, whose work was the
perfection of their art. Before the fire of 1906 swept
many like things into ashes, there could be found in
private hands and in public libraries many groups like
this, of people whose character and work entitled
them to grateful remembrance. Since, these pictures
have become priceless, and are held by those who own
them as precious as jewels.

The popular actor and actress, more than any other

190

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER

professional, are near the heart of the people, when
they are kindly, and to those who frequent the theater
become dear by ties strong and personal. There is not
a theater patron of the days when the "California"
was in its glory, who can forget when it numbered
among its regular actors John McCullough, Lawrence
Barrett, Harry Edwards, John Wilson, John T. Ray-
mond, William Mestayer, Louis James, H. J. Mon-
tague, — the beautiful soul whose light went out sud-
denly one fateful night upon its stage, — and such sweet
and womanly women as Mrs. Judah, Mrs. Saunders,
Sophie Edwin, Bella Pateman, Alice Harrison, Katie
Mayhew, Dickie Llngard. Zelda Seguin, Annie Pixley
Alice Dunning and "Lotta Crabtree.

The heart grows sweet and sad with memories, as
we look upon these faces and write these names. How
they dignified and broadened the drama when popular
taste would have none but the choicest of the masters.
Shakespeare in the hands of Booth and Sullivan, Mc-
Cullough and Barrett, crowded the house. "The Ro-
mance of a Poor Young Man," with Montague mak-
ing it a sweet story, was sure of a great audience, and
John E. Owens with "The Cricket on the Hearth"
drew tears from multitudes. It would be an education
elevating and beneficient, if for a single week the new
city could have the old theater with its old plays illus-
trated by the old masters.

Pure cultivated taste in dramatic art in those days
was not confined to the "California." It is univer-
sal, and other theaters were careful to keep their
work up to the highest standard. We remember when
Ristori. the peerless Italian, held forth at the little

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Bush Street theater, and Edwin Forrest, and the
younger Keane delighted audiences at Maguire's Opera
House. Concentrating forces were, however, at work,
and slowly but surely the"California"became the center
of legitimate drama, and finally for some years to it
were drawn all of the stars that drifted westward, and
here they loved to be, for they were sure of welcome
appreciation by the public, and of delightful personal
friendships with men and women in private life,
whose hearts were open and warm. In these days of
circuits and trusts, when whole companies are trans-
ported with the play and scenery, back and forth across
the continent, the patron of to-day does not quite un-
derstand the plan of the time when theaters were com-
pelled to maintain a stock of competent and gifted per-
formers qualified at ail times to support the star, who
was the sole importation. They must be familiar with
tragedy, comedy and melodrama, — ready to play Ham-
let, Richelieu, Virginitis, Sparlicus, A Trip to the
Moon, The Two OrphanSj Marie Antoinette, Rip Van
Winkle and Lord Dundreary. We doubt whether there
were ever gathered together under one roof, for so long
a time, so many fine actors and actresses as were for
years maintained by the "California Theater."

When the system yielded to business methods, and
the theater declined to a purely commercial venture,
where the box ofl!ice was more to be considered than
the stage, the old theater families were broken up, and
there was a constant change of face and personality in
the actors. Necessarily there can not exist between
the public and the theater the strong personal touch
that existed when the man in the seat knew and loved

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 193

the man on the stage and was concerned with his suc-
cess. The actor is no more a man about the town, a
familiar figTire to thousands who, though perhaps not
personally acquainted, feel free to salute him as he
passes them on the street and invite him to partake of
a friendly "smile." Poor, genial John McCullough had
more friends than any man in San Francisco, when he
was one of the managers, as well as one of the actors at
the "California." Montague, Wilson and Edwards had
a host of such friends who had for them a fine and
genuine regard.

Mrs. Judah was accepted as mother to everybody,
and Sophie Edwin was regarded with the affection ac-
corded to a sister. The score of an opera was no more
complete than was the fitting in of the membership to
the demands of the drama. It mattered not what hu-
man experience or feeling needed illustration, the fit
instruments were at hand ; they worked together in
harmony as perfect as the keys to the pipes of an organ.
Despair and hope, the fine uplift of pure thought, and
the deep designs of the depraved, found equal inter-
pretation in skilled hands. The claim that the stage
should be educational, make vice hideous and virtue
attractive, was justified by the steady allegiance of
managers and actors to high ideals. During the years
that this house was the home of the legitimate drama,
it maintained un,sullied the best traditions of the stage
in personnel and conduct. Scandal kept its unclean
hands off its reputation. The psychology that gives
to inanimate things a character; that with human
traits ennobles them with excellence or makes them re-
pulsive with ungracious features, had its work in fix-

I

194 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

ing the rq)ute of the old bouse. Its atmosphere n
sweet and wholesome, and the very walls were eloqumt
of refinement and peace. People went there not only
for amusement but for rest, — inspiration to the mind
and consolation to the spirit. Refinement was a pres-
ence unmarred by the monstrosities of modern fash-
ions. The auditorium was not a show place for ladies'
absurd fashions, but rather the reposeful circle where
the people in dignity found delight in the artificial
world on the stage, where lofty creations of genitis
were made familiar by the lips of men and women
worthy to repeat the great things that had been the
gift to mankind from all lands and by all generations.
The Roman Brutus walked in his majesty through
the corrupt Senate; the Merchant of Venice demanded
again his pound of flesh: Portia preached of the qual-
ity of mercy ; lago, crafty and treacherous, played upon
the passions of the jealous Moor, and the lean and
hungry Cassius conspired, during the watches of the
night, against the mighty Caesar. Again, amid the
splendid temptations of Egypt and the witchery of
Cleopatra. Antony threw away his empire for the dal-
liance. Here the quaint Rip Van Winkle was resur-
rected from the dead and made a living man, dissolute
but sweet with lovable humanities. Across the stage
walked the stately processions ; grave and reverend
seigneurs, dainty queens, old men crowned with honor,
young men fronting the future in the possession of hope,
and sweet maidens, shy and winning, unsullied as the
lilies growing in the radiance of the summer sun,
"The Girl from Rector's," even "The Merry Widow,"
would have knocked long at the doors of the "Califor-

I

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER IQS

nia" for admittance, but "The Music Master" and
"The Auctioneer" would have been welcome guests.
The stage, like modern institutions, has become in-
volved in finance, and if the "Squaw Man" brings the
dollars, he becomes a welcome gentleman, while "Ham-
let" becomes more melancholy because he looks upon
empty benches, where once he was welcomed by breath-
less audiences. We doubt whether Booth now. with his
wonderful gifts, could make "Hamlet" acceptable to a
paying audience in this modem city, that boasts more
of its pleasure-loving quality than it does of its sedate
and steady manhood. There was no prudery, no false
assumption of virtue, and the old theater was whole-
some. It was the logical product of existing condi-
tions, and the stage was then the reflex of the heart
and conscience of the public. Morals, like water, have
their gravitations, and both rise to high altitudes only
when the sources are lofty. The two decades follow-
ing the Vigilance Committee had imprest upon them
the personal character of the men who made its
rank and file. The fineness gave tone to life as age
gives tone to a violin, and to the bouquet of wine. Sin-
gle individuals have even so imprest themselves upon
historic eras: Greece had its age of Pericles, Rome its
age of Augustus, and Britain its age of Elizabeth. It
were vain to pine for the glory of dead years, but those
who were among them may without egotism speak of
their fragrance, altho it may be the fragrance of
flowers laid upon the tomb, but their sweetness fasci-
nates the senses and by the law of relation quickens
memories. These pages may be read by some of the
Old Guard, and to them will be touched up as an artist

196 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

touches up an old picture and makes fresh again faces
and forms once instinct with joy and the grace of noble
living.

We have been familiar with the lot upon which the
old theater stood, and have seen it lying in the sun four
times as bare ground. As a boy we passed down Bush
Street before the site was occupied by any building.
We watched afterwards the excavation for the theater,
then its demolishment for the new structure, and now
again the bare lot is a desolate place left by the fire of
1906. The evolution of the new city is revolutionizing.
Business and local centers have shifted, population
has drifted, and residential centers are vacant, and out
of the confused hesitation of improvement the future is
uncertain. All is and will be new. Historic associa-
tion will have no part in the readjustment of condi-
tions. In a few short years men will forget where once
stood structures that exprest the hope and aspira-
tion of those who builded when the city was first as-
suming its permanence. Bush street has lost its ancient
prestige, and its theaters will soon cease to be remem-
bered except in old books.

The magnitude of the destruction, the pathos of the
disaster of 1906, is exprest more in moral loss, in the
eclipse of history and the perishing of conditions, than
in the destruction of buildings. Beyond the shock
and the tongue of flame is the fame of those who, in
strength and glory of days when life was buoyant and
hopes were golden, contributed out of the beauty of
their minds and the sweetness of their hearts to that
richness of life that made San Francisco fascinating to
the world, rivaling cities to whose building the centu-

I
I

^^ others.

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 197

ries had yielded the treasures of art and experience.
The city of to-day, more ambitious in architecture,
still boasts of the spirit of its first builders. In the ac-
tive minds of those who were their contemporaries are
still preserved recollections of their form and face.
Loving lips are still warm and eloquent in praise of
the love and faith and heroism of the master builders
of pioneer days. What of the future when these con-
temporaries shall set sail for the shores of the eternal
morning? Have we been faithful to the preserva-
tion of the records of priceless kves? Have we made
certain the narratives of individual careers whose no-i
bihty illustrated how nearly divine the mere human
may become when exigency strips off the instinct of
the animal, and there enters into action, as the domi-
nant energy of life, self-sacrifice, service and charity?
Have we in marble or canvas given to our great dead
immortality ? We are too young yet, possibly, for re-
gret, but the sorrow of years to come will be that we
have been careless of our matchless citizenship. The
chaplets we shall weave will be of dead blossoms gath-
ered along trails we have allowed to grow dim.

But let us go back to Bush Street, and rebuild the
old theater, and sit down in its auditorium, under its
vaulted dome, comfortable in its spacious aisles, where
wholesome air and radiant lights are prophetic of the
satisfaction which will come to us before the night shall
close. Waller Wallace, father of Edna, one of the
ushers, shows us to our seats, and David WarfieJd,
now famous in "The Auctioneer" and "The Music
Master," in another aisle performed like service for
others. It is not an audience of strangers, for the "Cali-

^^ trade

198 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

fornia" did not depend upon a floating population for
patrons. Its audiences were of steady allegiance. The
fine taste, that made San Francisco for years the des-
pair of the charlatan and the joy of merit, was fostered
by the education of the masses to high ideals by the
performances at the old playhouse. As this education
became fixt, people were as regvdar in attendance al-
most as students are at the University. Men and
women studied the drama because it was worthy of
study, and made enticing by the eloquent impersona-
tion of fine minds. They took their books with them
and between acts read what was to follow.

During one of Edwin Booth's engagements, there
was a revival in the study of Shakespeare, and during
the intermissions at the plays, many a head could be
seen earnestly bending over books, refreshing memory
with the dialog, the poetry and the philosophy of
Hamlet, the Merchant of Venice or Othello. This
same* course was pursued when Barry Sullivan for
weeks made his great Richard a familiar character,
almost with the flesh and blood of a contemporary.

This relation of the resident citizens made the in-
come of the theater almost' as steady as the revenues
of a bank, and its clientage was as certain. While
we wait for the rise of the curtain we watch the incom-
ing audience, for this was aneducation as to the citizen-
ship of the city. Merchants like Coleman, whose
ships gathered up the products of the climes, bankers
like Ralston, whose financial genius was the framework
upon' which the State's expansion was built, whose
energy and courage gave strength and courage to
trade; physicians like Toland, whose skill is a part

I

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 199

of the history of disease and its alleviation, lawyers
like McAllister, profound and eloquent, judges like
Sanderson, whose wistlom was quoted as authority in
the forums of the world, — stalwart men, all young or
middle-aged, for there were no old men in those days,
from all ranks, whose integrity of action was a pro-
verb; wives and mothers, fresh and gracious, who
beautified the social life with all womanly graces, dam-
sels dainty as lilies, graceful as fawns, in whose cheeks
came and went the lint of perfect health as the rose
and the violet comes and goes in the dawn. This was
just an ordinary night's audience, but it was a great
one in all human qualities, and made* men, when
absent from home, boast that they were Californians.
John McCullough and Lawrence Barrett, the first
managers of the "California" were both actors of great
talent and took part in all performances. They' were
widely apart in personality, each a perfect type of the
actor. McCullough was of great physical build, and
overflowed with kindliness. He was genial John to
everybody. He took the world at its swing, was fond
of good things to eat and drink, and where good
fellowship was to be found he was there also. He had
the Bohemian instinct and indulged it. It was this
indulgence, perhaps, that clouded his mind before his
death with the tragedy of delusions. For years about
town, in the robustness of his splendid figure, he lived
in happy indifference to the frailty of human capacity
to defy inexorable natural laws. He worked without
tire in his profession, and then gave hours of needed
rest to pleasures. His temperament was at once a
blessing and a curse. It attracted and held hosts of

^ m^

2O0 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

friends; made him a successful actor, but led him into
fatal environments that as the years went by poisoned
the springes of strength and sapped the vigor that in his
young manhood seemed too abundant for decay. It
led him to play with destiny and to chance the future
with recknessness. The decrepit stricken shadow of
the man, cared for by his fellows because reason had
fled, was a pathetic residium of the radiant, athletic.
living John McCullough, the happy chief of Bohem-
ians, who on the stage in his prime seemed at variance
with his genius unless in Sparticus, Virginius or
Brutus, he found an outlet for his glorious strength.
He crowded his years too close together and wasted
them in prodigaHty, As an actor he was fond of the
historic; his favorite characters were those who had
stirred their times with deeds of valor. He loved the
parts of heroic men, and rose to his finest exposition
of passion in the wide open spaces of action, where
native races fought in personal grapple and exprest
their loves by violence.

There was vehemence in his action. He was no
noisy ranter that tore passion to tatters. His love was
for things that were strong, for wild, free life un-
marred by the restraints of culture, for the freedom
of existence in the woods and hills, for empire won
and kept by force. How we recall his splendid action
in Sparticus, how he reveled in his defiance, and made
his audience thrill with the desperate courage of the old
gladiator as he flung with supreme scorn his defiance
into the face of Rome. He towered in the cruel virtue
of Virginius. There was something terrible in his ac-
tion as he unfolded his sense of honor mightier than

I

I

^H me c
^H men

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 201

his love. Men felt the sternness of the Roman man-
hood, the cleanliness of soul, that in her wholesome
days made her the mistress of the world. What awful
dignity he gave to Brutus when he stood before
C^sar, and for Rome's freedom gave the fatal stab to
his friend. The majesty of Rome seemed concentrated
in his face as the swaying figure of her great son
wailed out to him "And thou, too, Brutus!" And the
supreme quality of apology for the desperate slaughter
of his friend did he express as looking upon the still
form he said, as if to reach the departing soul, "Not
that I loved Cicsar less, but Rome more." How real
to us young lads did these great exhibitions seem. The
centuries seemed to shrink into the present, the dead
to become alive, and history became a series of con-
temporaneous events, and we felt to its utmost the debt
of the present to the past, the relation of the centuries
to man's development. From personal experience it
was apparent to us at the old "California Theater" that
the stage, when its high character is preserved, is of
the highest educational value,

Barrett was the direct opposite of McCullough, The
differences may have been the attraction that brought
them together, first as actors and then as partners in
the management of the theater. Their first experience
in San Francisco was as the support of Edwin Forrest
at the Maguire Opera House. They were great
favorites with the sterling old actor, and as his sup-
port in a line of Shakespearean characters made his
California engagement a great artistic success. At
the close Forrest left California forever, and the young
men were offered the control of the "California" as its

4

I

202 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

managers. It was their first venture in this fieW,
tiiey were equal to the occasion and fulfilled every ex-
pectation. For years they carried the theater on with
artistic, mora] and financial success.

Barrett, so ran the tradition, was born in a lowly
|)l3ce, but with great ambitions. His hunger for
knowledge was a passion, and, thanks to the opportu-
nities of the American school system, at an early age
he was able to escape from his depressing environ-
ment and launch out into the wide field of endeavor
open to every boy with ambition, good habits and in-
dustry. In his early youth he was attracted to the
stage and climbed up by hard work to its highest
places. He possest great gifts and cultivated them
with unwearying care. Although of lowly origin, he
was an aristocrat, and as he advanced in his profes-
sion became austere, exclusive and hard of approach.
He had no popular traits, and while he was admired
on the ."itage in his professional work, he failed to en-
dear himself to his associates or to the public. He
drew his audiences by sheer ability and captivated
them through their minds. It was a general under-
standing among those who were patrons of the house
that he was not loved by those under him, for he was
a martinet and insisted upon accuracy in the minutest
details. He was of slight frame, but it was knit to-
gether as if made of steel. Straight as a Corinthian
column, there was grace and elasticity in every motion,
and he never forgot the dignity that was a controlling
factor of his temperament. He was cold and glitter-
ing as a polished blade, cynical and sarcastic. He was
an exquisite, and always drest with scrupulous regard

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 203

for the latest fashion. He was doubtless the best
drest man in San Francisco. If daintiness may be
applied to the habits of a man, Barrett was dainty.

This tjuality was carried into his professional garb,
and it mattered not what character he portrayed, he
was always the same clean-cut figure of perfection.
Barring a sneer that seemed at home on his lips, he
was exceedingly handsome ; a piercing brown eye, in
which there was the light of intense intellectuality,
illuminated the severely classical lines from brow to
chin. A nervous spirit worked in and out of these
lines in varying lights and shadows. It was the face
of the actor, capable of expressing the wide range of
human passion. His face was the instrument of his
mind, or perhaps we might say its mirror, except that
a mirror is passive and there was nothing passive in
Barrett, for he was always keyed to a high pitch and
worked under the impulse of a tremendous mental
stimulu,s. He was a fine scholar, loved books, and
gave to them the affection he seemed to deny to his
associates. He was esthetic in taste. This gave him
the artistic poise, which he carried into all of his im-
personations. He could play the villian with con-
summate skill and reveal with a rare analysis the
springs of action within the mind of the villian, but it
must be a villain of high class, who clothed his acts
with the manners and movements of a gentleman. We
never saw him in the part of a coarse scoundrel, and
we believe that it would have been impossible for him
to have endured the task of exposing the brutal ruffian-
ism of a Bill Sykes.

In lago, Barrett was great. The character of this

^

204 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

insinuating, calculating schemer had evidently been tol
him a psychological study, for in its portraiture he
revealed a masterly conception of the motives that
moved the histrionic villain in all of his actions. In this
character he had no equal on the contemporary stage,
and we doubt if his equal has appeared since. Booth,
with all his equipment of mind and heart, his meta-
physical genius, his grace of body, magnetic eye, and
face of a mystic, did not rise to or descend to, how-
ever it may have been, the keen anals'tical exposure
of the moods of lago as Barrett did. This we know
by comparison, for during one of Booth's memorable
engagements, when he fascinated us all with his great
conceptions, he and Barrett played together in Othello.
They alternated in Othello and lago, and we had
an opportunity to compare them, for they played
on successive nights, and the action was so close to-
gether that memory was able to parallel the perform-
ances, and the consensus of opinion was that Barrett
was the greater lago. This would seem impossible
to one who had not seen Barrett but had been under
the spell of Booth, as with facial beauty and melodious
sweetness of voice he read the immortal text. Of
course Booth's lago was a portraiture, keen, true,
impressive, practically beyond the reach of descrip-
tion, — could be felt only, not spoken, — ^but withal
there was in Barrett's interpretation* a something
Booth did not have, — that' intangible, evanescent,
mental light and shadow which lay deep in lago's
ego, not expressible in his speech alone or fore-
shadowed in his designs: All of this Barrett caught
and exposed, — a glance, an uplift of the chin, a subtle

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER

suggestion in gesture, a frown or smile, the quick hid-
ing of a half-exposed thought. Barrett was for the
time lago and lived with the Moor and preyed upon
his weakness with the mastery of intrigue. As Othello
he did not reach the excellence of Booth, and fell below
him in the portrayal of the Moor in the passion of
his jealousy and the despairful conclusion of his crime.
We greatly suspect that when they were on the stage
together in this play no stage had ever presented so per-
fect a picture of Shakespeare's thought, as he wrote
this tragedy of passion.

As a reader of the text, Barrett had no superior.
He had as a scholar become familiar with its beauty
and rhythm; with its philosophy that measured the
rise and fall of all human passions, the depths and the
heights of nobility possible to a human soul. He
knew the exact relation of every punctuation mark,
and phrased the sonorous sentences so that sense and
melody were one. His articulation was clear and per-
fect, and his accent placed where the text needed illu-
mination. How often in the theater now do we pine
with Tennyson for "the sound of a voice that is still."
Barrett's voice was musical, resonant, and carried into
the remotest part of the house like the tone of a sweet
bell.

The same cynicism that made Barrett an unap-
proachable lago gave to his Cassius a like excellence.
The picture of the physical man was complete as
Casar speaking of him said, "Yond, Cassius, hath a
lean and hungry look." One having seen Barrett's
make-up could never after read those lines without
nt once bringing before the mind the face and attitude

I

206 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of Barrett at the moment of these critical words. It
was a perfect piece of word-painting and fitted the
actor as perfectly as a Roman garb. While in some
characters that fitted his own mental moods Barrett's
facial play was a study, he did not have the facile
breadth of expression that Booth had. Booth had in
this respect no limitations. It was a part of his mental
and moral capacities: it was the mirror he held up to
nature. Barrett had his limitations, beyond which it
seemed impossible to go. His sneer had frozen on his
face, and while it made him a perfect lago and Cassius,
it marred the features that were a part of a character
whose life was sweet. There was no gracious con-
descension in Barrett's smile; his was the smile of the
scorner, who had drunk deeply out of life's spring,
bitter waters, and upon whose lips dead-sea apples had
turned to ashes. We have written this as a portrait
of the actor. Doubtless under all this surface of scorn,
which was but a demeanor, there was a heart of flame,
which down in the silent places was nourished by a
sweetness too sacred for speech. He was a clean,
honest man, earning his place in the world by toil and
holding his honors without reproach. He, more than
any one, by his careful attention to minor details, by
high ideals, by a strict discipline in professional work
on the part of those under him, built up the Cali-
fornia Theater, r.nd during his administration made it
a famous center of art. He died revered for his ster-
ling wortli, and left a vacancy in the ranks of great
men in bis profession, and, taking him for all in all, we
may never look upon his like again.

Life drifts at times along the levels of the unevent-

vent- 1

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 207 '

ful, — a steady monotony between dawn and sunset, —
days in which the spirit's only comfort is that "not
enjoyment and not sorrow is our destined end or
way." Just as we begin to wonder if we are destined
to endless plains, the vision changes and we see in
the distance heights lifting into the blue of perfect
skies, visions of clear waters in the sunlit meadows,
cool aisles of darkling woods, and sphinx-like the face
of cliffs, the tower of crags toward the sun, and hear
the voices that make nature's cathedral musical with
the full-throated sweetness of bird songs, and the
voices of the trees when their leaves swing in the
dalliance of the breeze. These are the soul's hours when
the animal lies down and we rise to our first estate.
Memory treasures up our great moments to repro-
duce them again when we are weary and the mind
sags under its load. Such are hours when we go
back over the years and sit down in the old theater
and let imagination have her perfect work. We hear
again Zelda Segiiin, who was lovingly known to us
all as "little Segiiin" because of her exquisite dainti-
ness. She sings to us her favorite song, "Angels Ever
Bright and Fair." Her notes, clear as the flute, flow
out like unloosed birds towards the dome. A tremu-
lous ecstasy is in her voice and her uplifted face is
beautiful with the rapture of feeling. It always
seemed as if Mrs. Seguin was conscious of some pres-
ence, invisible to all but her. Her personality
was soothing, and as she floated to the footlights.
rather than walked, a hush fell upon the audience
and a sigh of satisfaction, audible as a breeze, preceded
her '^ong. Later years have brought us more preten-

^m 208

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^V in exq

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

L

tious artists, of wider fame and demanding more of the
'Cirld, but none of sweeter voice or more winning
in exquisite personal grace. Loving and lovely soul,
she poured out the richness of her heart without
measure. She sang as if music was her life, as if her
heart might break unless it found its outlet in song.

All great artists have their favorite song, the one
to which they turn always, when the passion of their
soul is stirred, Patti loved "Home, Sweet Home,"
and this little woman loved "Angels Ever Bright and
Fair." She loved the encore that called for it, and
her audience, conscious of this love, returned it, and
seldom was she allowed to leave the stage without
singing it again and again. It was aspiration and
consolation, — at once a prayer and a benediction, and
doubtless many a sore heart found healing of desperate
wounds as the little woman, fragile and alluring, lifted
her soul in this prayer.

Her counterpart in the drama was Bella Pateman,
long one of the "California" favorites. She was a
poem wherein was made audible the tenderness of the
human for the human. There always seemed in her
attitude and voice a pathos that yearned to find an
object calling for ministrations and kindliness, where-
in she could pour out her treasures of sympathy.
Sacrifice was to her the devout inspiration of worship.
She was beautiful, but it was her mind equipment and
her soul that gave her that peculiar quality as an
actress and in which she shone most. This quality
was akin to the light in a jewel, a radiance that might
have been invisible, except for the light that flooded it
from out the sunny spaces of the sky. Like Mrs.

1

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THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 20c

S^uin, she was of gentle mold, and while her fea-
tures would not have been in repose perhaps satis-
factory to an artist, she grew beautiful as her soul
became aroused, and so upon the stage she was always
beautiful. She loved her art and her work and was
devoted to the highest ideals of the stage. It was im-
possible for her to walk through a performance, be-
cause for the time the artificial became the real, and
her associates in the play were living beings, instinct
with real passion, joy or sufifering. She was too in-
tense for simulation. If she wept, real tears dimmed
her eyes, and when she laughed, her happy heart sang
out in its joy. It was this quality which made her,
even in little characters, magnetic and compelling.
She pleased and satisfied always. Beyond all her
charm and excellence otherwise, it was her wonderful
voice that made her irresistible. In all intense per-
sonalities, spirituality baffles description, and is be-
yond analysis. This spirituality was about Kella Pate-
man, and no man ever looked upon her and listened
to her alluring voice, but fell under its charm. The
sweetest hearts are those whose fibers have been torn
by some sorrow which ends only in. the grave. This
is the terrible mystery of life. The soul grows only
when nourished by tears and ripens in the loneliness
of tujutterable sadness. The poet puts it thus :

"Some hearts are too happy for greatness;
Life does them a blissful wrong;
Love kisses the lips into silence
That sorrow would have smitten to song."

4

3IO LIFE OK THE PACIFIC COAST

In "The Treasures of the Humble" Maeterl
speaks of the faces of those who are destined to sud-i
den death, and with the sculptor's skill carves out in I
words the face that appeals to us with a j.
makes the heart ache. We seem unable to speak of
poor Montague, who died during one of his per-
formances on the stage of the old '^California," without
remembering this chapter of Maeterlink. We have
seen three rare souls hke this move through the
shadow of short years, and while their sun was half i
way between the dawn and noon, go out, leaving to {
those who cherished them, tears and desolation. Is
it any wonder that when we remember our dead, we
refuse the consolations of philosophy, and in the radi-
ance of the Resurrection and the Life, say with
Tennyson,

"Stretch lame hands off faith, and grope,

And fondly trust the larger hope."

The first time we saw Montague was in "The Ro-
mance of a Poor Young Man." He was young, but
a rare genius. The immortal Ristori was playing at
the little Bush Street theater wholly inadequate to
accommodate the crowds that were anxious to see her
in "Judith." We were one of the disappointed, but
having made up our mind for the theater that night,
wended our way to the "California,"' in the next block.
As usual, we glanced at the announcement, posted at
the entrance, and read : "The Romance of a Poor
, Young Man," — H. ]. Montague in the leading role.

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THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 311

We had not then read the book, but there was some-
thing attractive in the title, for we belonged to that
class, although we were as yet without our romance.
Looking down the names, we saw that Bella Pate-
man had a part, and as we were fond of her, chanced
our money and went in with the crowd. We had been
greatly disappointed by our failure to see Ristori, and
were in no very receptive mood. But if the disap-
pointments of life were always of so happy an end-
ing, we would pray for disappointments, for we shall
never forget the beauty of that performance. Beauty
of performance, as applied to this play, is no mere
rhetorical phrase, for it was a rare one and the story
unfolded by Montague gripped the heart. He flooded
the waste places of lowly life with fragrance; he set
roses beside the doorway of poverty and lifted it from
the lowlands of human experience up to the table-
lands where mid wholesome airs the ambitions of
youth built for itself a place of hope. Montague could
not have been excelled in this play. It seemed as if
he had some occult relation to it. If we had been a
believer in reincarnation, we would have more than
suspected that in the great somewhere, sometime, he
had lived the life he exposed. From that night we
felt a persona! friendship for Montague. He had
made a conquest of our minds and hearts, and we
handed both over to him as willing captives to the
witchery.

The demands of the stage have always been for the
highest types of grace and beauty in actor and actress.
To this demand the American stage has abundantly
replied. Montague was a perfect example of this tyge.

212 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

He was a rare individual. To perfect symmetry was
added a face of such ethereal beauty that one was
somehow seized with a terrible foreboding that not
only the good but the beautiful die young, and so it
proved, and the two others of whom we have spoken
who died young had this same unearthly mystic beauty
of face. Was Maeterlink speaking by the oracle when
he drew his portrait of those who are to be slain by
sudden death ? Montague, shortly after his great per-
formance in the "Romance of a Poor Young Man,"
laid down his life on the stage he loved and where he
was beloved. Few were the years of his brief life, but
he lived long enough to adorn the profession in which
scholarship and character were then essential requis-
ites.

How like the maze of a Mardi Gras procession do
the figures come and go as we lie back with shut eyes
and dream. The familiar stage becomes a place of
life, the music of the orchestra floats out, and, from
the wings, forms well remembered walk in the mimic
world. Barry Sullivan as the tempestuous Richard
with the strut of ambition, coquettes with fate and
"wades through slaughter to a throne." The hunch-
back becomes a real being and we are carried by the
force of the impersonation to the disjointed times in
English history when the genius for evil by daring
treason inverts the order of the throne and by murder
masters destiny.

Mrs. Bowers — as the mighty Elizabeth, in whose
train great spirits seek in jealous rivalry for opportu-
nity to make her mistress of the ages ; or as the pathetic
figure of the unhappy Queen of Scots, beautiful in the

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THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 213

shadow of desolate hopes — a sweet woman in 1

ipair in her eyes and tears in her voice — ^Mrs.
Bowers gave to the majesty of either queen great
attraction and dignity. We could never forget her,
as she stood upon the parapet of the prison, and look-
ing towards the hills of Scotland, with her gracious
head poised in devotion, cried from her soul to the
mists that floated before her, "Ye fleecy messengers of
God;" nor forget Marie Antoinette, paying with
her life for the crimes of her predecessors in a dis-
solute court. On the American stage, Mrs.. Bowers
was always a heroic figure; she was unrivaled in her
delineation of great passions connected with tragic
historic eras. Her capacity was a genius for the
interpretation of mental and moral moods of women
who had lived and suffered in great places. She was
a study. Her work was a marvel of execution, in
which she seemed for the time to be lost and even
physically transformed. She lived on the stage. Its
air was her breath of Hfe, and she seemed always to
live and expand out of self into the character she por-
trayed. On the street she was but one of many sedate
and womanly women. Neither in face nor form would
one ever suspect that she was the first actress in
America. In repose she could not be called beautiful,
but when she played the queen the majesty of empire
sat upon her brow like a crown, and the robes of state
were additions to the splendid grace which made her
fascinating.

The great Janauscheck, in unmatched excellence as
an actress, was able to compel the admiration of thou-
sands, tho she was handicapped by a massive, al-

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214 I-rFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

most masculine build of body, and hindered in
speech by the inaccuracy nf a foreign accent. As Lady
Macbeth she was unapproachable in her terrible ex-
hibition of what a woman can be when ambition eats
out her heart and dries up the springs from whence
she should have distilled milk for her babes. There
was in her action such a deadly unsexing of all
womanly tenderness, that the very air of the auditori-
um seemed to chill, and one shivered as if struck by
an icy blast. It was the triumph of art over human
feeling, for which it seemed as if the woman must
have hated herself for the time while she. instilled into
the king's heart the murder of his unsuspecting guest.
From this heroic arena of ambition and passion
we turn to the sweetness of homely life and love, and
spend a delightful evening with John E. Owens, as
he brightened the poverty of his home with the beauty
of a love that was divine because it was human. We
sigh and smile with lovable Jefferson as he makes us
love the irresistible vagabond Rip Van Winkle; we
suffer with "The Two Orphans" and long to leap upon
the stage and throttle the villian for his inhumanity.
John T. Raymond convulses us with his inimitable
■'Colonel Sellers," full of optimistic dreams of wealth
to be derived from pure "pipe dreams." John Wilson
furnishes a study of the ordinary modern villain,
without any redeeming virtues — just the common,
average bunco-man of the streets. Mestayer, fat and
funny, part of the time sticks to his text, but most
of the time indulges in side plays with gags to dis-
concert his fellows. "Romeo and Juliet" gives Mrs.
Judah a chance to show us how lovable the old nurse

THE OLD CALIFORNIA THEATER 21?

was, and what an exquisitely perfect picture of devo-
tion in lowly lives was in Shakespeare's mind when
he cast Juliet into her loving care.

As I stand before the vacant lot on which the old
theater stood, now a desolate vacancy, tender recol-
lections flood the mind, glorious memories sweeten the
heart full of regret for it all, for somewhere in the
silence of the Eternal are the great majority of those
that once constituted the happy lot of artists that, in
the splendid and beautiful past, gave to their profes-
sion here the grace, purity and sweetness of their own
lives.

Chapter XII

SOME OLD BANKERS, MERCHANTS AND .
FINANCIERS

rj^ HE boy who rollicks through the streets of a city
■* in his careless way often is the very best critic
of men and things which appear about him. It has
been frequently said that the greatest critics of human
nature are the children. As a boy growing up in San
Francisco, with the boy's inquisitive nature, we became
acquainted accurately with the little city, and by daily
touch with most of its leading men and public char-
acters. These men went long ago and passed out
of their relations to the city, and the city itself is now
gone and nothing is left to suggest the old life. The
old town, in every department of commerce and busi-
ness life, had groups of representative men, who by
rectitude made reputable the transactions of men.
This was a fine race that possest and managed life as
manifested in the bank, the store and the exchange.
They were the choicest specimens of well-groomed,
largely endowed men, whose energy found fields for
its activity in the trade of a constantly increasing terri-
tory. There were many differences in individual
character and capacity for business, and there was a
difference also in the means owned and by which re-
sults were accomplished, but these differences were not

216

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OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 217

deep outlines of division, — they were mere matters of
equipment and resource, which did not hold men apart
as they do now. Men knew each other intimately,
associated together, met in social life without restraint.
There were strong individualities that flowed out of
men into their business. This individuality fixt itself
upon the very places of business and gave the houses
in which business was transacted a human personality.
Some poet has finely said that a shattered vase will
in its severed fragments retain still the perfume of the
flowers it once held. We might have applied this to
many an old building we knew as the busings places
of well remembered men, had the earthquake only
shaken the city, but the devouring fire has left nothing
but ashes, and ashes contain no suggestions. Out of
the terrible new we are able to recall but little of the
old things, and this capacity grows fainter year by
year. The stranger of to-day, who comes through
our gates and rests within our walls but a night, knows
almost as much as we do of the city as he looks upon
blocks of massive buildings less than four years old.
We are almost as likely as he to become lost in the maze
of streets. We seem to know them now only because we
read their names upon the street-lamps at the corners.
We shall never again be able to rely upon the law of
relation to aid us in rebuilding pictures of the city.
Memory must work alone. She must work out as best
she can the outlines of places and old houses, and if
her pictures are sometimes faulty, even dim, it must
be remembered that time has effacing fingers, or if she
does not always see clearly, it may be because the eyes
are clouded with tears.

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218 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

If we should stand for a moment only, before 1871,
in the shadow of the old Pank of California, what
supreme figure would we see coming out of its doors
into the sunlight of the street, with the wonted smile
and salutation, to pass down the old familiar side-
walk? Who but Ralston, whose genius, working
under mighty pressure more than a hundred other
men of his day, inspired and molded the industrial
life of the entire coast. For nearly forty years we
have felt the lack of his inspiration and work. Nearly
four decades have gone, and there still lies open the
gulf between the direction of his mind and the achieve-
ment of the hand, which he left. It still seems that
out of the ranks of men who have come after, not
succeeding him, there is no stalwart able to lift or
wield the instruments with which he battered into
shape the resources of the Pacific, from Arizona to
British Columbia, and from the shores of the sea to
the Rockies. His life was a marvel to men. With the
throng that were lured to California across the Darian
Isthmus, W. C. Ralston, young, ambitious and com-
petent, was a leading spirit. He was more in touch
with the spirit of the land itself than any of the multi-
tudes that came with him. The country filled him
and he was as large as the country. He was pre-
eminently a man of genius, without any of its eccen-
tricities, for he was sound of body and comprehensive
of mind. On his arrival in San Francisco he wasted
no time in search for opportunities; he created them
by force of will and entered upon serious work. From
the first he had a comprehensive realization of the re-
sources of California, backed up by the expanding

^L the re

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 219

resources of all the Pacific Coast. He acted with
great rapidity, but his speed had in it no weakness of
impulse. He saw clearly the natural advantages of
San Francisco as a great seaport,i and that it would
be a world city with a great commerce, where, per-
haps slowly at first because of the newness of things,
but finally, would be centered beyond rivalry the busy
life of a great city, with its multitude of people and
manifold activities. He saw clearly into the future
and set about in a masterful way to lay the founda-
tions upon which its wealth and prosperity should be
built. Like all masters he had a purpose about which,
with absolute faith, he centered his will. Having
determined upon a course of conduct he was not
moved from what to him was the way of life. Ralston
counseled with himself, drew his inspiration from his
own spirit, both illuminated by an artistic imagina-
tion, for the great worker must be necessarily a man
of imagination, — he must build to dreams altho he
builds of iron and stone, and if he builds largely, he
must work into them lofty ideals.

No citizen of the Pacific Coast, then or since, has
approached Ralston in the breadth of his conception
and scope of his accomplishment. The vision of the
night with him became the work of the day. He,
doubtless, had as the basis of his marvelous achieve-
ments the ambition to be the owner of vast wealth,
but he spurned the mere gold that men did no more to
obtain than to dig in the earth. While others, many
of them gifted with rare minds, of brilliant faculties,
were content to delve in dirt for gold, he measured
the resources of the wonderland, applied to them their

220 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

relations to improved conditions, and wrought for his
own as well as for future generations. He stood al-
most as the lone builder of an empire that would live
and flourish in increasing power and beauty when the
gold-fields would be deserted and the race of mere seek-
ers for gold would be dead or forgotten. From this work
no temptations lured him. He pursued the path he had
laid out with patient faith and worked with marvelous
energy. To his work he directed the resources of his
mind, gave to it the affection of his heart, turned mis-
takes into accompHshment, and failures into victory.
Though often he faced disaster, he was not cast down.
His will grappled with situations that would have
driven an ordinary man into insanity or the grave.
These were to his indestructible courage only the spur
to mightier endeavor, a call upon some of his unused
reserve, — just as a great soldier in the presence of
defeat turned the tide of battle by ordering a waiting
regiment to charge.

In the development of California, in fact of the
entire coast, it may be truthfully said that Ralston did
more than all of the other men in the State, There
was a time in his career, when in the noon of his
activity, his extended influences were so far-reaching,
that men were almost frightened by their brilliance.
From a mere local banker, he became a power in the
nation, and then in the world, and in no great financial
center, where California was known, was mention
made of California without mention being made
also of Ralston. Men are usually said, as they
go forward with great schemes, to grow with their
work. This could not be said of Ralston for he

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 221

always was, — ^he did not grow, his achievements grew
to him. This was always the essential difference be-
tween him and all other men in the State. We knew
and admired him, when we were a mere lad, by reason
of kindly services he rendered to us when a law stu-
dent. From the first hour we were fascinated,
and the fascination never left our mind and heart,
for it was in both. We were always indebted to him
for a certain elevation in our estimate of human nature.
To know him as we did was a liberal education
in the kindliness of the human heart. It was a simple
incident that brought us together, but it was never
forgotten. We were a law student, he the manager of
the Bank of California, That bank was then the con-
trolling center of the financial power of the coast. We
had occasion to make some inquiries as to the financial
standing of a man associated with the bank. The
inquiry was legitimate, violated no ethics, and while
we were timid in making it, we felt justified by its
character. We called at the bank and inquired for
Mf. Ralston, and without ceremony or delay were
ushered into his room. We found him almost buried
1 piles of documents, over which he was peering. As
we entered he looked up with a genial smile and said,
"Mr. Woods, I am at your service, what can I do for
you?" The smile, the gentle tone of the inquiry, lifted
us out of all fear, and in as few words as possible we
stated our inquiry. His reply was that he knew some-
^^L thing of what we wanted to know, but not all, and
^H that if we would call again at the opening of the bank
^H on the following day, he would be prepared to answer

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222 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

his seat, escorted us to the door as if we were a visit-
ing prince, and giving us his hand wished us "good-
day." Tt was a gracious condescension and we never
forgot it, for we knew how gracious a large man could
be. We, of course, supposed that he would forget the
incident and the inquiry as soon as it was over, but
it was not so, for during that same afternoon as we
were walking down California Street we met him and
he bowed and called us by name. This was the only
time we had ever had a personal interview with him,
and it was short, but he never afterwards met us on
the street, and we knew him for many years, without
the same gracious salutation. It was in this way that
he won and held all men, for no one could resist the
beauty of his acts.

Ralston's actions were a spontaneous expression of
his generous disposition to aid. This often led him,
when much engrossed with business affairs, to stay his
work while some distrest one made request for aid.
He was impatient with mere pretenders and had but
little time to waste in listening to stories that should
have been told to a policeman. To the worthy appeal,
however, he was a sure refuge. He was hard to de-
ceive ; he knew human nature as an open book and was
skilled in reading motives. There was in all of his
giving a charity which enriched the gift. His charit-
able nature was widely known and as might be ex-
pected appeals were numerous. Two examples of this
generosity we recall easily as they were familiar to
us at the time.

One day during banking hours, a pale, poorly clad
woman sought him out at the bank and with the voice

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 223

and manner of a gentlewoman used to better things,
said that she was a widow upon whom two small chil-
dren depended for support ; that if she could get a sew-
ing machine, she could easily support herself and her
children. Ralston told her to go home, after taking
her address, and that he would see what he could do.
As soon as she was gone, he called his old negro
servant who was the confidential agent of his benevo-
lence, and gave him the address and told him to visit
the neighborhood and inquire among the neighbors as
to this woman. The inquiry was made and the story
verified, and on the next day a sewing machine of the
very best make was installed in the little home.

One morning, just as the bank opened, a quaint un-
tidy Australian, puffing at an old unsavory pipe, asked
Mr. Ralston if he could speak to him a moment
These requests were never refused and he had his
audience. He said that he was a litigant in a suit
pending in one of the District Courts, which was to
be called that day for hearing, that it was necessary
for him to tender fifteen hundred dollars to his ad-
versary, which he knew his adversary would not ac-
cept, but that unless the tender was made, the
suit would fail, and he asked if Mr. Ralston would let
him have the fifteen hundred dollars for the purpose
of making the tender, promising that as soon as the
tender was made, he would return the money, Ralston
gave him a swift look, sized him up accurately, and
calling a clerk told him to let the gentleman have fif-
teen hundred dollars in coin, and that he would return
the money later in the day. With his fifteen hundred
dollars the litigant made his tender, saved his suit,

1

L

324 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

and within an hour the money was safe in the t
again.

It was only a man of the rarest human quality and
wisdom that would do such things as these. These
are not fairy stories of benevolence, for we knew the
woman and man referred to, and more than once heard
the story from each of them.

As a banker Ralston never forgot that he was aM
man. It was not his maxim that "business is busi--"
ness," or "there is no sentiment in business." His
brain and heart worked together. He loaned money
to men, not things. If he was satisfied of the necessity
of the applicant, that he had commercial wisdom and
that the venture was fairly promising, the applicant
got the money without hypothecating every available
resource he had and thus practically handcuffing him-
self where he needed his resources in his business.
Men can not borrow this way now ; money is loaned
only to things. "No collateral, no money" is written
over every banking house in the modern city. No one
more fully than Ralston understood the moral rela-
tion of the bank to the community, and he lived up to
this relation.

Before he branched out fully into the great events
of his life, he was a member of the firm of Fritz &
Ralston, engaged in general business, commission and
brokerage operations. The State grew and its op-
portunities enlarged, and in 1870 the Bank of Cali-
fornia opened its doors for business, in a little store-
room at the corner of Washington and Battery Streets.
A single room was then sufficient for its business.
This, however, grew like a gourd, and very soon there

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 325

radiated from it agencies in other parts of the State
and in Nevada, where the tremendous gold and silver
output was astonishing the world. The digging out,
reducing and caring for the great flow of wealth re-
quired millions to pay for labor, machinery, fuel and
transportation. The work was the work of giants,
and Ralston was the chief spirit of all of this brilliant
and tremendous industry. He was its first financial
director. He was inspired by the greatness of the
field, moved by the immensity of the demands, and
he was equal to the situation. He built mills, con-
structed railroads, cut down forests, built canals for
water, combined, focalized and used all the collateral
agencies that contributed to the production of gold.
He was a King of Industry, his power vast, his opera-
tions masterful Wealth poured like a great flood
into the coffers of the bank and its agencies, and when
the little store was given up for the fine building on
the comer of Sansome and California Streets, it
seemed a very Gibraltar of finance. Alas for human
dreams ! The splendor attracted envy and malice, and
the great institution and its brilliant master were both
marked for destruction by mighty, influences, influences
of which he had been the chief creator. Eflforts were
directed against Ralston and the bank, and they both
rocked in the throes of a financial earthquake. The
master fell, while the institution was shaken to its
foundation. No sadder story than the closing of the
doors of the Bank of California and the tragic death
of its founder is written into the history of the State.
Before this tragic hour, directed by the courage and
intuition of Ralston, the vast wealth of the bank had

UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

I

been used in the expansion of the city and the State,
often building for the future to meet inevitable condi-
tions constantly arising among a new people. All of
this radiated from the common center in all direc-
tions. The Pacific Rol ling Mills were built ; the
Palace Hotel, years before it was possible for it to be-
come remunerative, was built as one of the necessities
of the coast, so that people from all the world might be
housed in the city in the comfort they were used to
in the centers of civilization. The wisdom of this
construction was more than justified in after years,
when the Palace Hotel gave, as the sole agent of prog-
ress, San Francisco a repute among the people of
the world. The "California Theater" was built and
maintained that our people might have the best that
could be furnished in art and literature. The story of
the "California Theater" and of the group of its great
actors and actresses is one of the things that we turn
to with pride, when we are discussing the good things
of the past years. The wisdom of these forethoughts
was more than justified as the years went along and
the city became famous.

Ralston did not stand a supreme figure because he
towered among pigmies, for he operated in a com-
munity of daring and resourceful men who, in con-
temporaneous days, made the mines, the exchanges
and the various arenas of trade battle-fields upon which
giants fought strenuous battles by force and strategy.
Later the ranks of these dissolved, and in Paris,
New York, Berlin and Chicago, individual members
found occupation and repute. Forty years have not
dimmed our recollections of Ralston, as we saw him

I

OIJ> BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 227

almost daily upon the streets of the old city. He was
a perfect model of the business man, medium-framed,
wholesome, alert and genial. His face was open and
sunny, and his eyes full of active, benevolent lights.
He was full of force, mellowed by a grace of manner
that was attractive. This was the quality that gave to
his smile a certain sweetness that drew men towards
him and subdued their wills. It would have been a
difficult thing to be discourteous to Ralston when he
turned toward you his beaming face, full of courtesy
and kindness.

These pages have not been dealing with biographies,
narrating events only in men's lives or sketching a part
of their careers simply, but* we write of them as we
saw them, when a mere lad, going about among them
in the streets, or seeing them in their places of busi-
ness. We have sought to give impressions of them as
they seemed to us. In a large city men never get
close together except in exclusive social life, do not
expose to him who meets them upon the street their
mental and moral make-up. This was possible in San
Francisco before she had climbed out west be-
yond Van Ness or south beyond Market. Here, lead-
ing men in all walks of life, were almost your daily
companions upon the street, and a boy, even, with an
average outlook, was enabled to become acquainted
with the faces of men and familiar with their charac-
teristics and habits. This was when Montgomery
Street, from Market to Washington, was the chief
promenade of the city, and almost every day at some
time every man of note passed up and down this boule-
vard. It was here, first, that we saw Michael Reese,

228 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Peder Sather, John Parrott, Sam Brannan and

King, known always as "Money King,"

If he had any other name, it was not known, for he
always was called "Money King."

There were many old signs that were familiar too —
signs that showed the character of representative
men and old firms that have passed into commercial
history. Among these could be read any day on the
principal streets: "W. T. Coleman and Co.;" "De
Witt, Kittle and Co.;" "Macondray and Company;"
"Ross, Dempster and Co. ;" "Faulkner, Bell and Co. ;"
"Rountree & McMullen." Those were not the days of
short weights and adulterated foods. Consciences,
without the aid of Congressional enactments, made
the brand of any of these old houses upon a box of
goods a guaranty of quality — a pledge that the box
contained only good goods. There were some "sky-
rocket' concerns too, that by their transactions made
the business sky lurid with the boldness and daring
of doubtful transactions. The story of the old bank-
ing firm of Palmer, Cook & Co., was full of doubtful,
elusive, and disastrous operations. It may be read in
the decisions of the Supreme Court, and there may be
many an old Frenchman and Frenchwoman in France
who could tell, if diey could choke back their tears
long enough, of how they were led by the old French
firm of Pioche & Bayerque to invest through this firm
in the "great opportunities" of California. Hundreds
of thousands of dollars were sent from France for in-
vestment to these bold speculators, and when the clos-
ing up of their affairs came, the French investors
mourned their losses. These were rare and widely

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 229

separated exceptions, for men gloried in their personal
honor, carried their conscience into the counting
houses, traded in the open, and dealt with their fel-
lows as they would be dealt by.

There were noted hotel-men in those days, when
Pearson was "Mine Host" at the old Cosmopolitan,
situated at Bush and Sansome, This was the home
hotel of those days, days when hotels were built
and operated for comfort. In the old Cosmopoli-
tan were great, spacious rooms, with lofty ceilings,
full of sunshine; a magnificent dining room, where
fine meals were served by courteous attendants, pre-
pared by cooks who knew how to make the fruits of
the earth wholesome and savory. There were no grills,
no cafes then. We lived in a homelike way ; the hotel
was a home, and what we ate and drank were neces-
saries, not luxuries. With all of the splendor, light
and glitter of these days, there can not be found in a
modern hotel the solid comfort and repose that were
found in the old Cosmopolitan, when Pearson was its
landlord, and Brush Hardenburgh its chief clerk.

The old Russ House was then the favorite of the
miner and farmer, when the elder Hardenburgh and
Dyer were its joint managers. Here all of the solid
comforts of a home were obtainable by the farmer and
the miner who came to the city for a few days of
sightseeing and recreation. The landlord made it a
part of his business to become the friend of his guest,
and to make him feel perfectly at home. At the old
Occidental could be found the Army and Navy, where
McShane for years made them welcome, and after
him Hooper and one of the Leiand Brothers, whose

UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

family name had become a part of hotel history in the
United States during the years following the early
seventies.

There were to be seen any day on Montgomery
Street, somewhere between Washington and Market
Streets, three unique characters, each of its own kind,
familiar personages, not attractive, but catching to
the eye, because they were so unlike others, so defined
in their personality that they were marked and sep-
arated from the general mass.

The first of these historic characters was Michael
Reese, a ponderous Jew, who towered and stretched
out in the breadth of his enormous avoirdupois, an
Israelitish Hercules. His name was never shortened
to "Mike," for that would have suggested the Irish-
man, and Reese was an "Israelite" indeed. He was
not fair to look at, for he slouched and shuffled his
great mass of bone and flesh along the sidewalk, as if
his body were too heavy to trust to a hasty step, as if
he dared not lift his feet for fear of disaster. He had
a large head, massive cheek, broad mouth, and a col-
ossal nose. Untidy, and careless, never persona
grata personally, but he was away above and be-
yond contempt, for he was a power in finance, a
master in business, and wielded a powerful influence
wherever men in trade, banking, real estate, or mining
were making money. He was able by reason of his
intellectual strength and big purse to hold, perhaps
to a larger degree than any single man in the city who
operated alone, the balance of power in critical money
emergencies. He was essentially a free lance of
finance, and so harbored his resources, that he was

I

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 231

always ready to take advantage of situations that gT3t
beyond the grasp of others. He was like Sage in
New York, always iri funds when everybody else
seemed to be for the moment "broke." He had great
daring, and when his judgment had weighed the
chances, he dealt out his money into ventures with a
free hand.

His commercial instincts, the gift of his race,
he had quickened by many experiences. He was an
expert in real estate, had a keen and accurate esti-
mate of present and future market values, was well
versed in the demand and supply of things that the
world must have, kept his finger on the hot pulse of
speculation, and, cool-headed, reaped often where
others had sown. This he did because he had frequent
opportunity to do so, — opportunity of which he availed
himself but which he had no part in bringing about,
for he had the reputation always of being "indiffer-
ently honest." He was never charged with scheming
to bring about disaster, that he might gather up out
of other men's estates. He knew that men would
bring about their own disaster, and he was satisfied
to wait until other hands than his had wrought ruin.
To profit then was to him legitimate. Often, in
dangerous days, the strongest men in the city went to
him for aid, and he was always ready to assist unless
he saw that aid was futile and meant only loss to the
borrower and the lender.

Reese had no family ties, was a lone bachelor, and
lived more than the simple life. Able to have lived
in the luxury of a prince in many a block of his own
buildings, to have maintained a palatial country home.

232 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

he spent his days in the streets, or in a little dingy
cubby-hole of an office in one of his own buildings,
possibly because it was too indifferent to be rented to
any one else. If there were a more shabby den in
town than Reese's office, we don't know where it
would have been found. He had no janitor fees to
pay, no brooms to buy ; the old chair was strong
enough to hold him while he sat down to draw on the
rickety old table his checks, amounting frequently into
the hundreds of thousands.

There are in all human beings hidden deeps, secret
chambers in the heart, unsuspected until death or some
accident reveals them. And so it was with Michael
Reese. He died in his native town in Europe, it was
said, from a fit of apoplexy brought on by a violent
quarrel he had with the gatekeeper of the cemetery
where his parents were buried. The quarrel was over
the price charged Reese for entrance to the cemetery.
When his will was probated, those who knew him
were astonished by its exhibition of real charities.
The history of San Francisco, in its early days, would
be incomplete without some sketch of this strong,
strange, lone Israelite.

Everybody in San Francisco, even the boys of the
town knew Sam Erannan. He was tall and graceless,
and when we knew him he was past fifty and was
showing his years. He had been a man of dissipa-
tion, and was, even in those days, a heavy drinker.
He still had vigor, but before his death, a few years
after, he had fallen into the feebleness of a worn out
man. In his first days he was known as a man of
wealth, and was counted as one who had the gift

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 233

of investing his means in productive real estate. He
was rough and violent at times when vexed or
crossed in purpose. This disposition cut him off from
close touch with many who otherwise tnight have
joined with him in ventures. He was too uncertain
personally, and so he was compelled to play a lone
hand. While he kept a clear brain, he was able to
stand and go alone ; but as his faculties slowly yielded
to the steady influence of drink, he became more un-
certain, unwise in his investments, lost his grasp of
opportunities, failed to keep step with the procession,
and dropt back until he ceased to be a factor in the
city's development. He was a strange being always,
about whom was an air of mystery. It was a tale of
the street that he had been before coming to Cali-
fornia an elder of the Mormon Church, and that he
was apostate. There were other stories connected
with the money that he brought to the State with him,
but it would serve no purpose to repeat these, for what-
ever may have been the truth, he has accounted to the
Final Judge, and with his offenses, if any, we are not
concerned.

Poor, old, lonely, slouchy "Money King," — we
never heard him called by any other name, — a miser,
who sneaked rather than walked along the ways men
strode upright and cleanly, — ^homeless, money luna-
tic, he hugged his dirty bags of gold to his heart,
and loaned his money out upon certain security, for
he trusted no one. For this loaning he demanded
exorbitant interest and got it, for he had his cus-
tomers among the stock speculators who could afford
for ready cash to pay almost any rate of interest.

234 LIF5: ON THE PACIFIC COAST

He was a waif, buffeted by fate and fortune, out of
whose mind had perished all but the love of money.
out of whose character had gone almost all things
that adorn human nature. For years his greasy figure
hung about the streets where the mining exchanges
were, like a hungry hawk waiting for his prey. He
had the reputation of having large riches. This we
always doubted, as he gave no evidences of extended
wealth. There were no records of real estate invest-
ments of his, and we always regarded him as a small
dealer with a few ready thousands, to which he slowly
added. He at last, without notice, dropt from
sight, and was forgotten. From Ralston to "Money
King" was a long stretch.

There are some characters in the old city. In lowly
places, that deserve mention in these pages, and
before I close I wish to speak of one James Shea
who was the owner of the coaches of the Brooklyn
Hotel, then conducted by the well-known John Kelly.
Shea for over half a century has held a high place
in the community because he has been for all of these
years a man. He is still alive and vigorous and fre-
quently comes and goes into my office, hale, strong
and sturdy. His is a fine story of a fine life and his
career illustrates the value of character. Years ago
he wanted a new coach. Its price was twenty-two hun-
dred dollars. All he had was eight hundred dollars
in money. The company who owned the coach said to
him that they would take the eight hundred dollars
and his indorsed note for the remainder. He paid the
eight hundred dollars and went away to get the note.
He applied to John Kelley for the indorsement, which

OLD BANKERS AND MERCHANTS 235

Kelly agreed readily to give. With the indorsed note
they went to the Bank of California and saw Mr.
Ralston, then its manager. Shea apphed to Ralston
for the loan and handed him the note. Ralston looked
at the note, the indorsement, and at Shea, and smil-
ingly said to him: "What do you need with Kelly's
indorsement?" He took his pen, scratched off the in-
dorsement, handed the note to one of the clerks, and
handed Shea the money.

Afterwards Shea was appointed as the executor of
the will of James Farrell, who was one of the then
millionaires of the city. Upon the death of Farrell,
application was made by Shea for his appointment as
executor. When the matter came up for hearing, it
was found that the bond required was five hundred
and sixty thousand dollars. The Judge looked over
at Shea and said, "Do you think you can give this
bond, Mr. Shea?" Shea scratched his head and said,
"I will see, your Honor," He went down town and
came back the next day with his bond signed by
several chief bankers of the town, and as he handed
the same to the Judge with a quiet Irish smile, he
said, "Why, your Honor, they said I could have had
five millions." And all of this without one cent of
security, except the character of the man.

r

Chaph

A FEW IMMORTAL NAMES OF A GREAT
PROFESSION

* WHOLESOME boy has but little to do with doctors.
^^ He grows to look upon them as an uncanny lot;
but with a boy's desire to know leading men, we came,
in the old days, to know by sight most of the really
great men who adorned the medical profession — that
great profession that has in the last part of the century
made greater advances in curative science than any
of the other professions have made in any of their
particular departments. It has been the favorite
pastime of the thoughtless to criticize doctors, to
accuse of commercial interest only even its most noble
members, who devote splendid minds and sympathetic
hearts to the alleviation of human suffering, even to de-
clare that the modern hospital, the great benefaction of
civilization, has for its sole foundation the greed of its
founders. Dense ignorance alone is the excuse for
this shallow and cruel estimate of the great profes-
sion and the thousands of noble men who strive and
suffer that they may be sufficient unto the heroic work
of man's physical salvation.

In the human tide of 1849 ^a^^ many devoted and

brilliant young and middle-aged physicians, and sur-

236

I

^L

A GREAT PROFESSION 23;;

geons, to practise their profession while their fellows
dug for gold. They were true to their love, even
when there were alluring temptations to abandon it
and cast in their lot with those who were finding
fortunes in the opportunities of the new country. The
ranks of pioneer medical men were full of those who,
in universities of our land and Europe, had become
skilled in the arts of healing — men whose achieve-
ments about the operating table astounded the world
and made brilliant the pages of journals, where were
kept the records of rare and almost miraculous surgi-
cal achievements. Their work was too fine to be lost
on the shores of a far-ofif sea, and their repute traveled
into all lands and their wisdom and experience were
seized upon and made a part of the treasures of the
literature of the profession in old seats of learning,
where great things, that men do, are preserved as
the heritage of the generations that are to come —
wisdom to guide future scholars, skill to direct hands
yet unborn, that they may acquire the cunning of rare
old masters, a cunning that shall be the guide-posts
set firmly along the ways of life that men may grope
no longer uncertain, but may in beaten paths, illumi-
nated by sure lights, see their way clearly, and per-
form as a well known and common operation that
which was once only possible at the hands of the most
gifted men.

This is why the medical profession has so far out-
stretched other professions ; its miracles have been
made the ordinary work of its average professor; it
has conserved, reservoired its great knowledge, illu-
mined its skill in its text-books.

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

L

From 1849 to 1860 there were, in proportion to its
population, more great doctors and surgeons in San
Francisco than in any other city under the sun. They
constituted a brilliant group of gifted, learned, bold
men ; were worthy to rank in moral and intellectual
endowment, in the volume and brilliancy of their work,
and in their touch and relation to the social and politi-
cal life of the State with the other groups of men we
have written of in other professions.

It may not be an inspiring literary page, but we
will take the chances and give a list of the great
doctors whose forms and faces were familiar when we
were mere school-boys, spending the daylight hours,
when out of school, in strolling about the city, gratify-
ing a youthful passion, — that of studying noted men.
Had there, on any day, been a procession of the
doctors and surgeons of the city, and any of the fol-
lowing prominent physicians and surgeons been a part
thereof, we could have pointed them out to a stranger
and given to him a boy's estimate of their worth and
repute and of the particular branch of their calling
they were prominently identified with. This is the
roll:

John B. Trask, David Wooster, H. H. Toland, E.
S. Cooper, Henry Gibbons, Sr., John F. Morse, P. K.
Nuttall, R. Beverly Cole, Washington Ayre, Levi
Cooper Lane, Thomas Bennett, Herman Behr, A. B.
Stout, Isaac Rowel), B. B. Coit, and J. B. Stillman.

We do not desire to limit the roll to these names,
for there were others great likewise, whom we are not
able at this moment out of memory to recall. I chal-
lenge the modern world to produce so splendid a roll

I L_

A GREAT PROFESSION

of the really great from a single profession, in a city
whose population was counted by tens of thousands
only.

We never go back over the old ways and recall the
old forms and faces, that we are not, by their supreme
characters, somehow lured, for comparisons, to the
shores of the Mediterranean, when Alexandria, Athens
and Rome were the homes of illustrious men who con-
tributed to the wisdom of the ages.

For twenty years following 1856, — the year of its
moral cleansing and redemption, — San Francisco was
a brilliant city and it is a sad loss that no man as
brilliant as the city undertook to make those days
immortal in books. It would have been a rare con-
tribution to mankind, — would be in these doubtful, un-
even days something our people could turn to as a
model for the city's rebuilding in civic righteousness.
The story can not be written now. for it could be
written only by one who had mature personal touch
with the mental activity and moral beauty of the old
life, and of its many actors. Biographies are too
cold in facts, too technical in statement to suggest
the nobility and splendor of the minds and hearts of
those whose names are being overgrown now by the
moss on crumbling tombstones in our cemeteries.

We happily knew Gibbons, Cole, Lane and Cooper,
as well as a boy could know men great in their pro-
fessions and engrossed with its exacting cares and
I duties. We saw them often and became familiar with
their habits of mind and their moods of action. We
saw them at times in repose, — times when every man,
for the moment, relaxes and opens the windows of

_^j

UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

his mind and heart that his fellows may catch a
glimpse, be it ever so fleeting, of just the man, just
the human, when the lights in the eyes mellow a little,
and the throb of the heart is visible in the wrist of
the resting arm, and the whole form yields to the
delicious calm of a moment's rest.

Toland doubtless was the most commanding, strik-
ing, and popular personality of all the early noted
doctors. He was a southerner from South Carolina,
and had the grace and courtesy of manners which ever
distinguished and still distinguishes those born and
raised in the exclusive social atmosphere of the most
aristocratic of all the States. He was tall, spare, erect.
There was a courtly stateliness about him whether in
repose or motion. He moved as one who was con-
scious of power and rectitude. He was not hand-
some, but was distinguished-looking. No one seeing
him — and he was always an object of notice — would
fail to recognize him as a professional man of excep-
tional endowment, but whether he was a doctor,
lawyer or bishop, a stranger might not be able to say,
because there was much about him in form, feature
and dress that would easily fit either calling. There
was a certain severity in his face. It was the mien
of one to whom life was a tremendous problem. It
is evident that the pain and tribulation of the world
in which he moved had sobered him, and that the sad-
ness of the distrest had somehow found lodgment
in his own heart. He was gentle with the sick, spoke
to them in low, even tones, — not in the accent of de-
pressing suggestion, but as if the low, gentle voice
carried in it the balm of human sympathy and solace.

A GREAT PROFESSION

For years he had great repute and popularity both
in the city and in the country, and his reception
rooms, long maintained in the building at the comer
of Montgomery and Merchants Streets, were daily
thronged with crowds waiting for an interview. To
his office practise, which kept him at work almost
Hke a slave for long hours during every day, he
added a visiting list that strung out the hours of each
day's work. He worked rapidly in his office, and was
swift in diagnosing. The passage of patients through
his consulting rooms was almost as steady as a pro-
cession. It was a rare and difficult case to which he
gave more than a few moments. It has been stated
truthfully that the man most able to deal with difficult
situations is the busiest man, for his faculties are con-
centrated so that under ordinary pressure he is able
to work in a certain intuitive capacity. Toland was a
living verification of this fact. He worked with the
ease of an oiled machine, and the measure of success
which attended him for years was an indication of the
certainty of his skill.

In one of the articles that appeared in the daily
press, at the time of his death, this statement was
made, and it was a true mental photograph, "Few per-
sons ever so combined in their character the elements
of success. His industry was untiring, his activity
almost sleepless." A fine inscription to be written
upon the tombstone of a mortal. Medical literature
has but few of his contributions ; he was too busy
to write, his time was taken up with active work. The
workers can not be the writers; they leave this work
to be done by others in the seclusion and peace of the

L

study — those who have time for the investigation
necessary to accurate statement in a profession like
medicine.

Another remarkabie physician of the day was Dr,
Cole, an active, stalwart student of his profession,
brilliant and daring, full of magnetic impulses, too
strong to be curbed by the limitations of his profes-
sional life. He was ranked not only as a great doctor,
but was a prominent, active citizen. He had in the
highest degree the courage of his convictions, and
spoke what he thought as through a trumpet. He
was charged with being cruel in his estimates of
human character, gathered from his professional ex-
perience, and during the latter part of his life, lost
some of his professional popularity by reason of some
daring statements made in this connection which tocJt
from him the force of an authority.

In contrast to Cole was Henry Gibbons, Sr., a sober,
sedate, granite-fibered man and physician, who poured
out his life, both professionally and socially, for the
young Commonwealth which he had chosen as his
home. He was of the old Puritan stock. From a
long line of moral forebears, he had drawn his life, and
he did not know how to express his own life except
in a lofty way. His presence was a call to the loftiest
impulses of his patients, and to the sick and dying he
ever came as a large, fine presence, and the holiest of
human interest was mixt with the medicine he gave.
It was his joy to alleviate suffering and to solace the
distrest. After decades of active -work in his pro-
fession, he longed for the atmosphere of his boy-
hood home, and having contributed of his very hf^ to

A GREAT PROFESSION

the young; State, in his dechning years he returned to
the quiet of his boyhood, to dream great dreams, to
enjoy the peace of well earned years, at last to lie
down to his eternal sleep, satisfied with the fruits of
a great life.

If a stranger, on the cars which carry him over
the Sacramento Street hill, at Webster Street, would
ask the conductor what was the noble building that
in solemn dignity crowned the summit of the hill,
he would be told by the conductor that it is Lane's
Hospital. To the stranger this would mean nothing
except that it is the designation of a noble pile of
brick and stone; but to the one who knows, it stands
as a splendid monument to the man who was noble
in mind and heart, who slaved to bring his beloved
profession to the highest perfection, who, from pure
love of man that suffered, forgot himself, who lived
and dreamed in the atmosphere of a divine charity,
and who, though he suffered weariness and pain,
braced himself against human ailment, that he might
be sure that when his frail body should lie in the
ashes of the tomb, coming generations of the suffer-
ing would have an asylum. Lofty soul ! He may not
have been among the ranks of those who, with lip
service in the cathedral, say they love the Nazarene,
but his love was a real worship of Him who on Cal-
vary gave up His life for the stricken of the centuries
yet to come,
^B As we approach the name of Cooper, we stand un-

^H covered, for no man is entitled to stand covered when
^H this one of the greatest of names is spoken among men.
^M This is no mere panegyric, for his record is a glori-

I

244 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

011s part of the wonderful history of the surgeon's
knife. The records of medical science show him to
have been a genius of the highest order; a magician
whose skill was little less than God-like, for had he
been a mere stumbling man, wandering in the mazes
of doubt, he would not have dared to lay his hands
upon human fibers, where a slip of uncertain fingers
would have been fatal. It would not be fair to his
fame if we did not, from his record, give a few of the
wonderful things he did. He ligated the primitive
carotid artery in two cases — the external iliac in one,
the axillary in one ; removed a large fibro-cartilaginous
tumor from the uterus; made the Cfesarean section in
one ; exsected parts of three ribs and removed a foreign
body from beneath the heart; exsected the sternal
extremity of the clavicle and a portion of the summit
of the sternum; together with the exsection of nearly
all the joints, in different cases, all successfully.

There is one more great physician of whom we wish
to write — Rottanzi, a noble Italian, skilled in his
profession, but noted for the wide and boundless
charity he exhibited to the poor, who were often un-
able to bear the expense of surgical operations or the
care of the hospital. He was a fountain of generous
emotions. He gave his life and talents to the ministry
of the poor. In this respect he was possest in the
highest degree with the spirit of the Master. No man
or woman ever came to him without relief. Money
he seemed unconscious of. He was moved in the
practise of his profession by his genuine love for his
fellows.
■*It is said that comparisons are odious, but the com-

A GREAT PROFESSION 245

parisons between great members of all of the great
professions in San Francisco could not be odious, for
each was supremely great in its membership and in
its individual characters, and each shines most wherein
its characteristics are measured in the presence of the
other. All of the professions were made illustrious
by glorious names that shed upon the whole city a
fame and strength.

Chapter XIV

A HORSEBACK RIDE FROM SAN FRANQSCO

TO SEATTLE

T N the summer of 1866, at the close of school, I felt
-*• the need of recreation, and thought it would be a
good time to make a trip which for several years had
been my constant desire, and that was to take a horse-
back ride through Northern California, Oregon, and
into what was then known as Washington Territory.

About the middle of August of that year, with a
student who had just finished his course, we purchased
horses and outfits in Suisun Valley, and started upon
a trip which lasted for nearly three months, ending
at Seattle, then an unimportant though ambitious vil-
lage on the shores of Puget Sound. We were both
young and enthusiastic, and looked forward with great
expectations, which were in most respects satisfied,
for our way led us along a royal road, which in the
splendor of its scenic features was truly a "king's
highway."

We started from Suisun Valley, and traveled north-
ward through the counties of Napa, Sonoma, Lake
and Mendocino, following the chain of beautiful
valleys and across the high Coast Range in the latitude
of Red Bluff, and from thence following the Sacra-

246

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 247

mento Valley northward until we climbed over the
- Siskiyou Mountains into Southern Oregon, and still
on through the valleys of that State, over the Colum-
bia, through the deep forests of Washington Territory,
to Seattle.

We camped out during the trip, carrying our
blankets and simple cooking utensils strapped behind
our saddles. The weather, until the last few days,
was perfect, and every day and night was full of
delight and interest. No eight hundred miles on the
continent, or perhaps in the world, offer as much that
is grand and beautiful in natural scenery as the eight
hundred miles we traveled during that summer jaunt.
Every suggestion of scenery was present, from the
pastoral beauty of meadow lands to the towering crags
of lofty mountains. The eye, wearied with one scene,
rested itself upon another, and so from day to day,
and from week to week, we rode through this magnifi-
cent region, realizing every day that in truth :

"To him who in the love of Nature holds.
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A varied language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness 'ere he is aware."

The memory of that trip has been to us as an illu-
minated volume in a library of precious books. This
ride was an experience, for the things seen and lessons

248 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

learned, during that summer, created and expanded
many of the serious questions of our lives. The world
grew larger, and the relation of the great West to
American hope and thought was made manifest by
suggestions of vast and brilliant possibilities. The
variety of scenery, of product and climate was marvel-
ous. It was one of the marvels of Nature that in the
same latitude and longitude should exist countries pro-
ducing products as distinct and separate as if they
were parted by the breadth of the seas. The relation
of material to human things ; the educational effect of
physical environment upon man's thought, were among
the lessons of the trip. It would be difficult to
find a more separate thought, hope and feeling than
that which existed between the Californian, the
Oregonian and the Washingtonian, for their home
life, educational processes, and forms even of worship,
were as distinct as though they were dictated by differ-
ing racial instincts.

Out of Suisun Valley we climbed a line of wooded
hills lying between this valley and the wonderfully
beautiful Napa Valley, which has no rival on the
Coast in its pictures of pastoral beauty. It lies in an
environment of hills, beautified by variegated woods
which make the slopes of the Coast Range so attrac-
tive by their variety of coloring. Its fruitful acres
had been held since the earliest occupation of the Coast
by civilized men, who had here established homes
and were content to remain therein, even in the pres-
ence of the excited commercial periods of early Cali-
fornia history.

This valley constituted one of the earliest settled and

H Hoi

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 249

best improved portions of the State, with more quiet
scenes of country life than any similar tract of country
on the Coast. Here, in 1846, a group of American
families had founded their homes; had permanently
settled, content to engage in the cultivation of their
fields, though they heard the voices of those who were
finding in California gold without measure.

At the head of the valley stands St. Helena, a moun'
tain peak flanked with castellated hills and overlooking
a grand sweep of meadow land. At its foot lies one
of the most beautiful pieces of pastoral scenery in the
world, for nothing could exceed the beauty of these
hill slopes, overshadowed by St. Helena, with the
valley spreading out in the distance into the inviting
levels of green meadows.

From thence we rode into the region fertilized by
the Russian River, which heads among the mountain
places of the north, tracing its way southward and
then westward through rich and fertile land, to empty
at last into the Faciiic Ocean. Russian River Valley
is more diversified than any other in California, At
tiroes it is hard to recognize it as a valley, for here
the road leads through groups of gently undulating
hills, thence to emerge into corn lands, and thence to
climb into uplands, where fragrant orchards glorify
the landscape. From the mouth of the Russian River
to its head, the valley is a peculiar region, unlike any
other in the State. From its head, in the present
neighborhood of Cloverdale, northward the Coast
Range spreads out to embrace a number of sequestered
vales, rather than valleys, in which are situated
Hopland, Ukiah, Potter, Calpella, Sherwood, Little

I

L

250 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Lake, Lake Long and Round Valley, all strung like
pearls upon a golden string. The blue of cloudless
skies, the long reach of level lands, and contour of
wooded hills, make this a wonderland to him who is
in touch with the delicate and beautiful things of the
material world.

The people, who at this time occupied these valleys,
were of the pioneer stock; they loved the farm, and
the hills, and the license of the woods; the scream
of the locomotive to them was a voice which com-
manded them to move forward into the solitude of
remoter regions. We found great hospitality every-
where, originality of character, freedom of life, gov-
erned by a few simple rules, and as we became
in touch with the simplicity and dignity of their home
life, we learned much which makes possible the de-
velopment of the human spirit along some of its best
lines. Honor was a household word, and deviation
from simple rules of moral conduct was a badge of
dishonor. The demands for education were few, and
they found a solace in the simple pursuits of their
homely condition, and the enjoyment of their kindly
social life. We remember the tender beauty of the
intercourse which existed between parents and chil-
dren in these far-away places. Tastes were simple,
ambitions few, and hopes within the range of daily
life.

Round Valley at this time was occupied by the
Government as the "Nomo Lackee Reservation," at
which had been gathered about five thousand Indians
from the northern tribes, in an attempt to educate them
into some appreciation at least of a semi-civilized life.

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 251

and to withdraw them so far as possible from a wide
territory being rapidly taken up and occupied by white
families. The Reservation was situated in the heart
of the valley, which is almost perfectly circular in
shape and lies like a gem in the lap of a noble range
of mountains. It was an ideal spot for any purpose,
and seemed especially adapted by Providence for the
purpose to which the Government was trying to put
it. At this time, about five thousand of the twenty-
five thousand acres, which constituted the area of the
valley, were being cultivated by Government em-
ployees, and such of the Indians as could be induced
to work. The California Indian is and always has
been the natural enemy of labor, and will not work un-
less he is compelled to by the leash of hunger. The
Government succeeded only partially in cultivating
these lands by Indian labor, and much trouble was
constantly had in the endeavor to make the Indian a
semi-civilized man. The experiment at the time of
which I write had not succeeded, and the Government
was constantly troubled in its endeavor to keep the
Indians within the Reservation, and much time was
spent by the management thereof in searching out and
bringing hack from the surrounding mountains the
bands which, from time to time, escaped to their own
hunting grounds. This valley and its surroundings
have been, during the last few years, "dark and
bloody ground." Frequent deeds of violence have
made it a desperate territory. The cupidity of rival
cattlemen has been at the bottom of many of the
desperate deeds, which have made the name of this
fair portion of the State almost a synonym for crime.

252 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Northward from this valley, reaching to the Oregon
line, stands a mass of tangled mountains, a wilder-
ness which will ever remain unoccupied, except here
and there by the camp of the hunter. A wilder region
can not well be imagined. It is and has been the home
of the bear and the deer. The number of these last
named animals is countless, for a hunter whom we met
here stated that during a year he and his partner had
killed seven hundred, for the purpose only of securing
their hides for tanning. This wholesale slaughter was
against the law, but into this inaccessible region no
officer of the law ever enters, and so the slaughter goes
on unmolested.

We frequently had beautiful surprises along our
trail, and we met one just on the borders of this wild
region. One afternonn, weary from the mountain
climbing and desiring rest, we espied a cabin, half-
hidden in a dell beside a roaring stream. It was an
inviting spot, and the only evidence of human habita-
tion that we had seen during a tiresome day. We rode
up to it, expecting of course to find the cabin of some
rude hunter or cattleman, who had established him-
self there for whatever of profit might come to him
from the ranging nf cattle, or from the product of his
gun. As we neared the cabin, we found it to be under
the protection of a huge, black bear, so chained that
his range encircled the cabin. This careful tethering
of the monster had reason in it, for, as we subsequently
discovered, he was the guardian of as dainty a piece
of humanity as ever carried her love from the centers
of civilization into a mountain solitude. This was the
home of a gentle woman, just from the wealth and

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 253

refinement of Boston. Unable to reach the cabin on
account of the protecting care of the bear, we sat upon
our horses and shouted "Hello." The door opened
and we sat for a moment speechless. Realizing, how-
ever, the necessity of appearing to reasonable advan-
tage in the presence of a lady, we apologized for our
shout and stated that we had hardly expected to meet
in such a place a lady such as we could fairly expect
only to find in the drawing-room of a cultivated home.
She was young, dainty, appareled in pure white, a
perfect picture of a sweet young woman. Our faces
exprest our astonishment, and as she saw how per-
plexed we were, she broke into a rippling laugh, and
stated that if we would express our wishes perhaps
she could give us the information we desired. We
suggested that we did not know where we were and as
the day was nearly gone, that we would be glad to have
consent to camp upon the stream nearby. She said that
her husband was away but that he would shortly re-
turn, and that until he did, we could make ourselves at
home. With this consent, we unsaddled our horses,
and awaited the arrival of the lord of the manor, and
toward sunset he came, as stalwart and magnificent a
specimen of manhood as the little woman was of
dainty womanhood. He confirmed the consent of his
wife, and we camped for the night. In our conversa-
tion with him we learned that he was from Boston, a
college graduate, driven by the fear of the White
Plague to seek a healing climate, and had drifted into
this far-ofi^ region, and established himself here, find-
ing strength and health and profit in the hunting of
game. He was a cultivated gentleman, full of kindly

«

254 LIFE ON THE PAOFIC COAST

feeling, and qualified in every respect to make happy
the little woman, whose love had induced her gladly
to give up the things of civilization to live with him
in this secluded wilderness. He told us the story of
himself and wife, and it was beautiful enough to have
been the subject of book or song. When we called
his attention to the bear, he smiled, and said it was
his hunting dog; that in the morning he would give us
an exhibition of his capacity, and shouldering his rifle
in the morning, and telling us that if we felt at all
nervous, we had better mount our horses, he un-
loosened the collar of the bear, and whistling to him.
together they went off into the woods. The beor had
been found while a cub and raised by hand; taught all
the arts of the hunting dog, he had become an unfail-
ing stalker for deer. He was as gentle as a dog and
full of kindly affection.

In the early morning we got away from this cabin,
which was made beautiful by its ideal life. We were
constrained to leave with it our blessing, feeling better
for our touch with such human love. Rude as the
cabin was, it was a home, for as has been written by
the poet, "Home is where the heart is."

Before another sunset we had climbed to the summit
of the Coast Range, and looking off to the east, the
north and the south saw, bathed in the beauty of the
declining day, stretching before us, the Sacramento
Valley, lying like the bosom of a great sea, between
the Coast Range on the west and the Sierra Nevadas
on the east. Through its center, winding like a band
of gold, the Sacramento River lazily sought its home
in the sea. Down the eastern slope, through the cool

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 255

forests, by the banks of roaming^ streams, we descended
into the valley, reaching just at the fall of night a
farmhouse at which we requested accommodation. A
slight hesitation on the part of the proprietor made
us fearful lest we should be denied. At last, however,
we were granted permission to stay, and the reason
for his hesitation became apparent when we en-
tered the house for we found ourselves in the presence
of an Indian wife and a flock of half-breed children.
We found this to be the home of a man of education
and culture, who had turned his back upon the morals
of his race and the customs of his kind and cast his
life into the lap of an Indian woman, sinking himself
to her social status, satisfied to be the father of half-
breeds. We found more than one of these during this
trip, and they constituted a type which, for the good
of the world, we hope soon to see eliminated.

From the levels of the Sacramento Valley, two
hundred miles away, one burning summer afternoon,
we saw the shining summit of Shasta. Cool and re-
freshing to us in the summer land was the vision of
snows, whitening almost in the presence of the sun.
For four days more we rode towards this vision before
we stood in its immediate presence and beheld, in all
of its splendor, the mountain shape which glorifies by
its face of power and beauty one-third of the entire
State. No mountain in the world excels in situation
Shasta ; fifteen thousand feet in height, it looms into
the northern skies a pyramid of rock and snow, sub-
lime, awful, beautiful.

At the northern base nestles the valley of Shasta,
green throughout the year, its meadow lands nourished

^H Faci

^B aero

^H amo

^H com

JS6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

from the snows of Shasta, while touching the very
edge of the great slopes are cultivated farms. The
lower flanks of the mountain are girdled by luxuriant
forests, which climb upward to the snow line, from
which the higher crags rise abruptly with an awesome
face toward the very stars. Standing in the glory of
the dawn, the flush of noon, the splendor of sunset,
or in the solemn solitude of the night, it is a figure
always of splendor, proclaiming by its majesty that
the "Hand that made it is divine." No man, unless he
has been to the funeral of his soul, can look upon it
unmoved, for it touches the finer senses with a power
unspeakable, and by its glory uplifts the spirits into the
region of the "larger hope." Its snow fields, never
melting, nourish the springs which constitute the
supply of the Sacramento River. This mountain was
once a volcano and belched forth its inner fires. These
have cooled, and for ages it has stood, as it stands
now, a serene figure of rest after conflict. To our
spiritual senses such a creation is an inspiration, and
is as much a call to worship as a Psalm of David.

Shasta is the southernmost of the great summits
which culminate in the icy regions of Alaska, where
St. Elias, Fairweather and McKinley lift their icy
forms in the silence of northern latitudes. The Three
Sisters, Hood, St. Helen's, Adams, Rainier and
Baker form a mighty procession of towering shafts
which divide the lands lying along the shores of the
Pacific. They stand like sentinels, saluting each other
across the spaces of the sky. There is no rivalry
among these summits, for each is a distinct creation
commanding attention by an individuality of its own.

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 257

After a week's ride from Shasta, through a
region burned in the past by volcanoes, past the
tablelands of Southern Oregon, we reached the
head of the Willamette Valley, constituting the
wealth of Central Oregon. On the east lie the Cas-
cades; on the west between the valley and the
sea stands the continued Coast Range of Cal-
ifornia. This valley was the seat of the first
American occupation of the western slope of the
continent, and is a region full of history and tragedy.
Here heroism fount! its highest inspiration, and devo-
tion to principle its noblest exhibition. It was baptized
by sacrifice and made sacred by the blood of martyrs.

Along the northwest rim of this valley, between its
fields and forests and guarded by the splendid sum-
mits of Hood, St. Helen's and Adams, rushing on its
way through the gorge of the Cascades, flows in
majesty the Columbia. There is no nobler stream
beneath the stars, and as the majesty of the river
floods our memory, we reverently suggest that if God
ever dreamed and worked his dream into physical
form, he dreamed of the Columbia before he created
it. Its waters are blue as the sky, into which are
reflected the shadow of endless forests and the face
of matchless mountains. It is the creation of half
a hemisphere. Its floods are gathered together from
the vast area of snow lands that contribute in the
distant heart of the continent to its life.

Mount St. Helen arises, a pure shaft of white,
from the bosom of a forest on its northern shore, and
is the most graceful mountain in alt the world, —

^ M

2S& LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

beautiful without mar. full of grace, so that it moved
those who first saw it to name it after a woman.

For a week more we rode through the endless forests
of Washington Territory, until we reached the shores
of Puget Sound, whose seventeen hundred and fifty
miles of shore-line, with shelving beach, precipitous
cliffs and dense forests, make the most beautiful
inland sea water-view in America. Mountain sum-
mits on the west and east are duplicated by reflection
in its clear waters. Land' and sky and water make a
vision whose beauty no man can make understood by
words.

Thus, for these three months, with its tangle of
dawns and sunsets, with its songs of birds and bees,
with days mingled with the bloom of flowers and
glory of skies, with its mornings and noons, with the
solitude of night and the glory of midday, are mixed
together a memory and a delight.

Among the human element we found generosity and
meanness. Yet, after all the moral additions and sub-
tractions are made, our memory more readily recalls
the kindliness of human nature, as it was exprest
to us during the trip. We have for years held as a
treasure of memory the wondrous kindness of an
old farmer who had lived for years in the valley of
Rogue River. His loving kindness to us added a con-
tinuous dignity to our appreciation of human nature
under every condition and relation, and we could not
now believe in the entire depravity of a race which
could produce as kindly a soul as his.

Riding up to his farmhouse one afternoon and
soliciting an opportunity to rest for a while, we were

FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO SEATTLE 259

met by a manner courteous and sweet. We were
worn and weary, and this kindness touched us as
sleep does one worn out with pain. For two weeks
we were his honored guests, becoming at last his
beloved friends, and when we were compelled by the
approach of winter to leave htm, be mourned for us
almost as David did for Absalom, and we shall never
forget the picture of his almost hopeless despair when,
riding away, we looked back for the last time, before
distance came between him and us forever, and saw
him clinging to the post of his gateway with bowed
head, sobbing as if bis heart would break. Death
long ago claimed this royal soul, but we have often
wondered if, in the Great Beyond, he remembers the
peace and satisfaction in these two weeks' intercourse,
when he ministered unto us, strangers in a strange
land, and we are grateful for renewed establishment
of our faith in the divinity of our common human
nature through such kindliness as his.

No narrative would be complete of this trip, without
some mention of the old gray horse that carried us
safely over these eight hundred miles, and for whom
we formed a great attachment. Day by day, he
patiently bore us over hills and through valleys, often
weary and worn, yet willing to perform the duties im-
posed upon him. He had a rare intelligence and most
kind disposition, and when we pitched our camp at
night, we turned him loose to wander at will, and
every morning we found him ready for his work.
Oftentimes in the early morning, we found him stand-
ing at our bedside, watching us with a kindly interest
as if to guard us from possibilities of barm. We re-

26o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

member yet the kind expression of his eyes, gazing on
us in these early hours. We were compelled to leave
him in the far-off r^on of Puget Sound. While
we remained there, we watched over his comfort, and
parted with him only upon an express contract with
his purchaser that he should be kindly treated during
the remaining years of his life. If there is an animals'
paradise, long years ago he was translated there, for
he had earned an immortality in the horses' heaven.

Chapter XV
FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS

T T is exceedingly refreshing reading in these days to
■* go over the records of Congress and review the
exhaustive debates in that great forum on the
questions which were involved in the acquisition of the
territory lying west of the Rocky Mountains, Our
wisest statesman and most enlightened patriots of
those days were wholly at sea when they came to dis-
cuss the resources and political and commercial value
of the vast domain constituting half of the con-
tinent, extending from the Rocky Mountains to
the shores of the Pacific. Altho there were giants
in those days, they were not as large as the coun-
try they represented, for their education had been
among the limited things of the Eastern States, and
they had no adequate conception of the breadth and
grandeur of the great West.

The splendid story of Whitman, riding alone over
mountains, across trackless deserts, braving unparal-
leled perils that he might on his bended knees beg those
who held in hand the destinies of the Republic, to hold
the great Northwest for us and our religion and civili-
zation — such a story moves one to believe in the divine
direction of men in great measures and on occasions
fraught with mighty issues. What but the voice of
261

26z LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

God could have spoken to the heart of this little mis-"
sionary in his lonely station amid the sohtudes of the
Columbia, dreaming of the future until he became a
seer and his soul burned with the flame of inspiration.
The vision of a mighty people crowding silent places,
building great cities, making permanent American
domain, extending the jurisdiction of beneficent laws,
and planting the cross as the symbol of moral power,
was before him always — "a pillar of cloud by day and
a pillar of fire by night." The underlying quality of a
great soul is the inspiration of the ages, and history
nowhere, since the work of man has become a matter
of record, exhibits a more heroic soul than in this little
minister of the Northwest, whose faith and heroism
held for our race and flag these priceless domains of
the West.

We sometimes grow faint in our reliance upon
Providence when we see lives like his going out in
massacre, but as our heart warms with the items of
his marvelous story, we know that the fault is with
our horizon and not with Providence. If it be true
that from the Hereafter "spirits of just men made
perfect" recognize the fruits of their faithful labor in
a great cause. Whitman must be glad even in heaven
as the empire he wrought for and prayed for spreads
out under the Western sky by the Western seas, the
theater of a vast commerce, the seat of controlling
poHtical action, the home of multitudes of industrious.
moral people.

Webster, Benton and other great senators saw as
men see, "through a glass darkly." Whitman saw as
a prophet sees, from the heights from which enlight-

J

^a othe
^B deve
■ of t1

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 263

ened souls look off towards God. When we remem-
ber the desperate fate of himself and family by mas-
sacre, we are constrained by the terror of it to cry out
with reverent lips, "Martyr!" Rather let us lift up
the voice of praise for the heroic sonl that without
weariness and with an unquenchable faith in God and
his race made sure the Empire of the Pacific. If
justice bad been done to him. Oregrrn to-day would be
known to the world as "Whitman." and the matchless
story of bis work would have placed him among the
immortals. Justice is a rare quality, and is found
often to favor the rubbish of the world.

Berkeley, in his vision, saw the trend of empire, and
while he dreamed that "Westward the star of empire
takes its way," Whitman wrought and died in
actual service. Whitman's work and sacrifice made
Berkeley's dream sure. The wise student of man's
development, who has noted the trend of em-
pire, — the big-bways along which nations have moved
forward in the occupation of continents. — often
wonders what would now be the history of these
United States, if the first occupation had been
on the shores of the sunny Pacific. Would we
have moved en masse to the inhospitable shores
of the Atlantic, and left behind the abundance
and beauty, the heritage of California. Oregon and
Wa.shington, or would we and our children have
yielded to the romance and the dream and left the
other shore of the continent to the occupation and
development of alien races? We feel that the history
of the world to-day would be different and many a
brilliant chapter unwritten, had we occupied first these

264 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Western lands. As we contemplate the power of the
United States as world-controUing, where the Anglo-
Saxon passion for justice and freedom radiates from
political, social and religious life, our horizons lift,
and we in the wider scope of human endeavor dis-
cern the Providence we often distrust.

The story of our possession of these Western lands
is a romance more fascinating than fiction, more com-
prehensive than philosophy, and sweeter than song.
In this almost measureless domain of resource and
beauty our people have builded their cities, swiftly
springing into centers of commerce, beautified by
public edifices and private homes, adorned with the
finest taste of the nineteenth century. Portland in
Oregon, and Seattle in Washington, for situation and
beauty rival the famed cities of all lands. Their citi-
zens are proud of these capitals of the West.

During our ride from San Francisco to Seattle in
1866, we did not more than pass through Portland.
At Seattle we abode for six months, — 3, mere village
on the shores of the matchless Puget Sound ; guarded
by noble mountain summits and embraced by virgin
forests.

Oregon was proud of Portland, and we recall now
the vibrant challenge of an ancient dame, at whose
house we were guests for a night. She had come to
Oregon from some sparsely settled Western State,
with the first settlers of 1846, and with her husband
had settled within a few miles of the site of Portland,
then but an Indian camping ground in the forest that
shaded the banks of the Willamette. She had seen the
Indian village displaced by the new town, and watched

> "• c *• *- c c

^H f""

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 265

its growth until at the time of which we write it had
become a little city into whose lap poured the trade
of the North. We undertook as best we could to
give the old lady some idea of San Francisco, of its
size and features, claiming it to be the chief city of
the Coast. We did not succeed very well, for after
many words and much inflection she turned to us with
a look and gesture of disgust and shouted rather than
spoke, "Oh, you wait until you see Portland." It
was the "seat of the soul" to her, and he would have
been a magician with words who could have made
her believe that in any land there was or could be a
greater or more beautiful city than Portland. Truly
even then it was great and beautiful enough to satisfy
the simple mind of one who from the wild regions of
the Western States first saw in Portland the promise
of a city.

Its situation on the Willamette, a highway for
deep-sea vessels, had in it the promise of commercial
expansion and wealth, its environment suggested
future stateliness and beauty. This promise has been
fulfilled, and Portland is rich, fair and gracious, full
of dignity, the delight of her citizens and the praise
of him who for trade or pleasure enters her gates.

In the latter part of December, 1866, at the end
of the long ride from San Francisco, we became a
temporary guest of the uncle of Honorable C. H, Han-
ford, the present Judge of the District Court of the
United States, at Seattle. We use the term "we"
because on that ride, there were two of us, my com-
panion being Thaddeus Hanford, a brother of the
present Judge, then a young student fresh from

266 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

studies preparatory to his entrance upon a regular
course in an Eastern college. He was a quiet, scholar-
ly lad, with a wide and accurate knowledge of the
country through which we had ridden. He after-
wards took his college course and returning to Seattle,
became the editor and one of the principal owners of
the Post-Intelligencer, a leading newspaper of the
Northwest, published at Seattle. He met in later years
a tragic death, mourned by all who knew him per-
sonally, and by those to whom he had become familiar
by his wonderful genius as a newspaper man. His love
for the Northwest, more particularly what was then
Washington Territorj'. was a passion, and by voice
and pen he was constantly proclaiming it as a land
wherein the best of all things would be found, things
that man should ultimately need to accomplish high
resolves, to think great thoughts, a place in which to
hope and perform. His outlook was deemed in those
days but the fancy of a boy whose love for the wild
places of the North made him a dreamer, whose im-
agination peopled the wildernesses and laid the corner
stones of cities that should add luster to the material
beauties that had lured the sons and daughters of
wealth and culture in these later days to abandon the
life of Boston, New York and other centers of our
civilization, to cast in here their lot and possessions.
Hanford lived to see his loftiest dreams realized, to
stand in the streets of a great city, and to wander
satisfied among the marts, fed from and feeding the
world, and lift his eyes to stately edifices where
Grecian column and modern art met in chasteness of
a perfect architecture.

d

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 267

The enthusiasm of youth alone could have kept
us to the long stretch of eight hundred miles, weary
with the daily fatigue of horseback riding, and
accompanied with a homesickness which made us
long for the places which we had left, and we
realized for the first time, as the traveler always
realizes when away from his native land for any
continued length of time, a renewed love and an
intense longing for the old places where affec-
tions had grown about the places made familiar
by daily association. As we traveled along the
highways and byways of California and Oregon,
and looked into the homes of the settlers, we wondered
if we ever again would know the pleasures, the com-
forts and the peace of such a home.

Our last day between the present site of Tacoma
and White River, which flows from the Cascades,
down through the forest to Seattle, was a day of
strenuous traveling. An old dim Indian trail was the
only highway through the wilderness of forest, and
this in many places was piled with the trunks of trees
that had been by winter storms hurled from their
places, and the intermingling undergrowth which
grows so rank in these forests made traveling serious
work.

The forest through which this trail ran was com-
posed of trees hundreds of feet in height, standing
close-ranked like soldiers on parade. Through their
^H network of shade there fell but few rays of sunlight.
^B The way was close, cold, damp and uninspiring, and
^H made the last stretch of the ride wearisome and tax-

iM

268 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

would have withdrawn from what seemed a hope-
less endeavor to make advance. At last, however,
just as the December sun sank behind the glorious
peaks of the Olympics, we stood on the banks of White
River, across which we could see the homes of men,
while on our side eversrwhere extended the gloom of
endless forests. No evidences of man's occupation
enlivened the scene. The waters of the river, icy and
swift, rushed by, its currents in the rays of the setting
sun casting to us defiance. No bridge, no boat, was
present to aid us to escape from the darkening
shadows, and we were driven to sudden determination
and action before the night should find us in its thrall.
Youth has always courage and expediency, and we
soon were breasting the cold waters, with our clothing
and effects tied high on the saddles, while we, hanging
to the tails of our horses, safely crossed our Jordan
and were in the promised land.

Never before or since has the liome of men, though
rude and simple, seemed so perfect a picture of safety,
peace and rest. One hour more and we were beside
the cheering fire of a country pioneer, at rest and in
comfort, where we close the record of that notable
ride.

There are providences in our lives, which we recog-
nize, unless we are spiritually blind, and one of these
was attendant upon us, for the next morning, under a
protecting roof, and in the warmth of a cozy bed,
we awoke to find the sky full of lowering clouds from
which a drenching rain was pouring, and the land
in the clutch of a storm that raged without ceasing for
more than a week. What would have been our condi-

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 269

tion if we had still been in the gloom of the forest,
through which we had threaded onr tiresome way for
the preceding week? Words are inadequate to express
how sweet we found the hospitahty of the kindly souls
who ministered to our necessities, cheering us with that
fine courtesy which illuminates the homeliest dwelling,
and makes the hearts of men tender and loving toward
their fellows everywhere.

Money for living had become short during the
months of travel, and we were compelled in the midst
of the winter to look about for something to do. We
had, before we started, arranged for compensation
with a newspaper in San Francisco, then celebrated,
if not popular, and known as The American Flag,
edited by D. O. McCarthy, who had made a reputa-
tion as a man of courage and daring, and who
was thought necessary by reason of these qualities to
be at the head of this aggressive war newspaper.
Its financial backing was not strong, and the an-
tagonism it engendered was so bitter that in the
conflict which followed, the American Flag was
hauled down, and its traveling correspondent, like
a barn-storm er, was left penniless on the shores
of Puget Sound. Work must be obtained, but what
work could be secured in a region where indus-
tries were limited, and the demand for labor almost
nil. Teach school we would not, for we had no heart
for the irksome confinement of a rude schoolhouse,
with its daily association with minds without knowl-
edge, limited in faculties, and inspired by no desire to
know anything.

The glory of mountains, the sheen of rivers rush-

n

K The gk

J_

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

\ng to the sea, the lights and shadows of Northern
skies, and the reaches of endless woods, had quickened
our minds, so that a new sense of beauty and freedom
had gotten into our blood. Work we courted as a
lover woos a maid, but it was work in the open, where
we could have companionship with the natural features
of the land, wild and primitive, but with voices allur-
ing and seductive. We found a habitation on a settler's
clearing at the confluence of the White and Black
Rivers, and, comfortably housed, made a contract with
Judge Hanford's father by which, for an agreed
price per thousand, we were to cut and deliver
hoop poles from which barrel hoops were made. The
forests about were full of trees, and an industrious
man, even in the short days, could make fair com-
pensation. We worked faithfully for several months,
and with money in pocket were ready to move in to
Seattle, whose repute has now traveled to all lands.
Here for six months we existed, rested lazily, drifted,
waiting for the summer days that we might have ac-
curate knowledge of this wonder land in all of its
seasons.

In our tramps through the woods we had covered
a wide range and had become familiar with the
country that lies to the eastward of Seattle and west-
ward of the Cascade Range of Mountains. The
White and Indian population we found peculiar. The
white man, ordinarily from the Eastern States, had
brought with him the customs, culture and faith of
New England homes, and sought to maintain in this
Northwestern comer of the Republic the traditions
and refinements of Harvard and Yale and other centers

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 271

of learning. Often by their firesides we discust with
them the spirituality of Theodore Parker, the charm
of Ralph Waldo Emerson's dreams, and the splendid
work in the world of science and letters, of savants
and scholars.

These men were displacing the forest and carving
out homes. The unrivaled fertility of the soil, when
cleared from the forest, made profitable even in those
early days the tillage of the rich but necessarily limited
fields. The lumbering business, which was the in-
dustry of capital, had taken possession of a vast acre-
age of timber, and with ax and saw, aided by some of
the largest mills in the world, was tearing to pieces
the woods and sending to all parts of the world mate-
rial to biiild navies, to erect cities, and to supply the
constantly increasing deficiency in the production of
lumber in the older parts of the entire world.

The sedate life and sober habit of the first settlers
of Washington Territory, outside of the turbulent ac-
tivities of the lumber camps, were in marked contrast
to the fire and recklessness of those who at the call of
gold had poured into California and into its attached
territories. Peace dwelt in the homes, violence was
frowned upon in public places, and public and private
life exhibited a steadfast allegiance to law and order.
The ever present Indian was as yet unharmed by vices
of civilized life, and roamed in the woods, or, in his
wonderful canoe, conquered the currents of the rivers.
The "Siwash" was a man of peace, and frequently a
Christian. The holy work of Father De Smet, in his
mission in the Columbia River Valley, had spread its
influence throughout the country and made the story

4

i

272 tIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of the Virgin, Christ and the Cross a part of the lift
of these simple souls of nature. Among them were
priests of the ancient church, and well we remember
one of the great surprises of our life in this connec-
tion.

As we were ascending Black River in the earlj^
hours of a winter morning, in a canoe, we heard a '
matin bell waking the silence. We wondered if we
were not within the meshes of a delusion, but as we
swimg around a curve in the river, we saw a little
church, built of logs, above which in the radiant morn-
ing rose the Cross, the symbol here, in these wild
woods and among these native tribes, as it had been in
the midst of Christendom throughout the centuries
since Calvary, of the Crucified, His Life and Sacrifice.
A new reverence for all that the Cross stood for in
the ages past, stands for in the present, and will stand
for in the future, stole into our hearts, and we felt as
never before the obligations of the world to the Man
of Sorrows, and how from Calvary had radiated the
force that holds mankind to spirituality as gravita-
tion ties together the planets and the stars.

Curiosity, mingled with the mood for worship, led
us to enter the rude church, and we saw what should
be an answer to all the criticisms of Christianity by
atheist and pagan, and an example of its influences as
a force for the enlightenment of man, be he king or
serf, philosopher or fool. An Indian priest was at
the altar, Indian men, women and children were
kneeling in attitudes of prayer ; sonorous and majestic
phrases fell from the priest's lips with the same unc-
tion and authority as if they fell from the lips of the

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 273

Pope under the dome of St. Peter's, and in the pres-
ence of the pomp and splendor of the Vatican services.
Here again we felt and recognized the power of the
Great Church that in capital and wilderness, in centers
of civilization and outlying regions of barbarism, for
centuries, has worked for the salvation of men of
every tribe, color and condition. Let it be conceded
that at times she has been tempted to and has left her
high estate in the misguided ambition to grasp politi-
cal ant! temporal power, yet the world owes to her
gratitude if only for the police power which she has
wielded for the good order and government of society.
In her bosom, for a thousand years, while the dark
ages clouded the earth, she carried learning and faith
to deliver them again to men when they were fit to
receive them, as fresh, beautiful and untarnished as
when, for protection and preservation, she seized them
from the chaos of lust and passion.

Spirituality was carved upon the face of the simple
Indian priest; radiated from his cheek and brow and
in the soft Hghts of his kindly eyes. At the altar, at
that simple service, he stood a majestic figure, trans-
figured by the sublime faith of the Man of Nazareth.

Old Seattle, the chief of the tribe that formerly had
dominion over that part of the territory lying west
of the Cascade Mountains, and who had ruled his
people with equity, was dead. He was cherished in
memory by his people and his virtues immortalized by
the white men who founded and named the principal
Western village of this part of the territory after him.
If he had any tribal successor, we never heard of him.
The yielding up of dominion by 'the Indian was abso-

274 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lute; they became the servants of an authority they
recognized as irresistible, and they took on so much of
the habits of the new order of life, as they were cap-
able of, and of course copied the vices of the supe-
rior man who had dispossest them of their original
estate. The natural energy of aboriginal days had
degenerated into an indifference to ever)rthing but the
mere necessities of existence, which they in largest
number derived from animals of the woods, birds of
the sky, fishes of the rivers and the Sound, with the
summer harvest of berries. The more ambitious
among the younger men acquired skill of the woods-
man, and competed with the men from Maine and
Canada with the swinging ax in the white camps
supplying the mills with logs. In the main they were
an uncomely race, squatty and bow-legged, a physical
feature distinguishing them as canoe-dwellers, a sort
of prenatal defect, as for generations their ancestors
had lived in canoes, as the natives of China had been
dwellers in sampans. They loved the waters, and by
a natural genius for their occupation had evolved a
type of canoe, carved from the body of the cedar tree,
of such shape and proportion that it was subsequently
adopted as the model for the American clipper ship,
the finest sea-craft of every sea. These wonderful
canoes were of every size, from that capable of carry-
ing only one person provided he were skilled in canoe-
craft, to the stately war canoe, holding a hundred
warriors.

The skill with which they drove these canoes
through the treacherous tide, rips, and currents of the
Sound, and up the whirling rapids of the rivers, was

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 275

akin to the occult cunning of the Australian native
with his boomerang. This skill was transmitted from
father to son. from mother to daughter, a part of
native intuition. It was an hereditary gift. They
were feeders on fish, and in the dark you would with-
out seeing him discover (he presence of a Siwash by
the fishy odor of smoked salmon. Their simple dwell-
ings were smoke-houses as well as habitations, and
everywhere smoked salmon was "rank and smelled to
heaven." This universal use of salmon as a food was
the result of the natural indolence, for at certain sea-
sons these fish crowded the rivers in Such countless
thousands that they could be gathered in great quanti-
ties by hand. Thus by a small amount of labor they
secured the sustenance of months. The women, like
all aborigines, were fond of gaudy colors, loved to
garb themselves in the seven hues of the rainbow, and
when they had the price, they were arrayed in all the
brilliance of a bird of paradise. They lacked grace of
form and beauty of feature, and they sought to com-
pensate this by bewildering attire. They were, how-
ever, modest in demeanor, and as a rule loyal to moral
law. In this respect our observation of the Indian
tribes at remote parts of the Coast has led us to be-
lieve that it needed no Seventh Commandment to
strengthen the natural conscience of the average Indian
woman, or to keep her feet in the path in which the
good woman in all climes and ages has been found.
There is a commonwealth of fine living everywhere,
and its citizens are of no particular race, age or faith.
Entrance to and citizenship in it are limited to the
pure in heart, be that heart in the breast of the savage

4

3/6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

or the most highly enlightened. We have been ;
times staggered by the doctrine of "original sin" when
we discover so much of fine honor in the simple savage,
and so much of vice in those who dwell in the centers
of culture and religion. We have known intimately
Indians whose high code of morals and lofty feeling
would serve as models for the highest type of moral
thought and action, and through close relationship
with them have been led to protest against the theory
of some of the early religious teachers, that the
"natural man is at enmity with God."

Long before Plato had reasoned out from his spirit-
ual consciousness the immortality of man, the sons
of nature had become worshipers of the Great Spirit,
who had spoken to them in the sweep of the sky, the
song of the bird, the voice of the storm, the summit of
mountains, and the bloom of blossoms.

The streets of Seattle were never without their
group of Siwashes and Clootchmen, lazily watching,
philosophically and solemnly examining, with inquisi-
tive eyes, the things' that made up the differences be-
tween their lives and the lives of white men. Solemnly
they moved from one point of interest to another,
seldom speaking, although they were able to do so
through the Chinook dialect, the universal language of
the Northwest, formulated by the Hudson Bay Com-
pany for purposes of profit, by their traders among
the different tribes of that wide country. The simple
phrases of the Chinook were easily acquired by white
man and Indian alike, and were used by them in their
common intercourse. It was a wonderful medium of
communication, and in the universality of its use

i L

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 277

almost supplanted among the tribes their native speech.
It was akin to the Pigeon English of China, and
served the same purpose for which that quaint mix-
ture of phrase and accent was brought into being, —
for trade between the foreigner and the native. These
manufactured languages outgrew their original pur-
pose and established a mental bridge between the minds
of those to whom the acquisition of each other's lan-
guage would have been the work of years, and per-
haps next to impossible.

If the Siwash had a folk-lore, he kept it locked in
his heart. He had, however, his songs, made up of a
weird music — the voices which his ancestors had inter-
preted from the birds, the breeze, the gurgling of
streams, the hum of insects and the whistle of wild
birds on the wing.

There is a wondrous charm in the whistle of the
bird on the wing. One afternoon, as I stood on the
banks of the White River, with the loneliness of the
woods making me hungry for the sunshine of Cali-
fornia skies, I looked up into the deeps of the heavens
for comfort, and lo ! far above me in the radiance
which the dying day had flung into the sky I saw a
lone bird on its way toward the North. Faintly I
heard the beat of its wings against the air, and the
bird and I at that moment seemed to divide the world
between us. It was a simple moment, but into it
swept the beauty of the world, and I felt a gratitude
to Him who gave to the lone bird its power to cleave
the reaches of the sky and to me the power to find in
its flight spiritual significance. I had not for years
^Lrecalled Bryant's "Ode to a Water Fowl," but memory

27^ LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

worked her miracle and I was able to recall three
verses of the simple poem, which is at once a poem
and a prayer:

((

Whither midst falling dews,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day.

Far through the rosy deeps

Dost thou pursue thy solitary way?

There is a power that guides thy way
Along that pathless coast.
The desert and illimitable air.
Lone, wandering, but not lost.

He who from zone to zone

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight.

In the long way that I must tread alone

Will lead my steps aright."

I may not hope to make any reader understand the
beauty of this moment. If I could picture truly that
lone wanderer in the northern sky, it would touch the
spirit deeper than the glory of mere Italian art, im-
mortal even in its decadence. The conquest of the
spirit has been, by reason of the uplift of man from
form to spirit, from things to ideals, and he who now
hopes in literature or art to become immortal, must
appeal to the soul of man and not to his eye alone.
And so the flight of this lonely bird, as it was to me,
must be to all the world, if seen as I saw it, an appearl
to the spirit.

The Siwash, while he was by a wonderful law exisi^

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 279

*^ng between tribes which fixed the boundaries of do-
minion, the unchallenged occupant of this latitude and
of the regions about the Sound, was not the only
Indian to be found in the streets of Seattle, for there
were encountered groups of the Stickeens who occu-
pied the territory skirting the northern banks of
Fraser River, o\-ershadowed by volcanic Baker, whose
dormant fires now and then flamed into the night or
shot its cloudy steam into the heavens to mingle with
the fogs of the nearby sea.

Baker is a noble mountain, a silent hill of snow,
looking out serenely westward over the fair Georgian
Gulf, and cooling its feet in the icy Fraser. that from
the rocky inland rushes to the sea. Its woods slope
from its snow-line down its flanks to the waters, and
here beyond memory and tradition had dwelt a peculiar
race, for they were a race rather than a tribe. In all re-
spects they were separate from the native people of
this latitude, — in form, mind and morals. They
were after their own kind. Some future student may
be able to gather together out of the dimness of their
past their origin, for their wise men claim them to be
a nation, and as a nation they were named "Haidas."
As a local trilie they were called "Stickeens." This
name was perhaps more a modern gift of the Hudson
Bay voyageur, applied to designate them as those
whose dwelling place was in the country through which
flowed the Stickeen River. They were as peculiarly
distinct as the Esquimaux of Alaska, and were doubt-
less Asiatic in origin as are the Esquimaux, Carv-
ings upon the prows of their war vessels, their paddles,
and upon the vessels of domestic use, as well as their

28o UFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

fdigioos rites, were snggcsUve of some otfier Bgt and
land. An indefinable mysteij seemed always associ-
ated with tfacm, as hard to analyze, yet as permanent
as climate is to a land. Their men were stahvart,
proud, brave and handsome. A great dignity marked
their intercourse, and while they were sqiproachable
through courtesy, he would be a brave man who at-
tempted coarse familiarity with them. They were at
first defiant and hostile to the white man, but after
a number of hot and unsuccessful conflicts, thqr were
compelled to concede to superior numbers, and thence-
forth maintained a sort of armed peace. Doubtless
the intervening years have numbed their individual-
ity and the constant touch of the vices of civiliza-
tion spoiled that fine originality that made them a
marked people. Their women were fine in form and
feature, and when interbred with the French voya-
getu", they were often most beautiful, with faces
classically delicate, with fawn-like eyes, and a glory of
hair, and exhibiting in every movement winsome
grace.

In comparison with the beauties of other people,
I have often thought that the most perfectly beautiful
creature I ever saw among womankind was one of
these. One Christmas morning, on the shores of
Lake Union near Seattle, I came upon her suddenly.
With an old Indian she was fishing, a slight thing,
about eighteen years of age. When she became con-
scious of my presence she was startled as a deer is
when some intruder breaks into her covert She
sprang to her feet and stood, with downcast eyes, tall,
willowy, and swayed to the beat of her quickened

i.

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 381

heart, and as the color came and went in her cheeks,
delicate as rose leaves, and as the hghts come and go
in the East at dawn, the sweet modesty of her atti-
tude adorned her more than laces, and her Indian
garments woven of rich furs enforced the line and
curve of her perfect symmetry. I have looked upon
fair maidens, the product of generations of culture,
but none was half as fair as this untutored daughter
of the wilds. It saddened me to think that this
creature of race, fit to stand proudly before princes,
must forever "waste her sweetness on the desert air."
She was a type, for many of the women of the
Stickcens are surpassingly beautiful. More than one
white man has been caught in the meshes of their
charms, and they have become wives, quickly adapting
themselves to the habits of happy civilized home life.
Beauty often makes us desperate. Drooping eyes,
poise of shapely head, curve of lips, the nameless
grace, alluring, fascinating, changing as lights and
shadows upon the face of waters, drive us to despair,
and we stretch out hands to clutch the vacant air.
Brute passion ? No. It is based upon the artistic
sense which is a part of the passion of the soul, for
even religion appeals to men, amid the environment
of soiled things, by a promise of beauty in the land
where time becomes an eternal morning. The memory
and the hope of beauty have lightened dungeons and
made cowards brave in the carnage of battle. This
love is as much a necessity and a part of us as the
beat of our hearts. The beauty of a face, out of
which commonness has been effaced by the fingers
of the angel, becomes a solace to us, as we realize

4

^ J

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

that all will yet lie beautiful if tliey are good. The
Psalmist, in the passion and ecstasy of his dream,

lifted his voice to praise tlie "beauty of holiness."
Even things are beautiful. The hills speak to us
through their rocky Ups, the stars make eloquent
the midnight, and the streams coquetting with gravi-
tation, laugh with the flowers they nourish. In moun-
tain shapes, beauty and grandeur sit in royal state.
They look out upon the world below from sunlit
thrones of silence. Such is Rainier, a pile of rock
that since creation's dawn has stood In the Northern
sky, a thing of unspeakable splendor.

We shall never forget our first sight of its Western
face. All day long, in the gloom of dripping woods,
we had ridden through a lane of towering trees. The
deep shade was made darker by lowering fogs. De-
pression became a presence and rode with us in tlie
saddle. We knew that somewhere Rainier, near us,
was lifted above forest and cloud, radiant in the
sunset. The approaching end of the day warned
us that we must camp, and in an open space
that had been eaten out of the forest by the
fires of some ancient time, we unsaddled our horses
and sat down upon a log to rest a moment be-
fore we prepared for the night. We were weary,
and yielding to the languor of the hour sat silent.
Words sometimes annoy, and the speech of a
friend is unwelcome, for weariness is akin to pain.
This was our mood, and we waited. It was an oc-
cult hour. Subconsciously we felt that some event
was about to be a part of the time and place. The
fog that had hung over us like a pall all day long

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS

be^n to break, and here and there along
tree-tops we saw the sheen of lights from the
ing sun. Suddenly, as parts a curtain drawn from
across the face of some great picture, the mist parted,
and before us in the blue of the autumn sky, robed
in splendor, burning in the fires of the evening sky,
stood Rainier. Its summits were flaming in the glow
of the evening; its tremendous bulk suspended from,
rather than lifted into, the heavens. The indefinable
majesty stunned our senses, and we looked upon it
as something that must fade, because unreal ; but as the
vision stood fixt, its glory overmastered us, and we
were almost blinded by tears. No man unless despair
has rolled a stone against the door of his hope, could
have seen Rainier as we saw it and kept back his tears.
Often afterwards in all the changes it takes on from
day and night, from sunlight and cloud, from dawn
and sunset, white with winter or purple in the bloom
of summer, we looked upon it, but never did its
mighty and awful shape seem fairer than it did at the
moment when first it loomed out of the mist of that
afternoon.

Great creations grow upon the mind, and our limited
faculties have to be expanded by the form and face
of great things before we may comprehend them fully,
but there are times when the mind and eye work to-
gether with infinite cunning and we see and appre-
ciate from the first the length and breadth and height
of things that seem immeasurable. These are inspired
moments when for the time our mental faculties put
on their divinity, and we see akin to seers.

Ages could add nothing to the inspiring emotion

LIS sS^^^I

the lofty ^m
le declin- 1

284 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

which was with us when on the walls of memcMy we
hung the picture of Rainier first seen standing in the
sun. We saw it last on an afternoon in August, 1905,
from the windows of a Pullman while passing almost
the spot where we had first looked upon it, and there
it stood still, compelling attention, serene as it had
stood since volcanic fires lifted it into the heavens.
A great peace abides now in gorge and peak and
crag, for its fires have gone out and radiance and
beauty have taken the place of flame and ashes.

Baker is within its horizon, and they salute across
the solitudes of the sky, in the lights of the morning,
and through the hours that belong to the silence of
the stars. Why cross the seas to look upon Mt. Blanc,
when here, in our own land, loom mountains whose
majesty dwarfs Mt. Blanc's shape into the propor-
tions of a hill?

Local geographers, aided by the loyalty of those
who hope to give to the nomenclature of Washington
a local flavor, have renamed the mountain "Tacoma,"
but the name Of the old English Admiral clings to it
with a persistence that is the despair of those at whose
hands it had the new baptism. The romance of the
first name has made the old name as hard to displace
as it would be to re-name Marathon or Damascus.
It is a reigning mountain and "Rainier" in suggestive
euphony clings to it. Be it, however, "Tacoma" or
"Rainier," it will ever be a ruling summit of the
world.

Our first glimpse of Seattle vras from the East,
from the slopes and the uplands now occupied by state-
ly edifices and threaded by avenues and streets, but

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 285

in that day dark with the shadow of untouched
woods, through which, to accommodate the settlers of
the White and Black Rivers, for a distance of some
twenty miles, a solitary road had been cut. It was
an accommodation only, and principally a trail for
footmen, for the highway of whatever traffic existed
between the little village and the outlying settler
was Dwamis'h River, and the means of transportation
the canoe and the light-draft stern-wheel steamer.
Horses and wagons were almost unknown. The farmer
going to town took to his canoe, or walked, — more
often walked, unless he was accompanied by some of
the women-folks of his household, and then usually
he awaited the coming of the little steamer that at
intervals plied upon the river. The sparse popula-
tion did not supply travelers sufficient to warrant a
regular time-table, and steamers came and went when
they were notified that a cargo was ready for them.
These crude little steamers truly constituted accom-
modation lines. Potatoes were then the usual cargo;
the rich loam of the river bottoms, reclaimed from the
forest, produced marvelous yields in quantity and
quality of this staple product. Commercial returns,
in these later days, indicate that the hop fields have
displaced the potato field, and the world's traffic taken
the place of the primitive trade.

As we emerged from the shadow before us, clear
and blue stretched that view of the Sound which is
to-day one of the charms of the modern city. The
forest has disappeared, the silence is made noisy with
the voices of man and his occupation. Romance has
yielded to commerce and the mar of man's hand is

286 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

visible in the mutilation of things that were sweet in
thdr primitive beauty. The spell of the wilderness
has been broken and destroyed, but as I saw them
first, with the joy of youth, on that winter day, the
Olympics still duplicate their procession of snowy
summits in the blue waters, and hold possession of the
solitudes of the lonely peninsula which lies between the
Sound and the Sea. Baker still lifts its royal shape,
visible from points over the verdure of the untouched
forests, and Rainier is recreated in the mirror of sun-
lit tides.

The only thing visible, not beautiful, was the little
town itself. It stood amid its splendid surroundings
like a beggar in a palace, wandering in his rags amid
glorious pictures and fondling with soiled hands the
priceless treasures of art. In a scenic sense, its diame-
ter was the shores of the Sound; its half circum-
ference guarded by a line beginning with the old
University buildings on the North, skirting the
Eastern rim of the forest, to end where the mud flats
on the South stayed the line of occupation. It was
as devoid of beauty as the form of a frowsy squaw.
Yessler's wharf and warehouse held the water front.
Horton's store the center of the town, and all the
remainder of the town went as it pleased. It had no
civic features and was as devoid of architecture as an
Indian campoodia. It seemed as if it was a place that
man had not intentionally come to, but had been cast
there by accident, like driftwood upon a shore. It
had no municipal ambitions, made no boasts, and its
mixed population of whites and Indians, amounting
•to about twelve hundred, were content to exist rather

^K citi<

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 287

than to live; and who could blame them, for there
were no visible inspiring things to live for, and im-
agination seemed powetless to build for it any dreams.
Syracuse, on the shores of the Mediterranean, in
her ruin, suggests a certain dignity, and a poet
wandering in her forsaken palaces has written:

"And Syracuse with pensive mien.
In solitary pride.
Like an unthroned but tameless queen,
Crouched by the lucid tide."

No poetic instinct could have been stirred by any-
thing human about Seattle in 1866. We will not be
charged with any ill will towards the little settlement
in what we write, for we speak only of then existing
conditions, logically resulting from a minus quantity.
There was nothing to stimulate civic pride; every-
thing was in a drift period. If Seattle could have had
a symbol to express her mood, it would have been a
kingfisher sitting on a dead limb waiting for his prey.
It was well that her men were young, and that before
them the lanes of hope reached into the future. They
were not lacking in energy. There was simply no
field for action, and endeavor to force things would
have been a useless waste of power ; would have torn
to pieces the faculties and made shipwreck of effort.
An unduly active man would have been like a mill
without grist, its wheels running wild, and its ma-
chinery grinding in a vacuum.

What a site it was for one of the world's great
cities ; a splendid capital of commerce, into whose

i

288 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lap vast territories of the North and the deeps of the
nearby seas should pour unmeasured riches; to whose
adornment art should work and new beauty be
created; to whose population the nations should con-
tribute ; in whose streets should be heard the voices
of Europe, Asia and Egypt ; to whose luxury conti-
nents and zones and isles of the sea should yield their
choicest cargoes.

Though a beardless boy, a mere scribbler in the
streets of the slouchy little settlement of 1866, our
newspaper instinct for matter which the public cared
to read led us to make careful estimates of the re-
sources that seemed necessarily contributing to make
her some time, perhaps in the remote future, an im-
portant city. We made a study of maps; gathered to-
gether statistics; inquired into the acreage of forest
and agricultural lands; became famihar with climatic
influences; measured the distances across the sea and
continent, between Asia and Europe, by lines which
led through Seattle. We applied to all of these the
historic relations of trade to situation, and the build-
ing forces which create commercial centers and sus-
tain them by trade gravitations. We found that all the
roads led, not to Rome, but to Seattle. We applied to
knowledge, imagination, and peopled the unknown,
unmeasured and almost immeasurable regions of the
North with industrious people, although these lands
were then held in alien hands. From out this mass
we dreamed our dream and wrote our prophecy. I
do not know whether it was ever read, but it was
published, and I recall that Horton, then a young
merchant, controlling the principal trade in his little

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 2I

store, as much by sales to Indians as to whites, laughed
me to scorn and said, "You are crazy to write such
stuff." Some years afterwards he left Seattle, but
he was not contented with the change, and returned,
to build and maintain, I believe, upon the site of his
little store, a splendid bank building in which he and
his associates, to the day of his death, dealt in millions
locally produced. He lived to verify my "crazy"
dream, and to glory in the weklth and beauty of a
great city.

A new generation has possession, and with rare ex-
ceptions the greatest stranger in the streets of Seattle
to-day, as in Los Angeles, is the oldest inhabitant.
The stride of greatness was too rapid for the old feet.
The brilliance of new conditions had in it so much
of white heat, of rushing, restless, mad activity, that
the old eyes were blinded and they stared at the marvel
of growth, and strangers' hands gathered up the
things that made for wealth and power. We could
at this time have acquired a tract of land of one
hundred and sixty acres, then in the forest just be-
yond the occupied limits of the town, now crowned
by great buildings, for five hundred dollars. Who
could have told the hour when In the far-off years, by
resources then unknown, this commercial miracle
should make the site of wild woods the foundation of
palaces ?

I left Seattle in the early spring of 1867, and did
not see her again until in August, 1905. Our ap-
proach to the city at this time was a romance. It had
in it the charm of a fine dream. We were return-
ing from Nome, and our ship approached the city

^

290 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

after dark. The night was perfect, and as we plowed
our way over the still waters and under the shadows
of the cliffs, we looked out from the prow of the
steamer to where, in the sheen of starlike lights, in-
expressibly blended and too beautiful for anything but
the homage of silence, rose from its semi-circle of low-
lands, upon the slopes of the highlands, the superb and
matchless city of our boyish prophecy and dream. It
was a great moment to us, as memory flung open the
gateway of the years and we stood between the con-
trasts of 1867 and 1905.

The morning after our arrival we wandered
from the ship, down the streets lined with banl
hotels and stores, noisy with traffic, and gay wil
crowds, where as a lad we had walked among primitive
structures, along unpaved streets, the companions of
Indians and Halfbreeds. The water-front thrilled
with the activities of great ships, loading and unload-
ing their varied cargoes. All seemed unreal, and we
were in a maze as one who in the desert sees in the
mirage visions of cities whose temples, palaces and
towers are the illusions of air. Memory would have
her way, and in the restless commotion and life we
were alone again in the little crude settlement, dream-
ing our dreams.

There is always a waste and loss in the building of
great cities; insatiate monsters, they trample under
foot things historic and sacred. If trade needed it,
men would erect a modem hotel upon the site of the
Temple in Jerusalem, and cut down the Mount of
Olives to make way for a modern railway station.
Architecture is useless except to adorn the street front

the

1

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 291

of a bank, or to make attractive to the taste or vanity
of a tourist the abomination and discomfort of the
twentieth century apartment house.

This ruthless spirit is not unknown in modern
Seattle, where new people have laid violent hands upon
beauty, and in their adaptation of conditions to the
demands of commerce or luxury, changed the face of
nature. Beyond the reach of the iconoclast, the muti-
lations of the men of affairs, there are sceneries about
Seattle wliich they can not touch. The glories of the
Sound, the majesty of the Olympics, the guardian-
ship of Rainier, are immortal. The sun still from the
mists builds the radiant summer clouds and piles them
along the summit of the mountains across the Sound.
But the primal charms of Lakes Union and Washing-
ton are departed forever. We could not recognize
them as the placid waters that in our day stretched out
from wooded bank to bank, bound in the silence of un*
disturbed days, inviting from the sky countless flocks
of water birds that in safety homed among the rushes
and led their young broods out into their bosoms, to
learn the cunning of their kind, and spread their wings
in the sunny mornings. Serene days we had here,
drifting in a canoe, wild and free, alone upon the
sunny waters, with no life visible except the lazy drift
of smoke from some Indian hut. No voices were
there but those of happy birds sporting in the waters
calling to their mates. Nature was absolute. This
was her kingdom of peace and beauty. All is gone
except the lakes themselves. Pleasure-seeking crowds
wander in the ancient isles of silence. Resorts for
men's pleasure stand on their shores. The inevitable

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

railroad connects them with the city, and travel makes
noisy the quiet of the old days.

There is much beauty in man's work hefe, which
one encounters on every hand, but the nameless charm
of the wilderness is not even a memory, except to one
who, Hke myself, looked upon them when they were
fresh with the unmarred features of their creation.

As a part of the record of the early settlement of
Seattle there are names, which should be mentioned,
of men who by heroism of service became a part of
national history.

I. I. Stevens, who fell in the carnage of Chantilly.
McClellan and Sheridan, then young lieutenants
without fame, were identified with the protection of the
territory at the hands of the general government
against hostile Indians, Theodore Winthrop, a gal-
lant soul, who also died at the head of his company
at Big Bethel, made before the time of which I write
a lone horseback ride from the Sound across the in-
land deserts to civilization, with Indian guides, and
made this trip the theme of a fascinating story under
the title, "Canoe and Saddle." I do not know whether
the libraries of Seattle have this rare book upon their
shelves but, if so, the modem citizen will be enter-
tained by its thrilling pages. The body of a man
never held a more heroic soul and dauntless spirit
than that of I. I. Stevens, frail tho it was. The
history of heroism would be made brilliant by the
story of his fearless life, as Governor of Washington,
and as a General in the Civil War. To fear he was
a stranger, and his magnetic courage more than once,
in perilous places, met and mastered the savage hate

FROM VILLAGE TO METROPOLIS 293

of murderous Indian chiefs, who during his adminis-
tration harassed the sections lying East of the
Cascades.

From out the memory of the little village of 1867
we hail the great city of the Northwest and s^ute her
in her place of do^iinion and wealth.

^ Chapter XVI

THE DISCOVERY AND EVOLUTION OF

A POET

XF the Wrights, with their latest aeroplane, should
* take a trip easterly from Suisun City, in Solano
County, California, for a distance of eight miles, they
would sail over a little round valley, in which is situ-
ated a lagoon, and so it is called Lagoon Valley. This
valley will be found environed by hills as sweet as
those that stood about Jerusalem, rising, undulating,
with woods and poppies, toward the sunny sky. Here,
in his boyhood, lived, grew and suffered a great poet,
to go forth finally and become one of the world's
seers and a force for righteousness. In the years of
which I write, this valley was owned almost exclu-
sively by Don Pena, a proud Spaniard, who held title
thereto by Mexican grant. Here, in baronial state, he
lived in ease and pride, surrounded by his pastures,
over which roamed countless herds of cattle and
horses. As was usual on those baronial estates, there
lived in primitive state a local tribe of Digger In-
dians, who held the relation of retainers to the lord
of the manor and subsisted upon his bounty. These
natives of the most wonderful of all the lands on the
Pacific, destined in the hands of a new race to be the

294

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET

seat of empire, were of the lowest type, exhibited no
physical perfection, no courage, none of the character-
istics of other tribes who possest as their home and
heritage less favored places of the coast.

These Diggers were, in both sexes, ungainly in form,
flabby of face, with their chief quality exhibited in
an unfailing languor. Before the advent in any num-
bers of the white man, they held undisputed posses-
sion of the larger portion of California lying south
of Mt. Shasta, and extending to Arizona and Mexico.
They did not live; they existed only, content to be
alive, subsisting scantily upon the meanest of things.
Though the mountains were filled with game, and the
valleys capable of producing abundant crops, they were
too stupid to lift their hands in their sustenance, were
content to gather the grasshoppers and feed upon the
lizard. To them the larvfe of the wasp dug from the
ground was a delicacy. They raised no warlike hands
against the invader of their domain, and soon became
hangers-on to the estates of the stranger. In all of
the years that I have known these tribes, and many of
the thousands I have seen, I never saw a comely
maiden or a handsome man. Young and old, male
and female, they were squatty, ungainly and lazy.
To them never came the "call of the wild." They
climbed the slopes of glorious mountains, only to
gather the nuts of the pine. They roamed the sunlit
fields, glorified by the poppy and made musical by the
lark, but to them came no inspiration. The environ-
ment of generations of beauty had left no mark on
form or feature, and they were hardly fit to be the
"brother to the ox."

296 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

I have at some length written of these poor speci-
mens of the natural man here, because they were a
part of the environment of the youthful dajrs of the
poet of whom I write.

Besides the Don, his herds and the Indians, a few
Americans had settled, by consent of the landowner,
and in the most primitive way were pursuing the
vocation of the farmer, content with little, expect-
ing nothing, living only to be alive.

In the low-lying hills that formed the wall of this
valley, on a little ranch, secluded and lonely, lived
and grew the boy whose name is and has been for
years a household word, whose noble face, eloquent
with the beauty of lofty living, has become familiar
to the world of letters as one of its choicest spirits.
He grew strong, physically, in the wholesome sweet-
ness of the atmosphere about him, and when I first met
him, he was a robust young savage. There was the
subconscious poise of power in head and shoulders.
He was a giant, who was disposed to use his strength
in defiant resistance to those who attempted to exert
authority over him. When I first saw him, there were
in his face lines that were prophetic, but the scowl
of resistance was the dominant feature. Had it not
been for the eye, that window of the soul, I would
have been fearful of a contest with him, for I was
in authority over him, and authority was that which
brought out of his soul its fighting energy. This dis-
position has more than once led him into dangerous
places, and would under misdirected conditions have
made shipwreck of his life. There were deep-seated
reasons for this resistance, needless to discuss, for

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET

there are things in this life too sacred for speech, —
things which when dead we wrap in purple and fine
linen, anoint, and with frankincense and myrrh lay
away with tears and thankfulness forever. Suffice to say
that while these reasons made his young hfe piteous
in its desolation, they did not touch him in any way
that marred his spirit. They were simply a part of
his environment, part of his development. Life is a
mystery, whose depths and heights we may neither
probe nor ascend, and who can say that the loneli-
ness of these desolate years was not the cradle in which
the genius of this boy was wrought into deathless
power, — who knows? Doubtless it drove him for
consolation to listen to the song of the lark as she
sang to him at the gates of the dawn ; to go forth into
the solemn splendor of the midnight and to cry unto
the stars, until from off the glorious islands of the sky
there descended upon his spirit beauty and peace. He
learned the language of the woods and to interpret
the voices of their dwellers, and when aspiration
faltered and hope deferred was sick unto death, he
lifted his eyes up to the radiance of the summer
heavens, and knew that somewhere, out of all this
loneliness and despair, in God's universe, there must
be peace. Might it not have been here, when he was
treading the wine-press alone, that he acquired that
marvelous fiber of patience that has been the sweet-
ness of his many glorious later years.

Want of companionship had much to do with the
restlessness of his spirit. He was easily chief of the
youths about him, and while they admired and fol-
lowed him as their leader, he stood alone among them.

^ J

298 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

In thtir limited minds he found no answering re-
sponse; in their hearts no cord of spiritual sympathy.
They were to him as the clods of the field to the eagle
in the sky. He dreamed of, but had no touch with,
the outer world, and the dull life of the ranch and
of the little valley were all that he personally knew
of the great world lying beyond the rim of the hills
that bounded his home. But, as was said by Dr.
Charles Wadsworth, the great Presbyterian, preacher,
in one of his sermons : "Man knows that he is im-
mortal by the motions of his spiritual instinct, as the
eagle chained in the market place knows by the in-
stinctive flutter of his wings, that his home is in the
upper deep." And so, by a like instinct, this lonely,
restless boy. chained to the limitations of an unevent-
ful life, and buried on a lonely ranch in the hills,
hungered for great things. He could not "live by
bread alone," and, strong as was the animal in him,
its passions left the spirit unsatisfied.

This was the life and condition of Edwin Markhani,
the poet and seer, in 1867, when I met him first, and
this is the story of our relations and of his redemp-
tion.

In 1867, there stood just five miles Northeast of
Suisun City, a little schoolhouse, which had been
known for many years as the "Black Schoolhouse."
It is not there now, for by a fatal practise of our
people we eliminate historic places. On my return
from Seattle, after my eight-hundred-mile ride, I was
put to the necessity of earning bread, and had to do
what I could to recoup a depleted pocket, and so I
turned to the only occupation I was then familiar

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET

with — teaching school. I did not know at first where
to go, but remembering that I had once been a pupil
in the Black School, I applied to the Board of Trustees
for a position there. I was a lean, fragile fellow.
My personal acquaintance with one of the trustees
was a suggestion that I might possibly acquire the
school. I applied to him, and he said, "You can't
teach this school." I said, "Why?" And he replied,
"You haven't the physical capacity." I did not at
first understand and said, "What do you mean?" He
said, "There is a boy in this district who has broken
up the last two schools and whipt the schoolmaster."
"Well," I said, "is that the only objection to me?"
And he said, "Is that not enough?" I said, "No, I
do not know the boy, but I can assure you that if he
is as big as Goliath and as brave as Caesar, he will
not break up my school," The trustee smiled in scorn
and I then said, "Let us make a contract that if I am
given the school and this boy breaks it up, even at
the end of the last hour of the last day of the term,
you will not owe me a cent." And then, after a week's
negotiations, I became the master, and entered upon
my duties.

A week passed, and no incorrigible boy appeared,
but on the first morning of the second week in
walked a splendid specimen of stalwart boyhood,
broad-shouldered, straight and arrogant. I saw
at once that I was up against his destiny and
my fee for teaching for a term; and we both won.
By a psychological instinct we both knew our day
had come, and we took moral measurement, one
of the other, as well as of the situation. For a

300 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

week he came and went without any sign of insubordi-
nation, without any indication of what was in his
mind, but one quiet afternoon, while my face was
turned to the blackboard, illustrating some problem to
a class of simple-minded scholars, to whom there was
no future except to become competent, after a com-
mon-school education, to exist upon a farm ; to work,
to plow, to sow and to reap the products of their
fields, and to eat and sleep — there came a sudden out-
burst of laughter. As I looked over the school, I saw
one calm face, the face of Markham, and I knew the
culprit. I said quietly, looking into his eyes, "There
must have been some very funny thing happened to
have made you all laugh, and when something funny
happens, people are entitled to laugh," and I turned
again to my blackboard. That look into the eyes of
Markham was the beginning of a new day. To him at
that moment there came the sense of forces greater
than he knew and his 30ul lifted its face to me as in
a vision.

When the hour came for dismissal of the school,
I said, "Markham, I want you to stay after
school; I want to speak to you." The entire school
was alert, as they thought that the conflict was again
on. The school was dismissed, but the scholars
lingered, expectant, and I said to them, "Go on to
your homes ; there is nothing between Markham and
myself that concerns you." They went, and Markham
and I had our hour alone. He remembers that hour,
for it was the supreme hour of his life. I took up
with him the afternoon's laugh of the school and that
he was the incitement thereof, and then I went over

THE EVOLUTION" OF A POET

with him the loneliness of his life, of which he did
not know I knew: the piteous childhood of which he
wrote in after years, and of which neither he nor I
ever spoke again. I recounted enough of his life
to show him that I was not ignorant thereof, and that
I had seen in his brow and eye the promise of high
achievement, and that of all the pupils I had, he alone
was the one to whom my heart had turned and with
whom I desired to measure the great things that were
to aspiring souls possible. I recalled to him the fact
that we were both young men, of about the same age,
and that the world held much in common for us.
Shall he or I ever forget that hour ! I do not want
to forget it and I know he does not. He looked at
me with longing eyes, at first defiant, and then chang-
ing to a wondrous sweetness as I touched his spirit.
As we talked, he broke down and leaning his head
upon the desk sobbed out his grief, and when he looked
up I saw the spirit which in these later days has made
him a prophet of righteousness. He was "born
again." I said, "Go home and come back to me in
the morning with all the past sloughed off." Obedi-
ently he went, and came in the morning just as I had
suggested. He took off of my hands all of the younger
scholars, teaching them their simple lessons, so that I
was enabled to give to him more time in his studies.
He was in a class alone. We worked together, and
began together our climb to better things. Well I
knew that he was destined to greatness, but I did not
as yet fully comprehend his powers, or the trend and
breadth of his mind.
The school lasted for three months, and I left the

302 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

neighborhood, and for several years after the close of
the school I was engaged with my own work and lost
sight of Markham. His genius had not developed, for
great things move slowly, and I heard that he wrought
with his hands for bread in a blacksmith shop. His
genius was incubating. I was not impatient, for I
knew what the future held for him, and the next I
heard was that he was the Principal of the Tompkins
School in Oakland. This was an advance from the
blacksmith shop, but was still far beneath his capacity,
and his possible achievements. But at last, on a
January morning, in San Francisco, as I wended my
way homeward from church I purchased an Ex-
aminer and read in it, "The Man with the Hoe." It
stirred me as the trumpet did the old warhorse, and
I immediately wrote to him, "Your time has come to
leave the narrow walls of the school-room and to take
your place among the workers of the world." I do
not know how much influence this letter had, but the
next I heard of him was that he was in New York,
had identified himself with some of the publishing
firms of that city, engaged in that work that has not
only engrossed him but is enriching the world.

It will be no violation of the ethics to expose the
beautiful relations that have for nearly half a century
existed between myself and the seer to quote from
some late letters. In one of March 26th, 1909, he
said: "It was a thrill of pleasure to see again your
well-remembered handwriting. You know, of course,
that you were one of the few noble influences in
my lonely and sorrowful boyhood. Once in those
old days you wrote me ^ beautiful letter, which I have

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET

303

kept until this hour. * ♦ * -peji ^^g Qf your
fortunes ♦ * * Fortunes? Well, I believe more
and more as the years go on, that only one thing mat-
ters greatly — to live a good life. This conviction is an
echo from your own letter to me, the one you sent me in
my friendless youth." This letter is now forty years of
age, and will illustrate the tenderness of the relations
which existed between us in the early time.

On May 5th, 1909, he wrote saying: "I wish I could
return to California and go out to walk with you over
the Suisun Hills. They are to me a place of tender and
piteous memories. It was there that I met you, the be-
loved friend of my boyhood, and it was there that I
spent the years of my lonely and romantic youth."

In Markham's earlier songs are disclosed his touch
with Nature, and his deep love for the simple things
of the woods and fields. His "A Prayer" was the
deep utterance of a life devoutly grateful for its rela-
tion of the flowers, the grasses and the simple rocks
around which they grew, and where the little insects
had a home. They touched his spirit and he sang:

"Teach me, Father, how to go
Softly as the grasses grow;
Hush my soul to meet the shock
Of the wild world as a rock;
But my spirit, propt with power.
Make as simple as a flower."

But he understands men also; so it was fitting that
this backwoods boy should write "Lincoln the Man of
the People," a poem that closes with the stately lines:

304 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

"And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down
As when a lofty cedar green with boughs
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills.
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky."

His mind absorbed subconsciously minor beauty.
There stood to him no towering mountains, stem-
faced with grandeur, and about whose crags sported
the lightning and the storm. He had not as yet heard
the voices of the seas as they beat upon the shores of
the continent, and so he touched his harp and lifted
up his voice to sing of what he knew. He was not as
yet equal to "the long reaches of the peaks of song."
His poetic retreat was in "a valley in the simimer
hills," haunted by little winds and daffodils, and he
saw "dim visions lightly swing in silent air."

I have not met Markham for many years, and when
I last saw him in San Francisco, I think in 1871, he
gave no especial indication of his rarer powers. If
I remember rightly, he was either then working at
the forge, or had just left it, and was, tho ambitious,
drifting, — his faculties incubating, and the fibers of
his mind slowly hardening into the strength of his
maturer years. More than any man I have ever
known, he seems to have the growing mind — never
restless, but steadily moving upward, ever enlarging
in capacity for work — a marvelous climbing force,
with an endless reach toward the noblest and the finest
in human thought. A deep religious instinct is in
all his thought, and a profound love for all humanity
has become the climate of his mind. There is an in-
tense, moral beat to his heart. No sentimental weak-

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET 305

ness mars the swing of his song, or hides in the phil-
osophy of his prose. Robust, he wars with the might
of great convictions against the injustice of the world
to the lowly. He has become the prophet of humanity,
and its cry has come up to him out of the deeps of
all the ages of "man's inhumanity to man." He sings
no more of birds and bees and flowers and sunny hills ;
his inspiration no more is fed by the beauty of in-
animate things : to him the oracle has spoken, and from
the heights he struggles for man against the wrong
of centuries, and he strives as a master in his work
for humanity. To him has come;

"A pitiless cry from the oppressed —
A cry from the toilers of Babylon for their rest. —
O Poet, thou art holden with a vow:
The light of higher worlds is on thy brow.
And Freedom's star is soaring in thy breast
Go, be a dauntless voice, a bugle-cry
In darkening battle when the winds are high —
A clear sane cry wherein the God is heard
To speak to men the one redeeming word."

To have had part in the direction of Markham's
early hfe; to have aided and encouraged him in his
youth, when misdirection doubtless would have been
fatal, and all of his splendid powers have passed into
darkness, has been a matter of congratulation and
encouragment to me, when hope deferred made the
heart sick and the lure of vanities was in my own
blood. The story of his life is full of marvelous

306 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

charm, and the most indifferent are moved by tbe^
recital of its pathetic incidents.

I have been often asked, in making public addresses,
to tell the story, and I do not always feel at liberty
to refuse. One of these occasions occurred while
making a political canvass in 1899, I made a speech
at lone, in Amador County, and among the audience
was the superintendent of a school sustained by the
State, situated at this little town. He came to me
at the end of the speech and asked me if I would not,
on the next morning, come to the school and give
his boys a little talk. I did so, and when we met in
the main hall of the building, in front of me were
about one hundred boys, aged from eight to eighteen.
There were also present a number of ladies and gentle-
men, teachers in the institution. Some angel, it must
have been, whispered "Tell them Markham's story,"
and after a few words of advice and in commendation
of the teachers, and recalling to them the kindness
of the State in giving them an opportunity for educa-
tion, I began the simple story of the early association
of myself with Markham. I traced his career from
the friendless boy, my experience with him, some fea-
tures of his unhappy life, and his resistance to his
environment, which came near marring his noble
nature. After leading the audience along by these
statements, which commanded the closest attention,
I ended the story with this climax: "And this boy
is the man who wrote, 'The Man with the Hoe' !" A
tremendous burst of applause from the boys greeted
this statement, and round after round followed the
first outburst. The story had touched them deeply

THE EVOLUTION OF A POET

and when the applause had quieted, I looked around
and saw tears in the eyes of every man, and many of
the women were sobbing. I asked one of them, when
she was able to speak, "Why are you weeping?" And
she said, "We are weeping for joy. Why did you try
to break our hearts with such a story?" And I re-
plied, "I do not know why, but evidently the story
was human and touched you all deeply, for which I
am grateful."

Oftentimes we grow impatient and restless in our
criticism of human nature, and are disposed to give
to it but slight credit for high thinking, and yet to
him who has had experience with audiences, it is an
unfailing truth that the human story will touch the
dullest audience. All hearts fee! at times the pulsa-
tion of the divine, and we know that there is a divin-
ity in man altho at times it lies, like the precious ore
in the mines, far down in the deep.

Markham has, in the highest degree, the inter-
mixture of tlie artistic sense with cool reason. Per-
haps all poets have this, for in all times and languages
they have been the heart's interpreter unto itself. By
"poet" I mean him who comes within the definition
the "Poets are the prophets of God" — not the skilful
artificers in words, mere musicians, who, out of con-
sonant and vowel, weave, with cunning, sweet phrases
of speech. He speaks ex cathedra, and before he
voices his thought, it passes in review before the
court of his conscience. There is in him no confusion
of tongues. He declares with authority, and leaves
his justification to the consciences of men. He speaks
dear-voiced through a trumpet, to the children of

3o8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

men. A stalwart figure in literature, he stands for
righteousness of thought and action. This quality
found expression in "The Man with the Hoe," and
is what at once commanded the attention and respect
of the world of letters. So unerring is this faculty,
that even though his phrase may be faulty at times,
the spirit of his song carries it into immortality. No
wonder the most merciless critic of our times, Am-
brose Bierce, with whom I once talked of Markham,
and who, without pity, beats down with bludgeon or
pierces with rapier, the upstart in literature, after
patient review has said that Markham is the greatest
poet that has appeared in the last twenty-five years.

Not long ago a distinguished orator of the Meth-
odist Church, whose sermons are finest specimens of
poetic prose, wrote me from a temporary retirement,
"I long again to fly and sing." To sing is the passion
of great souls.

I have not been able to put into words what I
wanted to say, and what I have imperfectly written
is to express, in a measure, the fulfilment of that
which forty years ago I knew by prophetic instinct
Markham must be — a master among men, somehow
and somewhere, standing like a Corinthian column,
majestic and strong — speaking of great things with
authority.

Chapter XVII
INTO THE DESERT

XN 1882 we went into the desert for the first time
■*■ and spent weeks in its solitudes, in the presence
of wonderful creations wrought by the primal forces
of the world in which volcano, cataclysm, earthquake
and flame were the artists and builders. We were in
search for reHef from a malarial attack from which
we suffered, as the gift of hydraulic mining in Placer
County. Our trip led into the desert lying in the
triangle, two sides of which are made by Arizona and
Nevada, in which is situated Death Valley. Our
spirit was tired from the drain of fever. It was a
lonely man who left San Francisco one hot summer
day, destined, down the San Joaquin Valley, to
Caliente. The heat, dust and the parched plains visible
from the car windows were not factors to elevate the
spirits of one worn and weary, and it is remembered
to this day as a desolate ride. At midnight we reached
Caliente, a little village lying at the foot of the Teha-
chap] Mountains, where the railroad begins its wonder-
ful ascent into the Mojave Desert. I was the only
passenger leaving the train. This was enough in the
darkness and solitude to have chilled the spirit. We
saw only one light in the town and to it we wended
309

3IO LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

our way, hunting for a place to rest It was a little
dirty hotel which, if it had been peaceful, would have
been repellent. We found it full of rude sheep-
shearers, drunk and turbulent. We were well drest, :
and as we walked in, we noticed a sudden silence fall!
upon the group. We found the proprietor and asked
him if he could give us a bed. He was sober; looked
us over a moment and taking us by the arm walked
us to the door and said, ''This is no place for you
and I advise you to hunt for some other house." He
kindly led us out into the night and pointing to a
house some distance away said that doubtless we could
find entertainment there. It was a kindly act, for we
doubt not that we might have been in danger had
we remained amid these wild, drunken men.

In the morning a little stage drove up and we were
informed that it was the Inyo stage. We were the
only passenger, and the prospect for the day's ride
was not inspiring to a sick man. We climbed the
Tehachapi Mountains, and soon reached what is known
as Warm Springs Valley, a high and level desert
valley, watered by irrigating ditches and supporting
a large population. From this point the country be-
came new to us. We had never seen the desert be-
fore, and its features were fascinating. Through this
valley we drove for miles. The things that were most
attractive were the peculiarly constructed and colored
hills which stood round about as its exterior boundary.
They were treeless mounds, mere volcanic puffs, with
a surface and color as smooth as that of a Jersey cow.
We have never seen again this peculiar hill formation
and coloring.

INTO THE DESERT

As we drove along, the desert features became more
pronounced and the ride more desperately lonesome.
We were not in the "mood to appreciate, as we did
afterwards in the flush of strength and health, the
forces which uplifted the hills and mountains about
lis and stretched between them the gorges.

Toward night we reached Walker's Pass, a histori-
cal transverse valley, which for years had been a part
of the trail through which emigrants had come into
California. Atmospheric conditions in the desert are
always uncertain, and as we drove into the Pass, a
high wind storm, set in motion by the heat of the
valley, and the cold white snow summits not far dis-
tant, blew with terrific force, rocking the stage from
side to side. We had heard that these sudden wind
storms were often of great violence and we verified
this fact at a later date, when we were lost in one of
the stand storms which are liable to occur at any mo-
ment in the desert. The desolation of the Pass, as it
was at this moment, is indescribable, paralleled only
by some of the pages in Dore's illustrations of Dante's
Inferno. The floor of the Pass had been swept by the
hoofs of hundreds of thousands of sheep driven
through during the summer until it was robbed of
every vestige of green and looked as if it had been
swept by flame. Thousands of these sheep had died,
and the air was heavy with the stench of putrefaction.
This added to the gloom which pressed down upon
us like a physical weight.

Just as the sun was slanting to the horizon, the
sky became cold and blue as a sword-blade. We drove
into a little stage station just on the line of Mojave

312 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Desert, known as "Coyote Holes." There were but
two or three houses and but two or three people here.
We were not to stop longer than to have our
supper and to change our horses; we were then to
drive into the night across the dreary wastes of the
Mojave Desert. The desolation of the desert was
intensified at every step, and the coming night had in
it no pleasant anticipation. We were, indeed, a lonely
traveler, without human association or companion-
ship to wear away the lonely night.

In the splendid sky of that latitude, finest in all the
world, clear as crystal, sailed a great white moon, sole
solace of the hour. Those who are familiar with the
desert sky can verify its clearness, it being the fact
that minor stars are magnified until they appear as
large and brilliant as the stars of the first magnitude
in more obscured atmospheres. The experiments made
by Professor Langley of the Alleghany University
in 1881, the year before our trip, from the summit
of Mt. Whitney, by his records now on file in
the office of the War Department at Washing-
ton, are the world's verification of the fact that
for astronomical observations the sky here excels
all others in the world, and it is only within the
last year that there has been established on the
summit of Mt. Whitney, following the recommenda-
tions of Professor Langley, an observatory under the
auspices of the Lick Observatory, for the purpose
of determining if possible whether or not Mars is a
habitable planet.

Under brilliant stars and the great moon, stretched
around us into the dim distance volcanic hills, ris-

INTO THE DESERT

ing- in tortured shapes, the contribution of earthquake
and volcano to these wild regions and a silent waste
of whitened sand left by the sea when in the ages
past it receded from this portion of the world and
left its floor. For forty rriiles through the heart of
this sand waste we toiled, unable to move faster than
a walk, for the deep sand was too heavy for any
greater progress, and it was hard work for the horses
even to haul the little stage with its one passenger over
this tiresome road. Sleep was an impossibility. The
new conditions were too impressive, the environment
too fascinating, and we could not still our senses into
the repose of sleep. The new presence beat upon the
mind with a mighty force, for we were where the
primal forces of the world had worked and left in
monstrous shapes the debris of its early building.

As the dawn brightened the sky, we escaped from
the desert into a line of scorched hills lying between
Pannamint Valley and Mojave Desert. This dawn
was unlike those we had been familiar with all our lite.
There was no song of birds, no lowing of cattle, no
nodding flowers, no association that makes in favored
regions this the sweetest hour of the day. It was a
silent, stem hour, and as we looked forth upon the
awful hills and into the distance before us, and realized
that we were yet upon the rim of the desert, we
wondered what would be the next exhibition of the
tremendous forces that built the world. As we drove
into the day, we seemed to have lost our relation to
the usual things of life, and we wondered where we
would find sustenance for the day. As the sun lifted
into the higher heavens over the Pannarolnt Moun-

314 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

tains, in the distance along the slope of a range of dis-
torted hills, we saw what seemed human habitations,
rude, unpainted shacks. We could not at first realize
that it was possible that human beings could establish
a habitation in a place so desolate, so far removed from
all things that make real living possible. We asked
the driver what that group of things was and he said,
"That is Darwin." We said, "What do you mean by
Darwin?" He smiled and said, "Why, that is the
mining town Darwin, where we take our breakfast."
Notwithstanding this statement of the driver, it seemed
as yet impossible that it could be a town where
human beings lived. Before long, however, we were
in "Darwin," and found that it was a town where
human beings did live — no, existed, for there could
be no living in the higher sense in a place so devoid
of everything that makes life even physically endur-
able, outside of all moral considerations. And we
found conditions existing here, which were a verifica-
tion of our appreciation of the place. The principal
business place of the town was a saloon. No hotel
was visible and we were compelled to take our break-
fast at a little restaurant maintained mostly by the
prospector and the tributor, who found their occupa-
tion in the adjacent hills and mountains. It was a
rude dining-place, but the miner always demands, if
not the most elegant dishes, the substantial ones, and
we found an abundance of plain, well cooked food, a
satisfaction for the hunger which had grown upon
us during the long ride from the Coyote Holes.

A substantial breakfast did much to relieve the
tedium of the night's trip and acted as a restorative

INTO THE DESERT 315

to our spirits, and we felt in better mood for our
further advance into what we supposed to be more
desert. The road toward Lone Pine, the historic
village of Inyo, situated at the foot of Mt. Whitney,
just north of Owens Lake, was for most of the dis-
tance smooth and gravelly, over which we were able
to bowl with good speed. About us stood the ranges
of hilts, bare and drear, and in the intervening levels
were grouped great stretches of cacti growing to the
size of trees and in their regularity giving one the idea
of riding through orchards. We found the atmos-
phere peculiarly dry and magnetic. As we drove out
of Darwin, a short distance, we saw a curious illus-
tration of the preserving dryn'ess of the atmosphere.
Some wag had stood the skeleton of a horse, that had
died, upon its legs, tied it to a cactus and put before
it a bunch of hay. The illusion was perfect, and the
driver told us that this skeleton had been there for
several years.

Soon we caught a glimpse of the summits of the
Sierras, where they lift along the rim of the Owens
River Valley, to the general altitude of twelve thou-
sand feet. There are many peaks visible from the
individual jieaks rising, as in Whitney, to fifteen thou-
sand feet. There are many peaks visible from the
Owens River Valley, that are more than twelve
thousand feet, and but little less than fourteen thou-
sand feet in height. These are superb creations and
stir the mind with their majesty. One of the most
wonderful and beautiful phenomena was made visible
to us subsequently by this white line of summits stand-
ing in the radiance of the sunlight while we in the

3i6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

valley stood in the gloom of the morning before day-
light.

Our kindly driver had recognized, the day before
and during the night, that we were quiet, and he asked
us if we were ill. We told him not exactly ill, con-
valescent only, and that the country was so strange
to us that it made us quiet. He said, "Cheer up, we'll
soon be out of this wilderness and you will see some-
thing that is really beautiful." His prophecy was
correct, for shortly we drove down through a line of
hills and suddenly before us spread out Owens Lake,
a sullen mountain sea, lying in its volcanic bed, twenty-
five miles in length, with an average width of from
four to five miles. Scientists have said that this lake
occupies the site of the great volcano that in the
creative ages blazed and thundered here, covering the
country about with hundreds of square miles of
scoriae, volcanic debris and ashes, leaving the scars
of its flame upon the mountains lying eastward and
southward, stretching into the dim distances of the
Arizona deserts. It was a glorious sight, for the day
was perfect and the sheen of the waters was like
silver. It was beautiful to us in the distance, altho it is
a desperate sheet of water, sustains no animal life
except a slimy worm which exists in vast numbers and
is the only evidence of life in its waters. The wild
fowls avoid it, but sometimes are lured to its bosom
only to death. We have seen, after a storm, piled
along the shore in great wind-rows, just as the farmer
piles his hay in summer, millions of dead birds.

The waters of the lake are valuable for the caustic
minerals that enter their composition, and capital has

INTO THE DESERT 317

availed itself of this condition. The lake is now
rimmed with great lines of evaporating plants, where
commercial soda and other products are prepared for
market. This condition is the gift of the ancient
volcano.

Over and beyond this body of water there lifted into
the blue of serene sky the shape of Whitney, glorify-
ing the western horizon at fifteen thousand feet, and
looming over the entire country like a protecting
shape. Whitney, while long holding the fame of being
the highest mountain in America, has lost its place by
reason of the acquisition of Alaska, for Mount Fair-
weather, Mount St. Elias and Mount McKinley lift
higher crests. Whitney is not a distinct mountain,
but rises a massive face of granite and opens out into
the Owens River Valley through a magnificent canyon
whose granite walls rise in shapes of beauty and
majesty. The peak which gives Whitney its distinc-
tion over the general range rises to only a distance
of fifteen hundred feet or two thousand feet above
the general range. It is an -uplift of granite which
faces the east. It was a magnificent vision to us that
afternoon, as we put behind us the weariness of the
desert and approached nearer and nearer to this splen-
did range with its group of peaks.

We saw also in the distance the sheen of trees, and
we never before knew how beautiful a tree could be,
for we had been for the twenty-four hours previous
entirely outside of the vision of green things. All
had been bare and dead, and these groups of trees were
visions inspiring and comforting. We were entirely
ignorant of the condition of the country and of its

4

3i8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

•

development, and did not know that along the western
rim of the Owens River Valley there were many
beautiful homes, to which the high Sierras contributed
life by the perpetual streams which flowed from
their eternal snows. There is an abundance of these
clear sweet waters flowing into the desert, and they
have been the means of redeeming from barrenness
these habitations of men.

A great contest is now on between the residents
of Owens River Valley and the City of Los Angeles
over these waters, for Los Angeles, fully one hundred
and fifty miles away, has found it necessary to come
here and to construct across the desert sands of Mo-
jave and the desert ranges lying to the westward
thereof, aqueducts for the purpose of carrying these
cold, clear waters for the sustenance and protection
of the city.

As the sun was sinking over the mountains we
drove into the little town of Lone Pine, a pioneer
village of the region, built largely of adobe, — a half
Mexican, half American town, important only because
it was the fitting-out place for the mines which lay
in the mountains to the east and south. Its situa-
tion is beautiful, just north of the shore line of the
lake, almost at the foot of Whitney, and at the rim
of a level extent of valley reaching out to the north,
east and south. It was a welcome retreat and a feel-
ing of exhilaration swept over the mind as we entered
the main street and drove up to the little hotel, where
we were for many months to have a home. It was
a comfortable place, owned and conducted by a kindly-
hearted widow, who gave out of her heart to

INTO THE DESERT

319

the comfort of her guests. Here was peace, and the
weirdness, the uncertainity and the shadow, which
had been over us for twenty-four hours, fell from us
like a cast-off garment. There was a presentiment
in our mind that here we would have experiences, here
grow riper, learn of the wonderful world in its physi-
cal aspects, and find that in desperate places there are
more wonders than there are In the serener places of
the world, given over to birds and trees and blossoms.

The population was mixed Mexican and American,
all kindly but given to the habits of the frontier, and
the saloon and gambling house, after nightfall, was
the gathering place of the main portion of the popu-
lation, outside of its women folks.

Here we first saw the terrible evidences of the
awful earthquake of 1872, which had its center here,
and which radiated throughout the entire State, find-
ing a collateral center at San Leandro, Alameda
County, where the courthouse was wrecked. The
country is riven throughout its entire extent, and
just north of Lone Pine the whole Owens River
Valley dropt away from the Alabama hills, an outlying
range of low hills, which skirt the Sierras, for a dis-
tance of twenty feet. A perpendicular wall of rock
stands to-day at the side of the stage road, by which
we traveled to the town of Independence, and twenty
feet above could be seen the old stage road of 1872.
There are other indications of the terrific force of this
masterful quake at Lone Pine itself, where nearby
tracts of what had been sterile sagebrush lands had
become wet meadows, and in one place a living fence,
which had at the time of the earthquake extended in

320 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

a straight line, had been split apart and moved so
that to fill in the intervening gap required forty feet
of new fence.

The little town seemed to be the center of the earth-
quake. Almost the entire town was shaken down,
and out of a population of about two hundred, twenty-
seven were killed, and in the rude graveyard nearby
is a long grave in which were buried the twenty-seven
victims. In after days, as we drove into the outlying
territory, we still found evidences of the earthquake
in the canyons of the mountains, which were almost
filled with rocks that had been shaken from nearby
summits, and along the entire Inyo range of mountains
which rise about four thousand feet above the
valley and along which the track of the Carson and
Colorado railroad extends, is a winrow of rocks,
some as large as city buildings. Millions of tons of
these lie in the valley alongside the railroad, as the
mute evidence of the terrific power which held this
country in its grip and shook it to pieces in these
dreadful convulsions. For sixty days the country
swung as in a swing, and some scientists, headed by
Professor Whitney, at that time of the University of
California, who went down there to study the phe-
nomena, were startled by this swinging motion and
did not stand upon the order of their leaving, but
departed at once.

The condition of that territory since has sustained
the scientific assertion that a great earthquake is fol-
lowed by years of calm. There has never been since
1872 any disturbance. We were there for three years
and the country was as quiet as a sleeping infant.

INTO THE DESERT 321

A curious phenomenon was attendant upon this
earthquake, which goes far to sustain the electrical
theory of earthquakes. At Cerro Gordo a number of
miners were in one of the principal mines, down about
five hundred feet. The earthquake occurred about
two o'clock in the morning, while the night shift was
at work. The men on this shift, on their return to
the surface in the morning, were surprised to hear
that the country had been shaken by a great earth-
quake, for they all stated that they had felt no motion
whatever at the place where they were in the mine,
five hundred feet below the surface. Great crevasses
were opened through the country in all directions, and
oftentimes when we would leave a well-traveled trail,
hoping to save distance by cutting across country, we
were compelled to travel for miles before we found
a place where the lips of these crevasses were close
enough together to allow us to leap our horses across
them. We were wise enough after some of these ex-
periences to stick to well defined trails and roads.

Another phenomenon which was peculiar to the
earthquake was the fact that all animals seemed to
know for hours in advance of its coming. We talked
with a number of people, who were present at the
time, and they said that about sundown they noticed
a great commotion among the cattle and among the
dogs and the chickens, the cattle running about in an
excited manner and lowing, and the dogs howling,
and the chickens refusing to go to their usual roosts
and the cocks crowing constantly during the night.
It has been frequently asserted that animals have a
phenomenal instinct which enables them to presage

322 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

the occurrence of great physical phenomena, and this
fact was demoostrated at Lone Pine.

We had gone to Inyo, as we said before, for the
purpose of recuperating our health, and our objective
point was Cerro Gordo, where a friend of ours was
residing at the time, as the receiver of one of the
mines at that point, then in litigation. Cerro Gordo,
then an almost deserted village, having only about
fifteen inhabitants, occupied a cup-like hollow at the
top of the Inyo Mountains, about four miles above
Owens Lake, and was reached by a tedious road from
the levels of the valley. The situation of Cerro Gordo
is such that the air, on account of the altitude and
the great heat, becomes exceedingly rarified, and the
road from the lake to the town, a distance of some
eight miles, is about the most tedious road in America.
It is one long, steady climb, and each mile of advance
is into a more rarified atmosphere, until it seems almost
impossible for man or beast to make further progress.
The hardest real work that we have ever done was
to make the ascent from the lake, along this mountain
road, and we have in our life done some real manual
labor.

The morning after our arrival at Lone Pine we
made our arrangements to proceed to Cerro Gordo,
and went to the livery stable and asked for animals to
carry us. The livery man said that we would need
a mule, for it was a very difficult trip for a horse.
He said, "When did you come to town?" I said,
"On last night's stage from Caliente." He said, "Do
you know the way to Cerro Gordo?" I said that I
did not, but that I understood that once on the road.

INTO THE DESERT 323

it was almost impossible for one to lose it. He smiled
and said, "Well, that is so, but do you know the
dangers of the road?" I said, "No, I do not know
of any danger." He said, "Well, for a tenderfoot,
there are quite a number of dangers, and one of the
principal is that you are liable to be tied up by despera-
does who make their living off of just such as you."
I said, "Oh, well, if that's the only danger, we'll
assume that." So we got our mule, and in the early
morning, alone, started off for a twenty-five mile desert
and mountain ride. I had traveled many miles
through the Sierras, through the Northern California
regions, through Oregon and Washington territory,
through Indian country, and along roads that had the
reputation of being the territory of road agents, and
as I had never had any experience with such, I
assumed that my usual good luck would attend me,
and so it did. Whether or not any road agent ever
saw me, I am unable to say, but in the thousands of
miles which I have traveled through doubtful territory.
I have never feared evil, nor found it.

North of Cerro Gordo lies a lone desert valley,
rimmed with gorgeous mountains, painted with all
the beauty and bloom of volcanic tints. Some of
them we called the Zebra Mountains for in the distance
they showed brilliant streaks of color, — red, white,
blue and green, ranged like the peculiar stripes of
the Zebra skin. This same coloring exists in the vol-
canic mountains along the eastern rim of Eteath Val-
ley. Standing upon the summit of the Telescope
Mountains, on the western rim, a distance of twenty-
five or thirty miles away, on a summer day, when the

324 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

sun was beating down upon these mountains, the color-
ing was so brilliant that the eye could rest upon them
only for a brief moment. This exprest and brilliant
coloring is one of the splendors of the desert every-
where, and is noticeable to travelers on the Pullman
cars through Arizona, New Mexico and portions of
Colorado and Utah. It is a heat bloom.

Eastward from Cerro Gordo, over the rim of the
hills immediately skirting the town, we drove down
into long stretches of cacti lands, which lie between
the Cerro Gordo range and the range of mountains
which form the western boundary of the Pannamint
Valley, which lies westward of Death Valley, and
would be a matter of remark for its desolation
except that it is in the presence of the greater creation.
Death Valley, which overshadows all of the desert
creations in the world.

The three years we passed in this country were
crowded with interest, excitement and work. The
Carson & Colorado Railroad Company was building
into the Owens River Valley from Carson City, Ne-
vada, and was interested in becoming familiar with
the resources of the country, as the projectors thereof
were unfamiliar with its commercial possibilities. It
became our office, in association with these railroad
men, to make ourselves familiar with all the country
and to collect together such data as would be im-
portant and educational to the world when it became
a factor in the work here. We made our home at
various points, but principally at Lone Pine, for we
found that to be the most delightful place in the val-
ley. Its people were kindly disposed, a large part

INTO THE DESERT

were Mexicans ; they were peaceable with that kind-
ness of association which marks the Mexican always,
when yon have his confidence. There were many
things that brought us into close contact with this
Mexican population, and we soon by a few kindly
services became persoyia grata, and were able to obtain
from them at any time all sorts of services, many of
them important, as they were familiar with the country
and with all its resources.

The Mexican miner is the best miner in the world,
and he seems by an instinctive faculty to know where
the mineral is. We had an illustration of this in an
old Mexican who hved at Cerro Gordo. He was
nearly seventy years of age, had no ambitions except
to keep himself in food and "medicina," the name
he always gave to the storekeeper when he brought
his little bottle down and desired to have it filled. He
was, I think, the best mineralogist and worker of
ores I ever knew. He would take his little sack,
wander over the hills for perhaps a month and delve
into the old dumps of the abandoned mines. By this
search he would, in a month's time, fill up his gunny-
sack with a hundred pounds of ore. This ore was
rebellious, none of it of free character, and required
the most careful and skilful reduction and refining.
For this purpose he had built in one of the canyons
nearby, out of adobe which he had made himself, a
smelter and a refinery. The work accomplished by
means of this little adobe smelter and refinery was as
complete as could be found in the magnificent systems
of Swansea, the world's chief mineral reduction plant,
and to which must be sent at times the rebellious ores

i

J26 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST

which defy the skill of the resident ore-workers. The
old Mexican would build a little fire in his smdter,
and when the heat was just right, cast in with die
necessary fluxes, which he would gather from the
hill slopes adjoining, his little handfuk of rd)ellious
ore, and by and by, out of the smdter would run a
little stream of minerals, in which were mixed lead,
copper, silver and gold. The mass would be, perhaps,
out of the hundred pounds he smelted, about half as
large as an ordinary football. This mass of unsepa-
rated ore he would subject to the processes of his
little refinery, and by and by, for the process was
slow, out of the refinery would flow the separated
streams of gold, the silver, the lead, and thus from
his htmdred pounds of ore the old Mexican would
usually secure from fifty to seventy-five dollars. This
was enough to supply his simple wants for quite a
while, and it was by this process of the highest scienti-
fic character, that this old, uneducated, simple-minded
Mexican brought to himself such as he called the
necessities and comforts of life.

Our personal touch with the Mexican population
sometimes brought us into close relations in their
political and patriotic work. Altho most of the men
were citizens of the United States, and voters, they
still were Mexicans, and on the i6th and 17th days
of September celebrated the Mexican "Fourth of
July;" the i6th of September being the equivalent
day with them, their day of Freedom. At Lone Pine,
which was the center of the Mexican population, on
these days were always held their celebrations, to
which all of the Mexicans contributed and from which

INTO THE DESERT 327

tfiey all seemed to derive satisfaction and pleasui-e.
The first day, that is, the i6th, was devoted to ora-
tions and public services, among; the latter being a
musical program in the hands of the signoritas, who
with guitar and national music made the hours sweet.
We were nsiially the orator, in English, and some
well-known Mexican the orator in Spanish. Some
of the Mexicans of this place were not very familiar
with the English tongue, and while they had been
residents of California for a number of years, did
not seem inclined to learn our language. We have
at many places in the world, interpreted by noted
artists, listened to what was called the finest of music,
but we have never heard music as sweet as the songs
of these sigfioritas. They loved the guitar, and it
seemed to be a part of them as an expression of that
which was within their hearts. The Spanish music
for the guitar is tenderly beautiful. Their songs were
all in a minor key, and the natural hymns of their
native land, given expression by a dozen or more
signoritas touching their guitars with loving fingers,
were alluring and sweet.

The second day was given over to the more stremi-
ous amusements in the field, where feats of horseman-
ship were the leading feature. The Mexican is a
natural horseman, and an expert in all things con-
nected with horsemanship. The riding of wild horses
was a part of these amusements, and always created
much excitement. The last night was devoted to the
fandango, from which no one was excluded, and to
which every one was welcome. All questions of
caste, station, business, occupation, faith, were cast

328 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

aside and forgotten. The lowliest and the highest
mingled together in a place where there was absolute
democracy of feeling.

One who becomes acquainted with the domestic
life of a Mexican village, if he came from a Puritan
town of New England, is at first rudely shocked by
the things which he sees and which he thought from
preconceived ideas were incompatible with clean life,
but in this idea he would be remarkably mistaken.
The Mexicans have their own standards, — standards
more nearly Christian than the Puritan's, and the
noblest lady of the land does not think she will be
soiled because she shakes the hand of her sister who
differs in life from herself. When one becomes
thoroughly familiar with the spirit of this living, and
the underlying moral sense which allows an inter-
mingling, without contamination, of the classes that
the New England village separates, he is compelled
to concede that life and morals are mixed problems,
and no man by any local prejudices or standards ob-
tained from any particular faith, is qualified to sit in
judgment on his fellows. This is the lesson that came
to us in the little Mexican village, which widened
and sweetened our life by a larger faith, a finer appre-
ciation of human character, and a liberality more
nearly like that of the Master.

Chapter XVIII

DEATH VALLEY. ITS MYSTERIES AND ITS
SECRETS

T N 1849 there floated up out of the awful valley in

the southeast comer of the State a weird story of
despair and death, — the story of lost emigrants
wandering without hope under burning skies, at last
dying in the flame of the desert. The story was in
the main true, for a train of emigrants seeking Cali-
fornia from one of the Western States, by way of the
trail leading from Salt Lake to San Bernardino, both
Mormon settlements, either by confusion or misdirec-
tion, had lost their way, and after sufferings beyond
the power of words to describe, dwindled down from
a large company to less than a dozen survivors who
by heroic endeavor at last escaped from the horrors
into the Owens River Valley.

The little company was known as the Brier party,
under the leadership of a minister of the Congrega-
tional Church, J- W. Brier, with whom we became
acquainted in later years. By members of his family
we verified the story as we had gathered it in the
traditions of the country, when in 1883 we visited
Death Valley and were shown the last camp of this
fated emigrant party, where in one night eleven of the
329

w

^m 330

^™ poor

LIFE ON THE PAaFIC COAST

poor victims laid them down to their eternal sleep. At
the time of our visit there were scattered about many
evidences of the occupation of this camp. Nearby is
a spring of poisoned waters. It was after^va^ds
assumed that those who died in this awfu! last night
had been poisoned by these waters. On Christmas
Day, 1849, the dinner eaten by the survivors was a
small portion of soup served to each, made from the
hide of an ox which had died of starvation. This
fact we had from one who partook of that Christmas
"feast." To a heroic woman, sustained by an un-
faltering faith in God, was due the final escape. The
awful conditions had no power to touch her spirit or
dim the clear vision she had of the eternal mercies.
Her faith was as steady as the foundations of the
flaming hills that stood about her. and she knew that
she and hers were to be saved. The world's history
of faith presents no more illustrious example than
that of this woman, who, frail and worn, defied the
burning sim, the blazing sands, the awful mountains
and poisoned waters, to rob her of her beloved. Her
faith was justified, and she and hers escaped by her
efforts. We, to whom such experiences have never
come, are not competent to even guess at the influ-
ences that finally directed her. On the morning of
this Christmas, she said to her companions that she
knew a way and would lead them out. She mounted
the only remaining ox, an emaciated skeleton, and
taking her youngest child before her directed all to
follow. Straight as a crow flies, she led them across
the rocky waste, climbed the western rim of the
valley, and through a low pass known to this day

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 331

by the Indians as "Ox Pass," the little company
soon gladdened by the sheen of the Sierras and the
green of the trees and meadows that clustered at their

We went through Ox Pass, directed to it as the
easiest trail from the valley by Indians who knew the
country. They were not able to speak our language
and by signs only indicated the situation, and said
in pointing to the low gap in the mountain "Ox Pass."
Who named this place? Tell me, ye, who scoff at
divine guidance and sneer at the faith of man in God's
personality! Does it stand and will it stand forever
as a memorial of the devout soul of this woman who
heard in this despairful place "unutterable words that
it is not lawful for man to utter," and saw "the light
that never was on sea or land."

Out of this story was woven the reputation that
clung to this valley for years. It was ever afterwards
and is now known as "Death Valley" and men said
it was curst land, a place of doom; that its airs were
fatal to animal life, that no man ever crossed its
spaces and lived, and that birds dropped dead while
passing over it; that poisons as deadly as those which
exude from the famed Upas trees, were blown from
the mountains about Death Valley and poisoned the
winds. This statement was written into early geog-
raphies, and for years it remained an avoided region,
where silence and desolation held dominion, and
storm and waterspouts made it their playground.
While this early reputation has been changed some-
what by man's invasion and occupation, it is still and
will forever remain a place of horror and of peril.

332 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

During the summer of 1883, ^^^ ^ P^^ ^^^^
train and two seasoned dwellers of the desert, we
spent several weeks in the midst of the valley, and in
the regions thereabout, and at the last moment it was
as sullen, mysterious and awful as it was the first
moment when from the summit of the Telescope
Range we looked down into its caverns. It is "the
valley of the shadow of death," and unless the world
shall incline anew upon its axis, so as to give to it a
new altitude and climate, it will remain a desolate,
perilous region of despair. During our trip the heat
ranged from 100 degrees at midnight to 125 degrees
in the shade, during all hours of the day. Men travel
here before dawn and after sunset, for the burning
rays of the sun scorch like a furnace flame. Over
the summit of the Funeral Mountains, that rise along
its eastern rim, the sun leaps into the sky in the early
morning like a ball of fire, and shoots its tongues of
flame into the quivering air, and he is wise who before
this hour has sought the protecting shade of the
mesquite grove or "the shadow of a great rock in a
weary land." Its sky is the home of vultures, foul
lovers of putrid things, always visible in groups cir-
cling through the blue and blotting the sky as an ulcer
blots the beauty of a human face. They keep a
terrible vigil over the range of the entire valley, and
no moving thing ever escapes their unerring eye. They
know the chances of life and death to all, man and
beast alike, who brave these desperate regions, and
as soon as they discover the presence of a living thing
moving, they follow it day by day until it either yields
to them a dead body or escapes beyond them.

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 333

An intrepid explorer, W, L. Hunter, recently de-
ceased, who lived at Lone Pine while we were there,
a brave, true, intelligent, resourceful man, told us that
he seerned always obsessed by Death Valley, that it
fascinated him, and that he could not resist the desire
at times to brave its terrors and explore its mysteries.
More than once he had almost a marvelous escape
from death. He told us of one time when he drank
from a poisoned spring whose deadly waters acted
with sudden energy, leaving him barely sufficient
strength and consciousness to reach and mount his
faithful mule. Once in the saddle, his will failed,
he lost consciousness, and never could recall the
twenty miles across which his mule carried him, to his
home and safety. He told me that he could never
shake ofif the indescribable sense of danger that pos-
sest him as soon as he entered the valley, and that
the prowling vultures that followed him everywhere
seemed to have their beaks in his heart. He was a
man of matchless courage, of great purity of thought
and life, but these qualities were not enough to buoy
his spirit against the awful influences of that deadly
place.

Death is unwelcome to all, except to those who
have drunk the gall of life and eaten the bitter
fruits that grow on the shores of dead seas, but to
any one the thought of death in this charnel house
of the world is horrible. No wonder that men al-
ways become insane before they die here. The brain
of a Caesar could not withstand the strain to him,
who, alone and lost, loses his relation to land and sky,
whose veins are filled with fire, whose bloodshot eyes

334 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

have ceased to be avenues of the mind, who does not
know whether he is man or beast All that remains
is the animal instinct for life and the capacity to suffer
the tortures of the damned. Delusion and fantasy
run riot through every cell of his brain, not the allur-
ing dreams of beauty and quietness that often solace
the dying and bring a smile to whitening lips, but
visions of unutterable horror, to escape from which
he strips from his body every vestige of clothing and
runs and runs in an endless circle until, a shape of
terror, he falls, to die alone in a land as desolate as
the slopes of hell. Skeletons of such are often found,
and invariably they are naked, and there are always
evidences of the circular run. We now recall looking
down into a little level sand waste from the top of a
nearby hill, where one of these had met his death.
It is called to this day Walker's racecourse, because
the victim had on the sandy floor beaten out with his
bare feet a track around which he raced as IcMig as
he had strength. This track was as perfectly round
as if it had been laid out by a surveyor.

No man can know what thirst is, who has never
been in this desert. It is thirst that kills. Himger
only slowly weakens and one may survive for days,
but thirst grips at the throat, and with a hand of
hot steel beyond resistance. It has no intermediate
paroxysms, first pain and then solace, for it grows with
the moments and feeds like a fire that burns without
stay. Even with abundant water, one is always
thirsty. We remember that on our trip we drank dur-
ing the daytime a gallon canteen of water during
every hour, and we were still unsatisfied. Three of

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 335

us consumed during the average day forty gallons.
Water leaks from the pores as from a sieve and runs
into the body as waters into the sand.

The marvelous diversity of California scenery is
illustrated by the Yosemite and Death Valley. The
Yosemite needs no description, for the world, by pen
and camera, has been made familiar with its features.
Here is abundant life exhibited in valley and summit,
where trees and flowers wave in the breeze and the
voices of waters break the silences. Death Valley is
a burned and twisted spectacle of disaster, so hideous
that it obsesses and fascinates. Looking down into
the deep caverns stretching for a hundred miles from
north to south, between its eastern and western walls
of volcanic mountains, one is compelled to shut the
eyes that he may bear the blaze from its floor of salt
and soda, left by the receding sea when some con-
vulsion ripped the country to pieces and vomited out
the waters that once lapped the feet of the surrounding
hills. The uplift of the valley floor was not complete
in this convulsion, for at Bennett's Wells, in the
center, it still lies two hundred and eighty feet below
the level of the Pacific. It is probable that the awful
forces, that so changed the levels and drove the waters
from their ancient bed, burned and scorched and
melted the mountain ranges into their present distorted
shapes and painted them with the colors of flame. As
the eye takes in the features of this awful landscape,
intensified by the telescopic clearness of a rainless
sky, the mind staggers and halts in its efforts to
master the vision, the senses are submerged by the
inflow of suggestions, and imagination faints in its

336 LIFE OX THE PACIFIC COAST

efforts to fix the picture as a permanent possession
of the mind. It is all too mighty, too stupendous,
for everywhere are piled in the confusion of great
masses the evidences of earthquake and cataclysm,
the uplift and downfall of primeval days when in the
furnaces of God were being cast the ribs of the hills,
fires were transforming equeous into igneous rocks,
and mighty agencies were hammering into form moim-
tain ranges, carving out beds for the sea, and as
servants of the Creator "doing whatsoever He com-
mandeth them upon the face of the earth."

About this awful chasm, all is not terrible. The sky
in lofty arches lifts as a cloudless dome of blue, except
when in the summer afternoons it is piled deep with
continents of clouds; the splendor of these fleecy sky-
lands is beyond description, and, as the evening sun
floods them with light, they glow into a gorgeous
pageant of the sky, from which floats a color stream
into gorge and canyon, illuminating their gloom with
the radiance of orange and purple, mellowing the at-
mosphere with the sheen and shimmer of transforming
hues. In this hour of splendor, scarred cliffs, rugged
summits, mesa slopes and valley floor bum and glow
with supernal beauty. They are festivals of beauty,
and a blind man who could not see must feel that
he is in the presence of matchless phenomena of
the world. We have stood in the midst of this radi-
ance and felt more than once the thrill that ran through
the spirit and uplifted the senses in wordless delight,
as the fascination of the hour descended upon us as
the dew descends upon the face of the rose.

The heated airs often play fantastic tricks along the

DEATH VA1.LEY AND ITS SECRETS 337

horizons, and from airy nothings build cities or spread
out cool seas. The illusions of the mirage are com-
plete, and it is difficult to realize that these visions
are but unsubstantial vapors as unreal as the fabric
of a dream. The southernmost end of Death Valley,
where it opens into the desert regions of Arizona, is
the playground of the mirage, for here, to one who
looks southward from the central parts of the valley,
these mirage effects are daily sights. In these cities
of the sky, temples and palaces stand as if their domes
and towers were of iron and stone, long drawn aisles
of stately edifices fill up the horizons and the magnify-
ing airs give to them extent and majesty. These
illusive cities vary with the rarification of the air.
They constitute one of the marvels of the desert and
add to the mysteries that make it in many respects a
land of enchantment.

We recall an incident connected with the mirage that
was grotesque and amusing, and illustrative of its
magnifying effect. A flock of crows became a band
of Indians, and as they hopped about in crow fashion,
appeared to be hostile and defiant. Two prospectors,
alone in the wilderness of a rocky, uninhabitated mesa,
were alarmed by these threatening demonstrations and
hastily prepared for flight, and would have hastened
from their camp only that the mirage dissolved before
they had packed their burros, and the band of harm-
less crows resolved back from hostile Indians to inno-
cent birds.

Water-views of great extent and beauty are often
spread out between the mountains, their sheen rival-
ing the serenity of the sky, and weary explorers, pant-

338 LTFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

in^ for cool places as a relief from the endless I
are often lured towards the shores of these phantom
waters.

The supreme glory, however, is the great sky at
night when darkness draws her veil across the face of
desolation, and the mountains, a terror by day, lift
into the solemn silence serene and stately monuments,
the massive walls of this temple of the ni^t. Over
all the sky lifts in a curve of splendor, glorious with
its countless stars, shining here with a brilliance un-
seen in fairer places. Constellations march in proces-
sions along their highways: the tangle of the Pleiades
nestles in far-off spaces, and Orion seems close enough
to disclose his belt of light. In the far north, the
steady flame of the Ursa Major throbs like a human
pulse. The glory of the night lays upon the beholder
the spell of silent wonder, and he seems to hear out
of the lofty arch the voice of David, who, in the far-
off Judean deserts, lifted his voice towards just such
a sky, and from an adoring mind, cried aloud. "When
I consider Thy heavens, the work of thy hand, the
moon and stars which thou hast ordained, what is
man that thou art mindful of him and the son of
man that thou visitest him?"

There are found among the hot rocks, curious speci-
mens of animal life that are forcible illustrations of
the effect of environment upon the development of
species. As a boy, one of our sports was to pick out
of the mud in creek bottoms the little mud turtle, a
perfect Liliputian. differing only from the deep-sea
monster in size. These little animals are at home only
in the water, and love to hide in the cool slime of

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 339

streams. They sun themselves on a log or rock during
part of the day, but to water they take as naturally
as the bird to the sky. Thousands of these are found
in Death Valley, where, except from cloudburst or
storm, water seldom falls. They live in the clefts of
the burning rocks, so hot that one can not lay his hand
upon them. They are perfectly acclimated to a dry
and rainless land, and are at home now in the desert.
Their ancestors were dwellers in the water here when
the sea filled the valley, and were left high and dry
when it went out. They were left to fight out the
problem of their survival under new conditions. Ages
have been at work in transforming them until they
are desert dwellers, able to live without water and
seemingly without food, for but little exists in these
wastes to sustain any animal life. They must of
necessity, like the rattlesnake, also found here in great
numbers, be able to live upon the air.

We sometimes ran across a foul and nasty specimen
of life known as the chuckwalla. He is a miniature
crocodile, abhorrent and slimy, polluting the place
where he lives with a sickening stench. He was once
a water animal but has been changed to a dry land
reptile. It may be that his ancestor was of greater
size, and once here wallowed in the muddy shores of
ancient streams. If so, his nature has changed with
his size, for with all his unbearable nastiness he
is kindly and benevolent, and is as harmless as the
gentle little horned toad that homes in the desert under
the shadow of the sagebrush and the cacti.

Sometimes, but rarely, we startled a vicious Gila
monster from his lair, — a desperate reptile, full of

..w. . d

340 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

hate of man. ready always for fight, and whose bite
is said to be invariably fatal, and whose breath even
carries in it death. He has also the crocodile form,
but instead of scales his body has a smooth surface
upon which is spread a varied coloring, rivaling the
rainbow, and scintillating- in its sheen. This rich and
gaudy skin fails, however, to make him an object of
interest, and his reputation for hostility and venom
makes him an object to be avoided. Fortunately, he is
rare, and it is not often that one passing through
the region meets with him. If the ancestor was also
a crocodile, he belonged to a species having nothing in
common with the ancestor of the chuckwalla, for,
except in shape, they are utterly unlike.

The sterile character of the entire region affords no
sustenance for wild animals, and there are none to be
found here except now and then a gaunt and ever
hungry coyote, who sneaks across your trail a starved
specter and lives on his hope of provender, rather than
on its reality. He is a cowardly creature, an object
of contempt, and invites the bullet one instinctively
sends after him, when he is near enough to be reached.
He usually travels alone, more than likely because he
is unwilling to share with a fellow the stray morsel
he may find in his precarious hunting grounds. He
is a fit associate of the vulture that hovers in the sky
above him, as they both are waiting for some dead
thing upon which to gorge. Over a carcass, fierce
battles are often waged between vulture and coyote.

Atmospheric pressure presents one of the series of
phenomena giving to the valley its distinctive char-
acter. One day, on approaching a borax camp at

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 341

Bennett's Wells, about noontime, we asked the man
in charge if we might have something to eat. Of
course, he gave us the usual hearty, cheerful consent
always given on the desert. It was dreadfully hot,
and tying our animals in the shade of a clump of
mesquite trees, we found shelter from the sun in the
little adobe shack in which the man lived. We
sweltered in the close air, and the kindly camper fre-
quently dashed on the sides of the room buckets of
water drawn from the nearby water-hole. This af-
forded but temporary relief, for almost in the throw-
ing- the water was licked up and evaporated. We
noticed that the camper was preparing a pot of beans,
and, knowing that in the higher altitudes to cook
beans required patient hours, we asked him if he in-
tended these for our dinner. He replied "yes," and
we said that we could not stay with him long enough.
He smiled and replied. "You will not have to wait
more than half an hour at the longest." And so it
was, for within that time he set before us a pot of
soft, well-cooked beans from which we made our
hearty meal. On Mt. Whitney, not over eighty miles
away, a pot of such beans could not have cooked in a
hundred years, for the longer they were boiled, the
harder they would have become. This is all due to
atmospheric pressure, and the difference between such
pressure at two hundred and eighty feet below and
fifteen thousand feet above sea-level. We are not
able to say what constant living in so heavy an atmos-
phere would mean to human life. The terrible heat,
of course, rarifies it, and relieves it somewhat from
the pressure it would have in the normal temperature.

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

but from our own experience and the related experi-
ence of others, who had more opportunity for observa-
tion than we. we were led to believe that to dwell
below the sea-level would shorten a man's days and
make him a prey to fatal disorders.

Not long after we had dined with this kind camper,
we heard that he had ended his days by his own hand.
Was he slain practically by his environment? Did
the constant touch of desert things unhinge his mind,
making it incapable of sustaining its relation to ambi-
tion and hope? Did despair tear down the fibers of
the brain and leave his mind in ruins? We can but
speculate, but from what we know of this land of
terror and mystery, we would shrink from a verifica-
tion by personal experience of the truth or falsity of
this possible result, for even animals kept here too
long have gone insane, unable to resist the terrible
influences of the place. We have reason to believe
that a continued living in what we may. for want of
a better term, call "the presence of the desert," will
permanently interfere with the norma! status of a
human being. The place was not made for habita-
tion, and yet now and then are found men who for
years, by some weird fascination, perhaps more nearly
obsession, have lived in loneliness not in the midst of,
but on the borders and in sight of, this abomination
of desolation.

One night while our camp was pitched upon the
slope of the hills which shut in the valley, on the
northern part, below us was stretched, pale in the
moonlight, the long reaches of the fields of borax and
salt. It was a weird, ghostly landscape, and now and

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 343

then shifting shadows seemed to play across the dead
face of the levels. These shadows were not the sport
of moonbeams, suggestive of the imagery of child-
hood, but were massive structures of intermingled
light and darkness, great shapes that seemed to be
the ghosts of the desert let loose to walk the hours
of the night, free to work their will upon the terrible
things about them.

The desert, in whatever land, under whatever sky
stretched out. is an empire of silence, a vacuum in
which Nature seems to hold her breath as if some
stupendous event was in its birth and the pulse of
the world was still in anticipation. Its silence is an
impressive force, for force it is, tho it has neither
weight nor motion. It is a soundless atmosphere,
inert and lifeless. There is a spell in the soundless
air that takes hold of the mind and dallies with the
senses until they are quite uncertain as to what is
absolute and what relative. Nature always preserves
the "eternal fitness of things," and one soon comes
to know that a noisy desert would be an incongruous
creation. Silence is its mood, its spirit, and fits the
desert wastes perfectly, as a robe does the body.

Some things can be felt only: words fail to describe
them. One might as well hope to see a great painting
or to be captivated by the melody of a song by a
mere narrative, as to realize what the silence of the
desert really is from descriptive words. And even
in the desert, voiceless as the days are, one must He
down under the sky at night and hearken in vain to
the song of a cricket, the rustle of a leaf, the far-off
thrill nf some bird of the night, before upon him falls

344 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

the full consciousness that he is in a land whose lips
are dumb, and whose life is speechless. Such nights
we knew and we felt in our efforts to hear some sound
as tho our ears were sore and strained, and, as the
endless strain kept on, we wondered if the fault were
not ours, and that we had lost the capacity to hear.
Of this fear we were relieved often by what seemed
to be the steady beat of a base drum, and as the sound
waxed louder, we wondered more and more if we
were not the victims of some delusion; but it was
not so, for what we heard was at last found to be the
steady beat of our own hearts. This statement will,
more nearly than any other illustration, make under-
stood how deep the silence of the desert is. In this
one thing the desert has a lone rival — ^the grave.
There is a spirituality and uplifting strength in this
spirit of lonely places, and many a lofty soul has in
all ages been ripened in these vast halls of silence.

The wonder of our youth was why prophets were
always associated with deserts, why in the loneliness
of silent wastes they ripened in spirituality. This
wonder would have remained, had we not become
familiar with the desert by days spent in their dread
places, and by lonely watches through their noiseless
nights. We felt its mysterious presence and became
familiar with that indefinable spirit which at all times
broods over it. These lessons were lessons of the
spirit beyond the touch of mere physical forces. Men
may walk among the stars, search out the secrets of
the ages when the mountains were uplifted and the
seas were spread out between the continents, trace
with acairate surety the evolution of species and be-

DEATH VALLEY AND ITS SECRETS 345

come the masters of physical forces, but this power
ceases when they reach the shore-line of the spirit.
We may dream and hope, but like the lights of the
sky in early morning, the mood of the spirit can not
be caught or interpreted by philosophy or science.
One soul can not interpret to the other the verities of
the eternal. There is one place in the universe where
the soul is alone, and that is with itself.

We know now, after our wanderings in the desert,
why the prophets were driven into them for their
education. The waste, the endless silences, vast
vacuums, into which we speak with no return, drive
us inward: the inductive faculties are quickened and
we stand face to face with ourselves.

There are times when these still places are terrible
with the rush of mad winds, the dash of turbulent
water-spouts and crash of deafening thunders, and
the stab and flash of lightning, when the desert seems
at war with its limitations of climate and altitude,
that handed it over to desolation, and keeps it in
bounds that it can not break, ever a dreary, silent,
lonely land.

We learned to love the desert and the chief pleasure
of a continental trip now, and ever since, has been
the opportunity we have, from a Pullman window,
to look again upon its scarred but fascinating face.

One night, from out the deeps of the desert, we
heard the song of a bird. Within sight, the
summit of Whitney lifted into the starry deeps
of the midnight its fifteen thousand feet of
rock and snow, emphasizing the desolation of the
smitten lands. We could not sleep, for the spirit

J M

346 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of the desert was upon u&— that sense of mystery
ever a part of it, personified by the hand which carved
the face of the Sphinx forever looking out over the
Sahara across a waste of sand. Across the cloudless
heavens the constellations marched in mighty proces-
sions, brilliant with that flame which comes to them
only in that rainless land. Suddenly, as the world
swung upon the axis of midnight, an hour always
marked in the desert, by strange movements in earth
and air, akin to the movement of one who turns in
a restless sleep, into the sky rose a song pure and
sweet, enriching the silence with melody. A solitary
meadow lark, by some mysterious instinct, had found
here her nest, and moved by some occult influence
poured into the sky her joy in an exultant song. There
was something spiritual in the song of this happy-
throated bird, and our spirit responded to it Never be-
fore had we so felt the divinity of all things. Our life
was enriched by the song of that bird. Moral excel-
lence seemed to be emphasized by it, and often since,
when cast down, we h^ve turned to that midnight song
to be inspired anew.

We have described this little bird and her song in
the night many times, and a friend of ours recently
passing through the desert, wrote:

"I thought of the song of the bird in the night, and
I understood the beautv as never before."

Chapter XIX

A SUMMER JAUNT IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

rr^ HE Sierras, before they lose themselves in the Mo-
-^ jave Desert, rise to an average elevation of twelve
' thousand feet, from which at various points lift peaks
several thousands of feet higher, — Lyall, Williamson
and Whitney in the latitude of Mono and Inyo Coun-
ties are chief of these, and were they not part of the
genera! range, as a mass, where it towers over the
lands at their base, would command attention from
the lovers of mountains, who find exhilaration in the
lofty upheaval of cliff and summit. The eastern and
western slopes of the Sierras, in the latitude of
Nevada County, where the Central Pacific Railroad
crosses them, stretch out for miles, and unless one is
told, he would never know just when the summit is
reached, except he noticed carefully the flow of the
streams or the increased speed of the cars on the
downward grade. Those who have crossed on the
railroad at this point will remember the long climb
begun at Rockhn in Placer County, on the western
slope, and the equally long descent on the eastern
slope, ending just before reac'^ing Reno in Nevada.
This distance is piled with a gr<.-t breadth of high-
lands tangled into mountain shapes .f majesty, and
347

I

348 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

relieved by woods and streams, — wild, rug^d places
of beauty, white with snows in winter and abloom
with flowers in the springtime and summer. To the
traveler, weary with the almost endless miles of dreary
desert, this is a fairyland, and with increasing
delight he looks over the tops of nearby summit lines
on to loftier and higher hills that climb and tower
until in the far-off horizon, in the mellow lights of
perfect skies, they bound the landscapes with "delect-
able mountains." These are the swiftly dissolving
views of the high Sierras from a Pullman window
and nothing but the general effect is visible as the
cars rush down the swift slopes, plunging through
snowsheds and diving through tunnels, and sweeping
around the acute curves of the high per cent, grades.
To the quality of the imagination must be left the
things that lie nestled in the heart of this great empire
of wonder and beauty — slopes of forest; cool and
fragrant beds of blossoms ; lakes whose limpid waters
rival the color of the mirrored sky; streams that
laugh and leap and sing in the abandon of the glori-
ous wilderness they make sweet and beautiful. These
are visible only to him who leaves the railroad and
with patience and direction seeks out the coverts in
which they hide.

As the great mass dives southward towards the
Mojave Desert, where it halts as if hesitant to invade
the Kingdom of Silence and Desolation, it puts on
new shapes, — beauty is exchanged for majesty, and
as from some commanding summit the eye takes in
so far as it can the bulk first and then the details,
the head swims with the survey of the tremendous

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

shapes that crowd the field of vision, reaching on and
on into the distance, summit after summit, range after
range, peak lifting over peak, until the whole world
seems to be built of mountains, great sublime piles
of rock rising out of the foundations of the world.
These massive piles are not bare of adornment, for
to the lines where the eternal snows defy the sun,
woods crowd the slopes with a mantle of variegated
green, whose leaves shine in the sunlight and under
whose shade ferns and flowers make beautiful the
nooks where they find life during the sunny hours of
the summer. From out the higher slopes melting
snows send down pure waters that leap from fall to
fall, or spread out into pools, whose cool deeps
are the home of the trout. If it were not so grand
and majestic, it would be called a land of enchant-
ment, but it is too big for such phrases and only words
that are fit to express great things, of power, strength
and majesty, are to be used in describing them.

We know this land of wonder for in the late sum-
mer of 1883, after our return from Death Valley and
the sere, dead desolate things that make up its sceneries,
we sought relief from the strain by two weeks of life
here, wandering at will, climbing peaks, descending
into valley levels, casting our hnes into its lakes and
streams, and generally abandoning ourselves to the
alluring idleness that seems to possess one when he
enters into the quiet and fragrance of the soaring alti-
tudes that lie just under the sky.

West of the summit of the Sierras, just over the
high line where they rise for more than twelve thou-
sand feet above the sea, and more than eight thou-

350 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

sand feet above the Owens River Valley, from the
base of Mount Whitney to the head waters of Kings
River, for a distance of more than forty miles, flows
Bubb's Creek, foaming along over its rocky bed, leap-
ing its falls and cataracts, resting at times in serene
stretches of quiet waters. The name is not musical,
and the intrepid tourist, who now and then is lured
by the fame of the region and climbs into it, wonders
how the stream flowing through so wonderful a region
and having its birth in the snows of one of America's
noblest mountains, and at last bearing its waters into
another stream historic, for Bierdstadt, the great
scenic painter of America, and Muir, the renowned
lover of the Sierras, have made it immortal by brush
and pen, should have so ordinary a name. We know
why, for years ago in San Francisco, we became ac-
quainted with old man Bubb, for whom the stream
was named. We met him when he had come to the
city to spend the winter, as he usually did when the
deep snows and extreme perils from storms in those
high altitudes made life impossible in the winter
months. His Christian name we have forgotten, for
he was known always as "old man Bubb." We first
saw him in 1871, but years before he had made his
summer home in this wild region, living alone for
months, seeing no human being, and having for com-
panionship only the wild animals that in freedom
roamed through the forest at will, without fear of
man. He built in a magnificent environment of crag
and cliff, sheltered in the heart of a noble group of
pines, a log cabin, to which during the early summer,
for many years, and until his death, he returned. He

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

was a quaint soul, a rugged, silent man, but
and kindly. He had a fine mind, but except to his
friends, of whom he had only few, as such men usually
have, he was slow of. speech. There was one thing,
however, which he was always ready to discuss, and
of which he never seemed to be tired, and that was the
glories of the mountains and the grandeur of what he
always called his home.

We were fascinated by his glowing descriptions,
and while he gave us a longing to see the splendid
things of which he spoke with such eloquence of lov-
ing words, we did not then hope to see them, for it
seemed as though they were as far off as if in another
world. When he died we do not know, but we re-
member that one winter he failed to appear in his
usual city haunts, and we never heard of him again.

During this trip, of which we now write, we sought
his old cabin, faHing in ruins, battered and beaten
down by the awful storms that rage here during the
tempestuous winters. The weight of snows had
broken In its roof, and the rot of the years was eat-
ing up its wall of logs. His memorial is the great
creek that flows through this land of wonder, and
no monarch of the world has a monument to perpetu-
ate his memory as splendid as this lone recluse of
the wilderness, whose passion for the solitudes led
him from the noisy life of cities to solace his spirit
with the communion he had with nature in this ante-
chamber of the Almighty. If some desperate heart-
ache drove him into these solitary wilds, he made no
sign. No man knew whether by accident or design he
first alone made his way into the pathless woods and

351 ^^M

genial ^H

tn Viie '

I

i

352 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

set his habitation within their shades. We often
wondered, as we looked into his eyes, in which always
lurked the pathos of a heart that knew the gnaw of a
"lifelong hunger at the heart," and when he did not
know he was being observed, we saw the curves that
cut into the brow and cheek lines of the face
of "a Man of Sorrows and acquainted with grief."
Whether sometime, somewhere, some woman's hand
had torn the fibers of his heart, perhaps unconsciously
mutilating his life and making havoc with his years, —
who knows? Such things have been; such things
will be.

At Independence, the County seat of Inyo, we
sought an outfit of mules and guide. There is only
one approach to the creek from the eastern side of
the Sierras in this altitude, and one wishing to make
the trip must be sure of the guidance of one who
knows surely this one avenue, the last leg of which
13 a short canyon that leads from the table-lands down
to the creek. For much of the way from Independence
a rough, faint trail guides one, but before the last
shoulder of the mountains is reached, this trail is
often obliterated by the shale and rock that the winter
avalanches carry across it.

After some inquiry we found a woman guide who
owned a train of pack mules, who with her late hus-
band had made frequent trips into the Bubb's creek
country. She was a hardy mountaineer, fond of the
excitement of mountain life, and was as glad as we
were for an opportunity to make the trip, and she
gladly placed ten pack mules and herself as guide at
our disposal without cost. We needed men, and soon

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

found a couple of hardy tributors, who were more
than wiUing, also without cost, to give their services
and time for an opportunity to fish in the lakes and
streams with which the region abounds.

One bright August morning found us ready, with
five mules packed with provisions, bedding and sup-
plies, and five more ready for the mount, and with
a shout and a handwave to the well-wishing crowd,
we were off. We sang and shouted in the abandon
of the hour, with hearts beating strong, pulses thril-
ling in rhythm, and nerves that made living a delight.
With us were several gentlemen and ladies who were
to go to the first camp, and after a couple of days
and nights would return, leaving us to climb higher
and beyond into the heart of the mountains.

Our trail led up a sloping mesa until it entered a
long, wide canyon that opened out into the valley. A
wild stream dashed down over boulders piled in its
bed and gave motion to the scene. It was an exquisite
hour and beautiful place, and to a perfect physical
harmony was added the exultation of the spirit.
From off the high summits, not far distant, there blew
across our faces the morning airs, sweet with the
breath of pines and the aroma of mountain blossoms.
The ascending sun filled the depths of canyons and
gorge with radiance and painted the snowy peaks
with gold. There were happy birds that homed
here, and, as if they were as happy as we, filled the
sky with song. Such glorious hours are not possible
to those who cling to cities and find their joys in the
corridors of hotels and foyers of theaters and the light
and folly of the night. They come only to the up-

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lifted soul capable of interpreting the mysteries of the
heart in the face of a flower as wonderful as the sweep
of a comet through the arches of the universe. To
these exalted souls the speech of the woods, the voice
of the stream, the utterances of the myriad voices of
minor insects and the song of birds are the voices of
the everlasting power and beauty of creation. Our
hearts ache at times as we stand on the city streets,
and there pass back and forth before us the endless
throng of the blind and the dumb.

Just below the apex of the range, we came in the
mid-afternoon to a cup-like hollow containing several
acres carpeted with green grasses and beautified by
beds of many-hued flowers. It was known as Onion
Valley — another misnomer. It was an exquisite spot,
high up on the mountains. A stream of clear water
tumbled into it, over the granite wall that rose sheer
several hundred feet in height — a noisy waterfall that
enlivened the scene by its dash.

From an elevated platform we looked out over the
levels of the valleys, on toward Arizona and Nevada,
into a landscape of mountains that in great procession
filled the horizons as far as the eye could reach, range
rising on range, a land of stone, bearing on its face
the scars of turbulent ages, when the world was build-
ing. The lofty sky was cloudless, and a great calm
rested upon the scene like a benediction. Here we
cast our tents, fascinated and satisfied, Our animals
were soon reveling in the rich grasses of a virgin
pasture, and we sat down to dream and to watch
the lights and shadows of the glorious afternoon play
hide and seek among the peaks and canyons that made

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

up the slopes. It was no time or place for speech, for
the delicious sweetness of the camp thralled the senses
and touched the emotions, as a master touches the
keys of a great instrument. Silence was our best
contribution until a sweet-voiced g^rl, moved by the
unutterable beauty, softly sang, "Some day we'll
wander back again," to which our reverent and de-
lighted hearts answered "Amen."

The night fell upon us with a thrall of the stars,
the great moon and the glory of the moonlight moun-
tains. For two free, gladsome days we just lived.
Behind us we had left the tumult and the care, and
for a time knew what life could be when one was
absolutely free from the weight of responsibilities. As
to all enticing human things comes the end, so came
the end of this adventure, and on the morning of the
third day we broke camp, and bidding our companions
good-by, began our climb toward the summit. So
abrupt do the mountains rise here, that a couple of
miles brought lis to the apex of the range where the
trail crossed the summit, so clear-cut that while the
front feet of our mules were on the western slope,
their hind feet were still on the eastern— where a
drop of rain falling upon a sharp rock and cut in
two would divide, one-half to fall back into the desert
and the other half to lose itself finally in the waters
of the far-off Pacific.

A glance backward to the mighty sweep of the
desert range, with a rod or so of advance we were in
the midst of a world as different from that we had
left as if it were upon another planet. The view was
of endless shapes of rock, measureless miles of pines.

^

356 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

tbe sheen of lakes, the silver of streams and piles of
summer clouds — a great panorama of nniiihabited
spaces, whose vastness made us bold our breath as
its majesty suddenly unrolled before us. We seemed
at times giddy with tbe sense of soaring through tbe
high heavens and instinctively clutched the boms of
our saddles to steady ourselves against a momentary
weakness. We stood upon the threshold of a kingdom
of mi^t and power and splendor. The desc^atioa,
the mutilation, the scorching airs and the silences of
Death Valley were forgotten, except for the wonder
that within a distance of less than one hundred miles
could exist such vastly dissimilar creations, — such con-
trasts of Nature, one the antithesis of the other, and
yet both equally great and compelling. The marvd
of it all is that from the summit, where we crossed,
one could at the same moment look into tbe heart
of each.

Is there any land or latitude, such as California,
where multitudes and variety — things delicate and
stupendous — appalling and alluring — winsome and
awful — are tangled together almost within the same
horizon? The vast sweep of the sky above us and
the far-off sky-lines are not the least of the great
things that made up the wonderful scene that was
before us.

A half hour of inspiration, and down the trail we
rode into the bosom of a valley closed in by walls of
granite, darkened by the shadows of the dense forest,
and beautified by a clear blue lake. It was another
ideal spot, and as the sun was sinking behind the
western mountains, we pitched our tent and settled

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

down to further hours of content and dreams. Like
the desert, the mountains have a presence and a spirit,
which seem to the sensitive human spirit an intelli-
gence which seeks to speak through manifold lips, to
disclose its secrets, and to make audible the silence
seldom broken except by the scream of the eagle, the
loo of the deer for its fawn and the whistle of the
bird for its mate.

The spell was irresistible, and one can not shake off
its influence, for it will have its way, and he is wise
who yields and lets his senses drift at will until they
become fully in touch with the indefinable something
that at least counts for enlargement of mind and heart.
This attitude is like unto one who has to learn a new
language before he can understand its poetry and
song. We felt this influence first in the little valley,
and while we were in the flush of perfect health and
our nerves were hke steel wires, a profound sadness
seized us and would not be denied. We lifted eyes
of inquiry to the things about us, but they were as
inscrutable as the face of the Sphinx. TJie squirrel
in the tree-top, the bird on the wing, the lights and
shadows through the trees suggested no solution. It
must have been the weight of the tremendous things
about us that bore down the senses, for it seemed
to be a growing pain of the spirit striving to grow
large enougli to be worthy of the visible glory.

The mood of that afternoon worked into our
minds, and to this day, when we recall the time and
the scene, the law of relation works and some of the
same peculiar loneliness seems to descend upon us.
it had some psychological basis. The little blue lake

3s8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

was alive with myriads of mountain trout, and our
men and woman guide put in the hourd fishing^. The
trout is by nature a wary thing, and these we found
no exception. It was not because they had learned
by the presence of fishermen the danger, for seldom
were these wilds visited by those to whom the sport
of the fisherman was a pastime. They were true to
their instinct, and a shadow on the water, the fall of
a hook on its surface, sent them flying to safety beycxid
the radius of the line. Our men were, however, skilled
in their craft and familiar with the habits of these
cunning fish, and so were able before the set of sun
to land enough to give us a fine meal. The cold, clear
waters had hardened the flesh of these fish, and made
them delicious provender for a lot of hungry men
whose appetites had been whetted by the day's climb
and toil. A king's feast would not have equalled our
supper, cooked as only those used to mountain camps
can cook. It was a fine hour and our dining-room a
royal one.

The night had drawn its curtain about our camp
and a pleasant pine-log fire filled the nearby woods
with fleeting lights and shadows. There was witchery
in it all. There was gladness in the comaraderie of
our spirits, from which for the time had fallen all
disturbing things, and there was in the heart the joy
of those who have forgotten the strife and jealousy
of life. We talked and laughed and sang as we ate
the simple fare made delicious by abundant hunger.
You, who love the cafe and grill, electric light, the
cocktail and the champagne, are welcome to them,
but for us are the wild woods, the camp fire, the sweet

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

waters, and the companionship of true comrades sit-
ting about a Spartan feast. We thrilied with the
charm that has so often lured men from the centers
of the world, from the glitter of society with its mani-
fold opportunities, from noble careers, even, to seek
the peace passing understanding, that abides in soli-
tary places, severed from the passion and strife of
modern civilization.

It has been written that it is not a good thing for
man to be alone. This philosophy is relative only,
for it is the loneliness only of an inert life that leaves
its mark upon the mind. The story of John Muir's
life in the Sierras, where he grew from mediocrity to
greatness, the experiences of Audubon, who wandered
for years in the depths of Eastern woods, the wise
lover of its winged dwellers, refute the statement.
They sought for and found the beauty of the world
in the pathless woods, and grew in strength, both
mental and moral, upon the majesty of the great
spaces wherein the mountains are set as monuments.
They learned that. "To him who in the love of Nature
holds communion with her visible forms, she speaks
a varied language."

There was in the chill of the night a freshness that
intoxicated. We filled the lungs with deep, sweet
draughts of mountain air, untainted by the poison of
the city. The pine trees distilled from their resinous
needles healing perfumes. Soon the influence of the
night had its perfect work and we grew silent, yielding
at last to the languor that woos one in perfect health
to a dreamless sleep, and the light of the fire was
reflected upon the faces of five sleepers in absolute

36o LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

peace, so exquisite that even the splendor of a glori-
ous sky had no power to tempt or disturb. What
wonder that the worn invalid, weak and pale from
his conflict with disease, who is wise enough to seek
these sanitariums of nature, finds again perfect health,
nerves calmed, lungs cleaned, heart steady, and blown
from the brain all of its disturbing dreams.

At the dawn following this glorious night, the dwel-
lers of the mountains awoke, and from the tree-tops,
waving in the breeze came the song of birds, sinless
warblers voicing praise for life unto that Creator
whose care is so infinite and personal that not a
sparrow falleth to the ground without His notice.
From invisible perches floated out a multitude of voices
wherein the morning was made eloquent, and as the
ascending sun shot its shafts of light through vibrat-
ing leaves and quivered on the face of the lake, we
gathered together our packs and soon were on the
trail again for descent further into the heart of this
domain where every step was a revelation of un-
matched splendor.

Great things are achieved only by great effort.
There is no royal road even into the Kingdom of
Heaven and it is written in the Scriptures that few
tread the rocky trails that lead unto it. There are
many Kingdoms of Heaven in this material and mis-
understood world, but no man ever reached one of
them except by toil, travail, and self-sacrifice. The
road is narrow and hard, and therefore the multitudes
prefer the broad, smooth-paved highways that lead to
ease and satiety,

We found the trail before us no exception to the

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS

rule, and more than once during the day we were
compelled to unpack our mules and carry up to more
level places their loads. These almost impassible parts
of the trail were over ledges of rock, leaning at swift
angles, and slick and slippery from the polish of
ages of friction. It was a difficult feat for our mules,
without packs, to cling and climb over these hard
places, but they did climb, and upon higher level we
were able from the new platform to look still further
into the heart of the eternal hills.

The climbing of rocky ledges was not the comple-
ment of our difficulties, for there lurked in seductive
levels new dangers, and before we were aware we
found a couple of our animals, upon which were
■ packed our blankets and bedding, mired in the slime
of a mountain morass, formed by the percolating
waters of nearby minor glaciers. This situation was
more serious than the rocky heights of the trail, for
the frightened mules floundered until our blankets and
bedding were wet and muddy, and it was no easy
task to extract them and their loads, for there was
no fulcrum upon which to base our lever of relief.
It was a question of do something quick, and, up to
our waists in the mud, we unslung our packs and
pulled and hauled and turned the struggling mules
until by main strength and awkwardness, we landed
them upon firm ground. We repacked them and sat
down to rest and devise a way of escape from further
disaster, for the morass extended on between high
walls enclosing a little valley which seemed impos-
sible to scale. We were not the first, however, who
had met with this disaster, and with patient search-

4

362 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

ing we discovered the prints of hoofs leading up a
crevice in the north wall, and we knew that what had
been done, we could do, and with infinite toil we
worked our way on to the heights above, and
scrambled and stumbled along until we found our way
back again to the trail beyond the treacherous morass.
We were but a short way now from the canyon
that led down into Bubb's Creek. While we were
congratulating ourselves upon our good luck, we noted
a troubled expression upon the face of our guide and
that her eyes bore the shadow of a disturbing indeci-
sion, and we said to her, "What is the matter now?"
She replied, "We have lost the trail, I can find no
trace of it anywhere." We cheered her up and said,
"Oh, no, you could not lose the trail; the trail has
lost you, and you will both come together again." It
was a grateful smile that illuminated her rugged face,
for she was not beautiful, and she said, "You people
rest here and I will explore." She was in command,
and we obeyed. Down the slope she hurried with her
eyes glued to the ground, except now and then when
she would stand still and study the peaks and slopes
about, seeking, like a mariner approaching a coast,
for some headland by which on previous voyages he
had steered safely into port. An hour or more she
spent in this patient search, and she covered more than
a mile of distance. Just as we began to harbor a
little doubt, for the day was fading into the late after-
noon, we heard her faint shout, and her waving arms
told us to come on. Over the surface of loose rock
we worked our way, to find where she stood the weU-
worn trail. She had been right, and the trail had lost

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 363

her instead of her losing the trail. An avalanche had
for more than half a mile buried the trail under its
debris, that was all.

Here we desire to make a part of literature, so far
as this book may become such, the courage, skill and
kindliness of this simple woman, a daughter of the
wilds, uncouth in manner, rude at times in speech, but
of heroic mold and with a generous soul. There
was about her a certain dignity which lifted her into
the deferential consideration of all of us, her comrades
on this great trip into a great domain. She was
certain of herself always, knew where she was, knew
what to do, and how to do it. Through her guidance
and suggestion we were able during two weeks, with-
out waste of time or distance, to take in the glorious
things that make this lonely but sublime wilderness
the most wonderful place of all the wonderful places
of California.

From the discovered trail we descended through
the little canyon which leads down from the high lands
to the level of Bubb's Creek, and before the day died,
we were camped upon its banks— -and what a glori-
ous place it was! No pen can describe it, for no
mind could put its glories into language worthy of
the theme. We spread our blankets for the night
at the foot of a wall of granite four thousand feet in
sheer uplift, so perfect that when we rested our tired
heads against its base, we could lift our eyes to its
apex. Could words make any reader understand
what such a wall of granite is, nearly three-quarters
of a mile in height, a sheer, clean uplift of rock. The
shadows began to gather about us, and we drifted in

364 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

the glorious environment to the dreams of what the
white hght of the coming day would reveal unto us.
We awoke from our dreams at dawn, — and such a
dawn ! The East was hidden by the great wall of rock
that formed the background of our royal sleeping
place, and we could not see its glory, but we knew
that there were splendid colors there, for over our
heads streamed great pinions of light, long shafts that
shot their glory into the hearts of the clouds crown-
ing the heights beyond us in the West, framing the
headlands on whose stony brows, from Creation's
dawn, eternal snows had held their life against all
the battles of the sun — fleecy clouds, great continents
of white, loosely floated into the blue, changing each
moment like a drilling regiment on parade, and as
they shifted took on new shapes and piled into the
higher heavens — visions of one of Nature's marvels,
and pure as the soul of a child. Thus the day opened
and brightened from dawn until the whole stupendous
mass of mountains, the intervening canyons, dells and
coverts, were overflowing with the fulness of noon,
and the great sun sailed into the zenith, melting the
clouds, disclosing the faces and ridges and near glories
of the most wonderful groups of scenery in the heart
of the High Sierras. Here there was mass, range
and beauty, which first stuns, then moves to tears,
and then lifts the spirit into its first real appreciation
of the Mind that could dream of such and of the
creative hand that, in the warp and woof of building
forces, could give them such shapes of unutterable
beauty. We can hint only at it all. Seldom, in the
presence of things that are really great, are we able

IN THE HIGH SIERRAS 365

to take in at first the great beauties. The mind must
be stirred out of its normal conditions, exalted by
the quickened imagination, and into it all must be
poured the very richness of our spiritual endowmwit.

Splendor floods the mind and we grow as we look.
This was our mood on that first morning on the
banks of Bubb's Creek. A description of our camp-
ing ground and the views from it will best expose the
wonders of this glorious mountain he^rt, silent, su-
preme, masterful, where from the shadows of deep
canyons there towered into the empire of the sun
peaks set in the swing of the world, headlands stand-
ing out into the reaches of distance, impressive, grand
and lonely in their mighty solitudes.

In the foreground a wild, rock-walled valley, dark
with the tangled shade, rested the eyes, which grew
dim at times with the endless vision of the far-ofif
mightier thing. Down through these sunless woods
leaped and dashed the great creek, almost a river in
its volume of waters. Just a mile away in front of
us were three perpendicular cliffs akin to the one at
whose base we had set our camp. Out over the sky-
lined rim of these, three great waterfalls, neither less
than twenty-five hundred feet in height, sprang into
the air and swayed like long ribbons into the valley
below. The distance was so great, that as these falls
swayed in the breeze like delicate laces, they lost the
solidity of their first outleap and dissolved into mists.
Now and then the breeze swayed toward us and we
caught the faint splash of waters, evanescent voices
full of poetic suggestion. These waterfalls were ex-
quisitely beautiful, and during the days we were at

1

366 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

this camp of the gods, many an hour we spent, lying

as if in a trance, against the granite battlements of our
camp, and let the delighted senses sway and drift with
the falling waters.

There are times when men hunger to be great, and
this was one of my hours of such hunger. If I could
only make visible to others the marvel and beauty of
these waterfalls and their environments. I feel that I
would not have failed in some moral contribution to
mankind. It is not true always that the will is equiva-
lent to the deed. The traveler who comes to Califor-
nia, expecting to view its marvels from the window
of a Pullman, will he disappointed. Its real glories
are hidden in almost inaccessible places, and climbing,
weariness and discomfort are the price one is com-
pelled to pay, and he who is not willing to pay the
price will be denied.

In the depths of the great canyons in this region
there are trees that flourished when Rome was mis-
tress of the world ; when Demosthenes was delivering
his immortal orations in Greece; Homer singing his
songs for the Immortals: Cresar throwing away his
empire for a woman's smile; Antony toying with
Cleopatra in Egypt, wasting the hours of empire in
dalliance, "drinking the Libyan sun to sleep and then
lighting lamps that outburned Canopus." Christ was
in his cradle in Bethlehem more than eighteen hundred
years after the tiny seedlings of these majestic mon-
archs of the forest lifted their heads to the morning
dews and the silence of the Sierra hills.

A week of glorious days we spent here, days of
rest to mind and spirit — days we will not forget—

J

TN THE HIGH SIERRAS 367

days whose peace and beauty were engraved into our
life, immortal days made of golden hours. Things
fragile and delicate are often the attendants upon
those of power. Here in the shadow of the cliffs
towering toward the sun, we found blossoms peculiar
to these high altitudes, living only in the short sum-
mer, ferns waving their arms In great fan-like shapes,
or nestling at the base of protecting rocks, most ex-
quisite members of the same family, fine as a maiden's
hair. This floral and fern life constitutes one of the
most attractive sights, for it seems a paradox of
Nature that in places 'given over so frequently to
storm and tempest, there should come and flourish
flowers brilliant in color and perfect in form, of abun-
dant richness in quality and quantity. We have al-
ways associated the ferns with the tropics, yielding
their beauty only to the allurement of warm climates.
It seems as if these lofty solitudes are a law unto
themselves, and as if they were great enough to be
and to do as they please. This is manifest in the
atmosphere, for the days had as many moods as a
coquettish girl. Often the cloudless sky, full of the
sun, would in a moment fill with lowering clouds and
the drenching downpour would drive to shelter, and
then as if by magic the clouds would break, and the
cliffs and the peaks and the woods would shine under
the sky without a cloud, from horizon to horizon.

Here we found the grandest fishing ground in
California. The great creek was alive with trout,
and day by day our men caught them by the hundreds.
Often we were compelled to stay the sport, which
would otherwise from excitement have become a

4

n

J

368 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

"slaughter of the innocents." Our guide was a famous
cook. She was an artist in her skill to brown without
burning, and at every meal she piled up before each
of us a heaping plate of these delicious fish. We
feasted like kings for a long week. We were satiated
but not sated ; nothing in this wonder-land could sate.
There could be no weariness, for pure air, perfect
health, excellent spirits, buoyed every sense, and to
be alive was enough to make one happy.

The late summer waned into autumn, and now and
then the clouds warned us by a fall of fleecy snow-
flakes, and so we gathered together our mules, who
had reveled in abandonment among juicy grasses, and
with adjusted packs climbed the trail to the high land
again, and near the noon of a perfect day, from the
last point from which the glorious cavern with its
wondrous views was visible, we turned for one long,
grateful look, and then to its silence and splendor we
left this empire of glorious things, hidden in the
heart of tremendous mountains, whose, breadth and
height had enlarged the measure of our own natures.

Chapter XX

UNIQUE CHARACTERS OF THE DESERT-
MAN AND ANIMAL

rj^ HE law of enviornment has no more illustrative ex-
■^ amples of its operating force than in the make-up
of men and animals who find their home in the sec-
tions where mines and minerals are found. The "hay-
seed" farmer is no more to his manner born than
is the prospector whose instinct for mineral becomes
the habit of his life which controls him as the main-
spring does the watch. No sailor has a more passion-
ate love for the deck of a ship and the swell of the
seas, than the prospector has for the lonely recesses
of the hills and the far-off camps in the mountains.
He is never perfectly at home except when he has no
home; he is a wanderer, it may be with his partner,
for they often travel in pairs, or alone, his sole com-
panion his patient burro, who packs his blankets, his
"grub" and his prospecting outfit. He is a character
always, frequently a man of education, keenly intelli-
gent, resourceful, and of great courage. He may have,
and doubtless has, weak places in his nature, but in
substantial manhood he measures up far beyond the
thousands who are content to hang about cities and
eke out a precarious livelihood among the multitudes,

369

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

to whom dirt, dust and the squalor of foul tenements
are more enticing than the sweet, clean earth, the open
sky and pure waters, where the pulses beat strong with
perfect health and the nerves are like the strings of
a perfectly tuned musical instrument — where to be
alive is a joy.

We have known many of these men, have been with
them on their tramps into the hills and into the desert,
have supped with them by their camp fires, lain down
with them to sleep in the far-off places, and with them
felt the thrill of life free from shadow and care. We
felt the power of things that first attracted these men
to the life itself, and then held them by a fascination
afterwards, led them to forego the ordinary relations
of human beings, to find more in the wilds than com-
pensation for the loss of home, the love of woman,
the prattle of children, the giving up of music, art,
culture and the amenities of social life. To us, of
course, this all seems an awful price to pay, but this
estimate comes only from our standpoints. Life is
always relative, its pleasures and sorrows are never
absolute, and no one, until he has tried both lives to
their ultimate conclusion, is competent to say that the
prospector who lives in loneliness, who has no fixt
habitation, has lost in the swap he has made. Civiliza-
tion, with all of its brilliant opportunities, produces
its scores of degenerates who are never dignified or
clean until they are straightened for the grave. Mod-
ren society swarms with multitudes to whom life is
a dissipation, whose moral perceptions are blurred by
the glare of Vanity Fair, to whom sober moments are

J

UNIQUE CHARACTERS

371

I

unknown, and whose physical passions run riot with
their spirits.

The prospector may be a rude man, uncouth, even
desperate. For lack of better things he may, when in
town, drink himself to the borders of delirium, gamble
away his last dollar and even his outfit, swear and
shout and fight, but he stands always a stalwart figure,
away above the degenerate line, and is ready to slay
the man who dares to accuse him of mean or dis-
honest action. Towards women he is reverentially
courteous, to children kindly, to his fellow generous
to a fault, ready to divide all of his possessions with
him in distress. His moral strength has been molded
and is sustained by the silent communion he has had
when in the silences of the mountains he has held con-
verse with himself; and as he has looked into the deeps
of the sky, while lying alone upon his pallet on the slope
of the mountain, he has seen as a vision the fine moral
relations which should exist among men.

The prospector is almost always "broke." He has
no commercial instincts, and imless he is at last suc-
cessful in finding pay-streak, he is dependent upon
some friend who is willing to "grubstake" him, that is,
to outfit him with the food and supplies necessary
for his simple wants while he is in the field. The
grubstaker for his contribution is to be partner in all
finds. From these partnerships have been derived
some of the colossal fortunes of the West. These
contracts are usually verbal, and it is the history of
the mining world that they are seldom broken. The
average prospector's word is as good as most men's
bond. There have been, and are, exceptions, but judi-

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

cial history discloses but few instances where the pro^
pector was unfaithful to his promise given to the
man whose generosity and hope made it possible for
him to make his searches. The prospector himself is
the usual sufferer, for he has little business acumen,
and if he makes a promising find, is willing to sell
for whatever his wiser partner is willing to pay him,
or to any one who is willing to pay the price.

With this price in his pocket, however small it may
be, the prospector is for the time a rich man, and in-
dulges in the pleasures of the nearby town, or if he
has money enough hies to the metropolis to take in
the gaieties of civilized life. He is of generous mold,
and as long as it lasts, money runs through his fingers
like sand. He has for the time extravagant tastes,
and there is no limit to the indulgences; he feasts on
the best that money can buy, and is satisfied only with
those wines which have the oldest and costliest labels.
He frequents the corridor of the famous hotels and
becomes prominent among the attaches, from boot-
black to barkeeper by his prodigality. He tips with
both hands, and has no time to distinguish between
a ten-cent piece and a ten-dollar gold piece. He gets
into as much of the swim as is open to him and is a
"big fish." He has his day, enjoys himself to the
utmost, and when he finds the bottom of his purse,
with no regrets he turns his back on it all, forgets the
lights, the laughter, the champagne and the "joy
wagon" with its loads of dainty damsels, and the place
which knew him knows him no more — not perhaps
forever, but until in the far-off hills he again makes a
lucky find.

J

UNIQUE CHARACTERS 373

There is no certain chance of success attending his
searches and he may chmb the mountains, thread the
lonely ridges, and hunt and hunt without success.
He takes his chances, and if, forsooth, they be against
him, pursues the even tenor of his way without com-
plaint, the same patient, cheerful plodder, buoyed al-
ways by the hope which "springs eternal" in his breast.

We have not drawn above a picture of the average
prospector or of his general results, rather the excep-
tion out of the great army of such, as have for fifty
years searched the mineral regions of the coast, from
the Arctic circle down into the heart of Mexico. Per-
haps one in a hundred has such an experience. There
are notable examples, however, of such, who having
found the object of their dreams have been wise
enough to hold on and to develop until the find has
grown into a great mine, whose value mounts into
the millions, and with their wealth have entered upon
a financial career at last to rank with the millionaires
of the country. These are also among the exceptions
to prospecting life. It was a maxim of Marvin, the
great horseman who did so much to develop and
frame the marvelous products of horseflesh that made
the Palo Alto stables of Stanford famous throughout
the world, that it took a hundred colts to furnish one
racehorse. From our knowledge of the average pros-
pector, as we have known him in his native wilds,
we surmise that this proportion may be safely applied
to him, it it is not indeed too small.

Hope is the breath of the prospector's life. It sus-
tains him year after year, sends him expectant and
lighthearted again and again into the mountain re-

374 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

gions, and returns with him. his comforter, wben ex-
hausted supplies compel him to seek the towti where
he outfits for his campaign. The spring and sum-
mer are his seasons. During the winter he hibernates
and becomes a familiar figure in the saloons of the .
little mining camps where he is among his friends.
The church and temperance societies rail against the
saloon. We can not say that there is not a basis for
some of the attacks, because in the hands of most they
become pestilential places. But there is, after all.
something to be said in their favor, for they furnish
on the frontier the only place where men like a pros-
pector, with no family, no social relations, no welcome
to the homes of others, can find light, warmth, wel-
come and companionship. Before we rail against
these sole refuges of the homeless man in lonely places,
let us put ourselves in the place of such men, with
their experiences, and measure the moral relations in-
volved. We know whereof we speak, for we have
spent many a night about the warm stoves of these
saloons, when icy winds rocked them, and from which
men had to find a refuge or perish. Many church-
men would marvel, could they have heard the discus-
sions indulged in around these stoves; literature,
science, art and religion were not Infrequent topics,
and many a bright and winning word have we heard
fall from the lips of those frequenters of the frontier
saloon. In cities men go to saloons to drink; not
always so in the desert.

We now 'one winter night we spent with

a group id • ' 's. The topic was

the Bib ^thout, and the

UNIQUE CHARACTERS

warmth and light within were alluring. Now and
then the crowd would step up to the bar by kindly
invitation and "smile," but all through the long hours
the discussion went on and the decorum was as per-
fect as if we had been within a cathedral. One of the
party was a Biblical scholar, and under the influence
of the kindly minds about him, he poured out his
knowledge, now and again halted by some inquiry
that exhibited a pure desire for clear explanation of
some profound question that had disturbed devout
souls for centuries. It was a great night, and we
broke up only when through the windows to our
astonishment there streamed the light of dawn.

When the melting snows on the hilltops indicate
that it is safe to go into the field, the streets of the
outfitting towns become lively with the prospectors
and their burros, getting ready for another try. This
is an interesting sight, which we never tired of watch-
ing. The burro is as much a part of our desert regions
as the camel is of the Sahara, and he has much the
same capacity to endure long hours of travel under
trying conditions, with but little food and less water.
If after a hot day's climb over rocky trails he finds
only a "dry camp" at nightfall, he shows no signs of
distress, and the next day jogs along as if he had been
filled with sweet waters. It is a standing joke of the
frontier that the burro will fatten upon the ham-rags
that the prospector throws away, and even that he
can assimilate the tin cans which he finds about his
camp.

It is quite an art to pack a burro so that he shall
carry the utmost he is capable of carrying, and to

n

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

make all secure by ropes that lash the load to the
pack-saddle or other appliances. Long experience has
made the prospector a master of it, and it is wonder-
ful how much he can stow away upon the back of
his faithful burden-bearer. If there are two pros-
pectors, as there are usually, there are three burros.
It is an interesting sight to see them patiently stand-
ing, sleepy-eyed, before the iittle store, while the
owners gather together the provisions and supplies
for the trip. The average cargo of a prospector's
outfit is made up as follows: a sack of flour, a sack
of beans, a side of bacon, several cans of ground coffee,
a sack of sugar, a bag of salt, a paper of pepper, and
if he is "flush," an assortment of canned meats and
fruit Experience has given to the prospector the
capacity to accurately determine just the amount of
provisions that will last during the intended month
or months that he will be absent and beyond the reach
of further supplies. These are strapped firmly on
one burro; the second burro is the bearer of the
blankets and the other coverings that constitute the
bedding for the trip. Not a great amount of this is
needed, for tlie weather more than likely will be hot,
and the bedding will be needed principally to soften
the hard earth upon which the prospector lies, than
to protect him from the chill of the nights. The
third burro carries the prospecting outfit — tools,
powder, fuse, a few chemicals for testing ores, and
simple cooking utensils. To this may be added what-
ever extra clothing will be required. This last, how-
ever, is quite a small bundle, for not much is demanded
in tlie way of clothing— an extra pair of overalls.

UNIQUE CHARACTERS

a few rough shirts and an extra pair of hobnailed
boots, of thick rawhide, is about the complement of
the extra wardrobe. A bottle or two of whisky,
antidote for snakebites, is likely to be found snuggled
in between the blankets.

At last all is ready, and with a few farewell drinks
at the favorite saloon and a few parting words of
good-by, the prospectors with their trio of burros
strike the trail. The burros are slow moving beasts,
and no persuasive efforts, violent or otherwise, have
the force to move them except for a moment, and
for a rod or so of distance, to increase their pace
beyond their constitutional plod. The burro is cer-
tain but slow. He lacks speed, but is wise in his day
and generation. He knows where he is going and
remembers the heavy climbs and the rocky trails, and
tho he is fresh from the pasture, where he has rested
for months, he does not intend to dissipate his strength
by any spurts of unnecessary speed. He is thoroughly
versed in the philosophy of the scripture, "Sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof," and an average of
about two miles an hour is about his rate of speed.

One, perhaps the chief, quality, of the little homely
burdenbearer, is his loyalty to the camp. He requires
no hobbling or tethering, and once relieved of his
burden, he searches for water and food, always re-
maining within the radius of a circle of which the
camp is the near center. This habit is what makes
him the favorite of the prospector over all other
animals. He is ugly and lazy, but he is loyal. If
there be two prospectors, one leads on the trails and
the other plods behind. This is the unvarying pros-

378 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

pector's procession one so often meets with in the
desert, in the hills and the mountains of mineral

regions.

Another valuable aid to the development of mining"
countries, where roads are scarce and the trails the
only highway, is the pack mule. He is of great en-
durance and a natural common carrier. Over high
mountains, down into deep canyons, along trails that
are full of desperate perils, he carries suppHes to far-
off camps and transports to mills and reduction works
ores from almost inaccessible mines. They are not
the pure-blooded natives of Kentucky, that one sees
in the great mule teams, but a little Mexican with
the capacity to pack over high mountains a load equal
to its own weight and to endure fatigue and priva-
tions that would slay animals of nobler lineage. They
are often dealt with by their owners and drivers with
merciless brutality. We have seen more than once
a whole train, when relieved of their packs, exhibit
hides skinned and scarred with bleeding sores, the
result of careless packing and inequality of balance
in their loads, and once at Lone Pine we saw four
overloaded victims of this damnable cruelty lie down
and die with their packs on their backs. There were
no societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals,
and a protest from a humane onlookei; was usually met
by a profane request to mind his own business.

The capacity of these little animals to carry is some-
thing marvelous. While we were at Lone Pine, there
was in operation on the south side of the Inyo Moun-
tains, down in a deep canyon, a pay mine, at which
was a rude mill. A casting, weighing six hundred

UNIQUE CHARACTERS 379

pounds, was needed there. It was in one piece, and
could not be carried except as an entirety. The ascent
to the summit of the range, four thousand feet above
tlie valley, was so steep that a zigzag saw-tooth trail
had been cut out of the solid rock. No mule except
one that had become accustomed to this dangerous
trail could carry any load at all around the acute
angles, for to make the turn required that the front
feet should be set beyond the apex of the angle, and
then the hind feet worked around, with the fore feet
fixt as a pivot, until the whole body was finally in
a direct line with the trail. These difficult places were
frequently just over the sheer wall of a precipice
hundreds of feet in height, and a false step meant a
slip and a dash to death on the rocks below. The
mule train that carried over this trail were cunning
in their skill to make in safety these perilous turns,
and they overcame the dangers with almost human
intelligence. Such was the trail over which, without
rest, for twenty-five miles, some mule must pack this
six hundred pound casting. The well-nigh impossi-
bility of the act will be apparent from the fact that
three hundred pounds were regarded as the average
load of a mule. At last a little fellow was found that
had never failed, and while he did not very much
exceed in weight the weight of the casting itself, it
was decided as a forlorn hope that if he could not
carry it, it could not be done, and marvelous as it
may seem, he did pack the casting without a minute's
rest from the crushing weight, and delivered it safely
at the mill. We saw him afterwards, and in our
admiration for his powers, we felt like saluting him

38o LIFE ON THE PAC

with uncovered head, and it is but just to say that his
owners, usually cruel to their animals, recognized the
wonderful feat, and he was afterwards the favorite,
and no man could purchase him for any price. The
hard hearts of his drivers had been softened by
admiration of his heroic work.

The riding mule is also a wonderful part of the
desert equipment, and is greatly valued for his capac-
ity to cover distances rapidly without tiring. The best
of these, like all fine things, are scarce, and one has
to patiently search before he finds a good one. They
always command a high price from the poor Mexican
who owns them, — from three to five hundred dollars
a head. The most ignorant Mexican well knows the
value of such a mule, and will not sell, no matter' how
pressing his wants, unless he gets his price. Often-
times, among a band of ordinary mules, one will find
animals of real beauty of form, and of good action.
These, however, are the exception, and the general
average can be bought at all the way from fifty to
one hundred dollars a head, depending upon the com-
mercial sense of the owner and his necessities. The
riding mule is generally an ungainly object, built fre-
quently on the grayhound plan, tall, long-bodied,
deep-chested, and with shoulders and hips knotted
with masses of propelling muscles. One of these, who
more than once bore me over miles of rock and sand,
belonged to a friend who was the superintendent of
a mine situated in the lower end of Pannamint Valley,
eighty miles from Lone Pine. This distance he was
compelled to make in a day, when he came from and
went to the mine. To accomplish these eighty miles

UNIQUE CHARACTERS 381

in a pleasant country with smooth roads, through
cheering landscapes, in presence of orchards and vine-
lands, and under a gentle dimate, would be quite a
feat, if accomplished in ten hours. Tlie marvel of
the feat became apparent when done by this mule
several times a month, over long reaches of hot sand,
tiresome miles of rocky trail, under a burning sun,
where the watering places were twenty miles apart.
We had need of such a mule in our business and tried
to buy this one, but the reply to our endeavor was that
this mule was not for sale at any price. It was not
because she was a thing of beauty, for she was an
ungainly piece of mule-flesh, with white eyes and
pinto hide, and was slab-sided: she looked like a
vicious thing, but was as kind as a Iamb.

As a part of the population of desert towns there
is often a nondescript derelict, without hope or work,
a mere hanger-on of life, satisfied to the full if he
can obtain food enough to stay starvation and whisky
enough to keep his hide stretched. He is like the
lily of the Scriptures in that he neither toils, nor
spins, but it can not be said that he is arrayed like
one of these. Originally he was a prospector or
miner, but successive failure or whisky has dried
up the springs of hope and industry, and he lives only
because the climate is too wholesome to kill him. He
is like the stream in the poem that flows on forever
the men may come and go. He is a perennial and a
component part of the human scenery of every fron-
tier town and camp. How he manages to Hve is an
unsolved problem always to the men who are com-
pelled to work that they may hve. His chief asset

^K pelled to

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

is perfect health; cancer and appendicitis find no fruit-
ful soil in him, and his heart works as steadily as a
piston-rod. He is an illustrious member of that com-
munity in the world that claims the world owes them
a living. Is It possiWe that they are real philosophers,
to whom experience has given the highest wisdom :
that they know that only the fool toils and sweats
and worries in a world where all at last is resolved
back into dust and ashes, and that Harriman's empire,
which cost him his life, is nothing to the handful of
dust that lies moldering in the little six-by-six of
ground in the splendid acres of Arden?

Two remaining factors there are, whose work
makes possible the development of the mines. They
are the tributor and the miner. The tributor is an
independent, the miner is a regular. The tributor
is usually a graduate from the miner community, who
has concluded that to be his own employer and boss
is more agreeable than to be subject to the com-
mands of another. He is intelligent, and, barring a
few of the habits of men without wife, children and
home, is steady and industrious. His field of opera-
tion is in the mines of others, where he works for a
proportion of the ore he produces. He is limited only
by a few rules that prevent him "gouging," that is,
taking out ore without regard to the general integrity
of the mine. To the mine owner, who has not sufficient
means to systematically open up and extend his
underground workings, the tributor is a benefaction,
for in his search for ore without cost to the owner,
and which he makes w^ith great industry and keen in-
stinct, he is working for liimself. He sinks shafts,

UNIQUE CHARACTERS

slopes oiit ore. Thus, as happens frequently, he de-
velops a prospect into a paying mine, and the owner
becomes a mining millionaire.

The real miner who, like the sailor — "once a sailor,
always a sailor" — is once a miner, always a miner,
and in established mining centers is a well-reci^nized
part of the community, a factor in business, political
and social life, for he is most frequently a man of
family witli a home, a good wife and happy children.
Good wages he commands, and by industry, he keeps
his brood in comfort, and after buying a home, puts
a monthly surplus into the bank for rainy days. He
is usually a clean, strong man, competent and brave,
and if he is treated fairly and paid promptly, loyal
to the man for whom he works. One thing he must
have, however, and that is a competent boss, one
who knows his business and who wears a steel glove
under a velvet one. Under such a one, he works
intelligently and cheerfully ; otherwise, he is full of
"grouch" and discontented, and soon throws up his
job. It, therefore, behooves the mine owner to see to
it that his superintendent and foremen are men of
knowledge and force, or all will go wrong and lead
to disaster.

Different nationalities form the great army of
workers in the mining districts, and as a nationality
predominates, a law of natural selection seems to
finally reduce the entire mining population of one
particular place to one nationality, and thus we find
the Cornishman, the Mexican, or the native miner,
grouped into communities and formulating laws and
regulations that, more than any other influence, con-

384 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

trols the situation and fixes the relation that must
exist harmoniously between the owner and employee.
Barring some instances of oppression on one side and
unwarranted demands on the other, the relations that
ordinarily exist and have existed for years between
owner and miner have been friendly and productive of
the best economic results.

Walking delegates have at times disturbed this
harmony, but, like disturbed waters, they have at last
found a satisfactory natural level, and all was well
again.

Chapter XXI

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES

rp HEBE is a magnetic attraction in solitude to some
■*■ minds almost as well defined as gravitation in
physics. This is often irresistible, and the alienist would
perhaps insist that there is in these minds some want of
tone — some rift somewhere, that like a break in a
lute mars the melody, and that they are like "sweet
bells jangled out of tune." This we leave to the
philosopher to whom mental science is a study, to the
psychologist who delves into the secrets of the spirit
and endeavors to peer beyond the brain cells into the
occult influences that move men even against their
wills. The world calls the ordinary-acting man
normal. If, however, the world, that intangible mass,
with its conglomerate confusion of ideas, crudeness
and ignorance, was called upon to define what was
meant by "normal," it would look at you in wild-eyed
wonder and mumble out of its uncouth lips that it
did not know. Scorning its Christs, crucifying its
great souls, waiting for the verification of centuries
before it understands the truth, the world is still ready
to criticize.

We are not able to distinguish between normal and
unusual minds. All that we will attempt to do, is to
set out the story of several lives that we found under

385

386 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

peculiar conditions during our travels from British
Columbia to Mexico, and leave the solution to those
more competent than we to measure the spirit and
fix the exterior boundaries of its thought and feel-
ing. All that we know is that these lives were tragic,
full of mystery, infinitely pathetic. They must have
Iieen lonely: there must have been some soreness in
the heart that made the cheek wan, the eyes sad, the
lips silent. In each instance they were remarkable
men of great mental power, manifold endowments;
were cultivated scholars, graduates from renowned
schools of learning, able to discuss in rare speech
ancient and modern learning, adepts in wisdom, and
gifted to such a degree that as active members of
society anywhere in the world they would have held
high stations among their fellows.

The first of these we knew as a schoolboy at Healds-
burg, where we for a time were a scholar at the then
pretentious agricultural college established and pre-
sided over by Colonel Rod Mathison, — not famous
then, but who became so afterwards as a Colonel in
the Civil War, where he won his rank by heroic serv-
ice, at last to be slain at the head of his regiment in
a desperate charge in one of its bloodiest battles. The
little village was then just emerging from its first
conditions, was growing slowly into shape as a town
with a town's ambitions, hopes and social life. The
outlying country, by the beauty of its sceneries, the
fertility of its soil, was an ideal place for the homes
of those to whom the repose of country life was more
satisfying than the turmoil of cities. Tho the popu-
lation was sparse, and the distances from home tO

^

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES

home long, there were enough to furnish to the Uttle
college a goodly number of youths, male and female,
to pursue studies as everywliere in America, broad
and comprehensive enough to equip the country boy
for any station in life and the country girl, with :i
little after polish, to take her place in the best home
of the land as its accomphshed mistress. Life
was simple and strong; no stern calls then reached
us from the outside, where in after years we were to
strive and suffer defeat and win victories, and while
we worked we did not falter in the serenity of those
schooldays. And at times now, in the stir and whirl
of strife, when we are worn and sore, memory awakens
longings for the old days, the wholesome careless-
ness, the warm friendships and the first loves that
seemed so good because they were so true.

It may seem that all this is a digression, and so it
is ; but would you hope that we could out of the mem-
ory of years, write of things that happened long
ago in the happy places, without stopping just a
moment to let the soul refresh itself with old visions,
just as some wanderer of the world after his circle
of the globe, after shivering among icebergs in the
north, wandering in burning sands of trackless deserts,
fighting his way across unknown wastes of silent con-
tinents, drifting through dreamy days in the islands
of the Southern Seas, stand?; for a moment on
the hilltop behind the old orchard of his boyhood
home and through the mist of tears looks again upon
the old homestead where the moss-covered bucket is
still standing upon the rim of the old well, and the
same honeysuckle still caresses the window through

4

^

388 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC CO,\ST

which the morning sun touched his young eyelids,
and then beyond to the "God's Acre," where a white
shaft lifts above the ashes of his beloved dead.

But sit down with us a moment on the college steps,
for yonder comes "Old Jack," staggering, lumbering
along under his hea^^y load of drunkenness, for when
in town he was always drunk — in fact, that was his
sole business when he came to town. He was just
"Old Jack;" no other name he had, for no matter
how submerged his faculties might be with his cargo
of gin, no artifice would open his lips to a disclosure
of either his name or home. And so for several years
he was from time to time seen by us and talked with,
but remained "Old Jack." He lived somewhere in
the hills of the Coast Range that are tumbled into
high, confused masses in Northern Sonoma, north of
Healdsburg — where no one knew, for in everything
but getting drunk he was as mysterious and silent as
the Egyptian Sphinx, We concluded from a certain
slowness of speech, a certain robustness of frame, the
hang of his body and swing in his walk, and the fact
that he was a graduate of Oxford, that he was an
Englishman. He was made of steel, for under his
slouchy dress and general uncleanliness there were
sinews of a Samson. He was dirty and unkempt,
but he was massive. His shaggy mane, for it could
hardly be called hair, was twisted, tangled and un-
kept, and gave him a sort of lion-Hke fierceness, tho
there were lines visible in his face when it was clean
enough to disclose them, found only in the faces of
men of fin = org3"""tions. There was a

majesty w nness nor drunk-

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 389

enness had power to touch or mar. He was like
a splendid Corinthian column, beautiful even tho it
lay in the mire. There was a fire and sweetness in
his wonderful eyes which were like deep clear pools
when his intellect and spirit stirred him. These lights
and shadows were evanescent, and came and went
as the blush does on the cheek of a pleased maiden.
They were the windows through which the soul of a
rarely gifted man looked forth out of its solemn deeps
upon the visible world, with which it seemed to have
no sjmipathy, no spiritual relations, no moral com-
panionship. It always seemed that his soul was in
ruins, and in this ruin there was something over-
whelmingly awful — the terror of spiritual desolation,
the despair of the immortal that had somehow "sinned
away its day of grace" — a spirit that stood alone in
the universe bracing itself against some terrible fore-

4

We were too young then to know of the terror
possible to a spirit that had fallen from its high estate
and misused its divinity. Experience of life since
has given us some glimpses of this, tho they have
been faint. We still know enough to make us avoid
more knowledge, and we have no desire to become
expert in dissecting the woe of despairing spirits.
Poor Old Jack, long ago (for he was then of middle
age) must have gone over the Great Divide and into
the kingdom where there is a God of mercy and life
everlasting, where he must have found rest for his
weary spirit in the abundance of its perfect peace.
He was a scholar in the noblest sense. In the shades
I of Oxford he had enriched his mind with the learn-

390 LIFE 0\ THE PACIFIC COAST

ing of the world. He was profoundly versed in the
higher mathematics, and no problem seemed to him
anirthing but a toy. The calculation of the coming
of an eclipse, the accurate measurement of distances
between the stars, were to him of easy accompHsh-
ment. In the classics he was as famihar as a schoolboy
with his alphabet. Froni Horace, Homer and Virgi!.
even with his drunken lips, he could quote with per-
fect accent whole chapters. With the finest literature
of the modems he was equally well acquainted, and
was familiar in a wonderful way with the literature
of the Elizabethan age. This was his delight. He
knew Bacon by heart, and from Shakespeare he could
recite whole plays. It was not the parrot-Uke recita-
tion one sometimes hstens to, as a mere feat of mem-
ory, but a discriminating recital in which there was
critical knowledge, love of beauty and the enticement
of wisdom.

He was to us young students a mar\-el. and when-
ever we found that he had come we hunted him up.
lured him to some quiet place, and by a few questions
set in motion his great mind, and drew out of his
storehouse learning beyond value and wisdom withoat
price.

What was the mystery of this man's life — vbaX
untoward fate drove him from the great world of
achievement where greatness was possible for such
as he, to dwell in solitude in the loneliness of the hills,
remote from his kind, by the far cff sea ? Wc often
wttndered whether the wound he sought to hide in the
silence of the wilderness was a wound of mind or
heart; what sorrow he sought to foi^t in the solace

I

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 391

of a dmnken debauch. There are times when we are
stunned by the mystery of life, by the weirdness of
existence, the absolute inability to understand our
own Jives, and. therefore, blind when we endeavor
to unravel the mystery of others. How often we are
like Tennyson when he wrote that he was "like an
infant crying in the night, like an infant crying for the
light, and with no language but a cry."

We were sitting one day by the shore of Lake
Union, then part of a virgin wilderness, now one of
the beautiful scenes that add to the attractions of
Seattle. Its surface matched the sky above. Its deeps
mirrored the great trees upon its banks. It was a
favorite retreat of ours, for the silence and the beauty
had the power to take from us the steady yearning that
we had for the sunlight of California, which in our
boyhood seemed to have worked into our blood. We
had been in Seattle during the winter, and the con-
stant cloud and drip had become weariness. A foot-
fall near us disturbed our reflections, and looking up
we saw before us the tall form of a man, not exactly
in rags but near enough for us to say truthfully that
he was exceedingly shabby. He was about forty years
of age, and as perfect a specimen of the tribe of un-
kept as we had ever seen. There must have been in-
quiry in our eyes, for he spoke in a tone of apology
and said, after a pleasant salutation and a remark
upon the beauty of the scene, "I live back here in the
woods several miles, and I am making my monthly
trip to town for supplies and papers." The voice
was finely modulated, even musical, and we looked
at him more closely, for there was in the voice that

392 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

peculiar quality that proclaims Uie gentleman. We
knew by that first utterance that we were again to
have an experience with what the world calls the
"abnormal human" — a man with a past, another
recluse or derelict — and we talked with him for an
interesting half hour. He told us that he lived alone
on a pre-emption claim which he had cut out of the
forest, near the shores of the Sound, that he had so
lived for several years, that he raised cattle and read
books; that after his graduation from a noted .Amer-
ican college, as we now remember it, he had drifted
out west until he could drift no farther, for he was
against the western edge of the continent.

There was about him a modest dignity that im-
prest us despite his untidiness and great careless-
ness of appearance. Unconscious of his appearance,
he seemed to carry himself with the ease of one who
had been to the manner born and used to the refine-
ment of the very best social life, and so it afterwards
appeared. He gave us a kind invitation to visit him
at his "clearing," as he called it, which we promised
to do on some other day. for we had become anxious
to know more of a man marked as he was with all
the evidences of culture, breeding and scholarship.
Making us a courtly bow, he went on his way through
the woods toward the town.

We made inquiry of these whom we had reason to
believe knew something about him, and found that
he was well known of, but not well known, — that he
was known as "The Hermit," that he was a secretive
man and hard of approacli and resenteiJ intrusions of
uninvited persons upon his solitude, for he lived in

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 393

solitude absolutely, as there were no horizons to his
home except the rim of the forest, from which he had
with infinite toil and patience carved out, without aid,
a few acres which he had sown to grasses and upon
which he raised his cattle. His only possible outlook
was upward to the sky, and this outlook was not con-
tinuous, for during many months of the year the sky
was hidden by cloud and mist. He was regarded by
those who knew him as sane and sound of mind, tho
he puzzled them by his eccentricities. He had the
fixt reputation of a man who attended to his own
affairs and expected those about him to attend to
theirs. His monthly invasion of the little village,
as Seattle was then, had made him familiar to the
people, altho he went about his affairs silent and
reserved and unobtrusive. He communicated only
with those with whom he had business which, when
accomplished, left no reason for a long stay in the
town. At first he had been an object of suspicion.
This, however, finally yielded to the better feeling of
curiosity only, and as his condition was steady and
sober, he acquired slowly a reputation of being a good
man. No saloon door ever opened to welcome him ;
the store and the postoffice were the only places he
ever entered, and in these his stay was short. The
regularity of hh visits gradually wore out any espe-
cial interest on the part of the little community, and
at the time we saw him, he w^as allowed to come and
go without comment. He had gravitated to his place
and was regarded as a member of the population, as
"The Hermit" only. He was too reserved for ap-
proach and inquiry, and during all the years he had

394 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

taken no man into his confidence nor volunteered any
information. He had to the highest degjee the rarest
of human qualities, that of living- continuously within
himself. This faculty is the genius of great minds,
altho it may be, forsooth, that it is a temporarily ac-
quired capacity of the vicious who dread to open their
lips for fear that some unknown vice or crime, from
the punishment of which they are in hiding, may lead
fo discovery. These outcasts, however, are silent only
when among their betters, for when in company of
their own kind as to offense and character they are as
garrulous as an old maid at a sewing circle.

Knowing this much of this lone denizen of the
woods, we were curious to meet him on his own
ground, and before many days found the trail leading
through the shadow of deep woods and reached his
clearing, where we spent half a day in pleasant talk.
He lived in a rude ^hack, built with his own hands, in
the center of a little opening in the woods. We can
not say that we were charmed with its interior. We
were his guest, and (ordinarily) our lips would be
dumb upon what we write here, were it possible that
he would ever see or hear of what is written. Of
this there is no danger, for that was years ago, and
lie was then in middle age, and doubtless now "after
life's fitful fever be sleeps well."

Disorder was everywhere; poverty manifest in the
meager equipments for living, added to which was ac-
cumulated dirt. The walls were dingy, the floor un-
swept, and the dust of years clung to everything.
It was painful to think that a human being, much less
a cultured scholar, evidently used in former years

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES

395

to all the elegance of refined life, would under any
circumstances be content for a single day to "abide in
such squalor; it was not mere disorder, it was dirt.
His cattle sheds by contrast were preferable as a
habitation.

There was, however, one redeeming feature, and
that was his library, to which it was evident he
gave his only care, for here we found cleanliness,
which was proof conclusive that he knew full well
what it was to be clean. From the shelves he took
down one after the other, rare volumes of the classics,
Greek and Latin lore. Homer, Virgil, Horace, Hero-
dotus, Dante, Cicero, Cassar, Plato and others of the
glorious company of ancient scholars, poets and ora-
tors. They were not exhibition volumes, for each
bore the marks of frequent use. Modern literature
was as well represented, for we found Shakespeare,
Dryden, Wordsworth, Schiller, Goethe, Bacon, Addi-
son, Sterne, Scott, Longfellow, Bryant and Whittier,
and other works of the great, modern world. We
searched for a seat where we could sit down without
too close contact with the dirt, and listened for several
hours- to this strange recluse of the northern woods as
he read from many of tliose to him sacred volumes.
He loved his books with a fervid love. They were
the only sweetness in his otherwise desolate life. He
did not read as one reads familiar things, passionless,
careful only to give expression to words and to attend
to the proper placing of commas, semicolons and peri-
ods, but as one stirred deeply by the lofty thougjit
and for the beauty of the wisdom unexcelled. He
seemed to be lifted for the time out of the dim woods

J

and the squalid shack, to live in academic shades of
Greece and Rome, to be again within the shadows of
Harvard, as one by some magic touch transferred.

It was a great afternoon for us. and to it he was not
indifferent, for he delighted to exhibit his treasures to
those who with him had the taste and capacity to
enjoy the beauty of the great writers. We wondered
more and more, until we were confused in the tangle
of our imagination, as to what secret lay in the mind
and heart of this strange being, gifted with rare
mentality, possessed of an exquisite literary taste, and
eloquent of speech. We dared not ask, for his per-
sonality was too fine to wound with a careless ques-
tion. We felt that if he did not speak, it was because
he did not care to open the door of his life to the
vision of a stranger. Whatever it was, it was a secret
between him and his Maker.

The lowering sun warned us of the miles that lay
between us and Seattle, and the trail running through
dim woods darkly shadowed, and we were compelled
to leave him to his loneliness as it seemed to us, tho
he may not have been lonely, for who can probe into
another's spirit when he seems so often a stranger
to his own. As he walked with us to the edge of the
little opening, he pointed out to us his cattle, his only
living associates. He loved them and called them
each by name, and as he did, they came up to him
for a caress. They were fine things, and as we noted
his caress and the light in the eyes of those dumb
beasts, as they felt the touch of his gentle fingers, we
felt that a man who could be so loving to a dumb
animal and whom the dumb animals so loved, had

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES

397

I

down deep in the "holy of holies" of his heart some-
where an unspoken love for the human kind — a force
which was the mainspring of his life. Was this the
solution of his life? He told us that in order that
he might not forget the use of language, he every
day recited to his herd poems, orations and essays, and
that it was not always the good luck of a public
speaker to have so respectful and attentive an audi-
ence, and that they had become so used to the habit
that they looked for it as much as they did for their
food. As we reached the trail, we gave him our hand
in a long, farewell shake. We were sad at the leaving,
for we felt that we were bidding him an eternal fare-
well, and so it proved, for we never saw him again.
There were in his eyes tears of sadness as we said,
"Good-hy and God bless you."

Just before a turn in the. trail shut out our view of
him, we turned and waved again our good-by, and
there still he stood as we had left him, a silent, pathetic
figure, something to us awful, for he was in the atti-
tude of the moment fit to have been the model of some
great sculptor who wished to make immortal the figure
of a man in despair. It may be and let us hope that
we were mistaken, had misunderstood him and his
life, that he was wise in a larger wisdom than we, that
he had ascended to heights beyond our vision, and
that out of fountains of sweet waters he drew daily
refreshment of which we did not know — that from the
vanities of life he had escaped like Lot from Sodom,
into the salvation of the forest — that like the old
prophet he heard the voice of angels and had visions
of unutterable splendor; that his solace was not that

I

398 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

of modem days, or in his dwelling-place, but that he
found his peace in companionship with Socrates and
Plato, with Dante and Paul and Christ, and that he
was unconscious in loneliness in his poor shack.

At Lone Pine, under the shadows of Whitney, we
found another son of silence, who had cast in his lot
with strangers. We knew of him better than we
knew him, for he was absolutely a recluse, holding
no communication with any one except when he was
called to minister to the people about him, for he was
a physician of great skill. We were at the time en-
gaged in work that was exacting and exhausting, and
as is often the case overdid and fell into a strained
condition that required medicine, and we called upon
the little "French Doctor," for that, so far as we
knew, was his only name. We found him housed in
a little adobe dwelling, situated in the center of about
half an acre of garden, just at the edge of the little
town. The garden was enclosed by a high fence that
shut it out from the view of the passersby. He seemed
averse to being intruded upon, even by the eye of a
stranger.

At the time we speak of, we called at the
house, letting ourselves into the garden through a
high gate, seldom opened. We found within the en-
closure a rare collection of plants and flowers, prop-
erly cared for, attended to by one who loved them
and who knew their nature well enough to preserve
their life and beauty against the diversity of a climate
which might have destroyed them except for this
extreme care, for it was a climate subject to sudden
and biting frosts, even in the springtime and early

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 399

Bummer, and to burning heat and high winds. Here,
engrossed, we found the little Frenchman, directing
his little irrigating stream about the roots of his trees
and plants. As he looked up, there was a little of
defiance and much question in his face. He had the
air of one who was disturbed by another presence.
We noticed this, and apologized by a statement that
we were ailing and needed his skill. This statement
at once softened him, and the kind-hearted physician
took the place of the hostile man. While we stood
there in the sunshine, we had time to take a mental
picture of him. He was slight of frame, in fact deli-
cate ; age had laid its hand upon him and he was just
a little bent, but the face was that of a man highly
organized, with the peculiar nervousness of refined
Frenchmen. He had the mannerisms of (he Parisian
in speech, accent and gesture. He spoke English with
the accent of a scholar familiar with the idioms of the
language, retaining, however, the cunning of the
tongue, which makes it impossible for a Frenchman
to hide his nativity.

When after a time he had discovered that we were
a little different from those who usually called for
his services, he gradually relaxed his reserve and
became talkative. He invited us into the house, asked
us to sit down, and after diagnosing our trouble and
prescribing for it, he became a pleasant host, soon
giving us evidence that our visit was a pleasant thing
to him. He lived alone, performed all of his house-
hold work and with his own hands attended to every
want. This was a matter of little toil, for it was ap-
parent that he was of simple tastes and habits. We

400 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

were again in the household of a unique character,
another human with some hidden history, some heart
secret, that had cut him off from his fellows and sent
him from bonny France and its brilliant capital to
the uttermost parts of the world, to hide himself
among strangers in a strange land. His little home
was the retreat of a scholar, for scattered about in
the confusion to be expected in a household where
woman's care was absent, were piles of books, pro-
fessional and miscellaneous papers, and magazines
from the centers of the world. There was an orderly
disorder apparent everywhere and in everything, and
while here and there in the corners of the room the
webs of spiders, long undisturbed, hung like a fisher-
man's net, there was about all a careless cleanliness.
All our talk was impersonal, for his manner was still
distant, as if to warn us that inquiry of a personal
nature would make us immediately persona non grata.
We talked of trees and flowers, medicine and books,
of his professional relations to the little community,
but never a word that could be twisted into an inquiry
of the cause of his living alone in the desert. There
was something very gentle, something charming about
the little man, when he thawed out. He had no dis-
content, no marks of regret, no trace in face or eye of
some brooding that disturbed his days or made darker
than with physical darkness the hours of the night.
His face was that of one who, if he had suffered
crucifixion, had been able to hide its wounds. He
was evidently a gifted man, though he had a small
field within which to practise his profession or to use
his knowledge. He laid his finger quickly upon the

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 401 ^H

nerves that were clisquieted in iis, and gave them im- ^^H
mediate relief. One visit was sufficient. While he ^^M
seemed content, we somehow wondered whether there ^^M
were not hours when his thoughts turned to Paris ^^|
again; when imagination wooed him back to her ^^M
brilliance and gaieties; whether in the silence of the ^^M
nights, when sleep deserted him, as it does at times all ^^H
men, he did not hear the shout of gay voices, the strain ^^H
of bewitching music; see again the lights of crowded ^^H
• streets ; whether at times the silence of the desert made ^^H
him hunger for life again, restless as memory drew ^^M
her picture of days when hope was buoyant and ambi- ^V
Hon a flame. But why wonder? What he thought
or hoped or dreamed was a closed book, sacred from
the touch of all the world.

We inquired about him and found from one of the
local historians that he had, years before, drifted into
the town ; that he was a French physician ; that, con-
sulting no one, he quietly secured the half acre that
became his permanent home, and there had lived with-
out companionship, asking no favor, giving his serv-
ices to those unable to pay, and even leaving his com-
pensation, when others could pay, to their own
generosity; that he was as aloof in all but mere
physical presence as if he lived in Mars.

From the three parallel lives, found so widely sepa-
rated by time and space, we have drawn no satis-
fying conclusions, except that while an ordinary man
goes to pieces under slight heart strains, the strong .
man's mind remains sane under terrible burdens. The
great heart may, like a Damascus blade, be bent double, ^l

402 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

Perhaps the most unique of all of these strange
pieces of human flotsam and jetsam was an unkept,
Uear-eyed tramp, whose bloated face and watery-
eyes were the evidences of his drunken condition,
and who one afternoon shambled into the Black
schoolhouse situated in the sunny Suisun Val-
ley where, as a mere lad I was the teacher
of the district country school. Markham, the
poet, was there as a pupil at the time, al-
though we doubt if he will remember the time or the
man. The man's general appearance made him an un-
desirable visitor to a school, and I asked him why
he had. uninvited, assumed that he was acceptable to
us. He did not seem surprised or resentful, and at
once replied that he knew of many things that might
interest the scholars and if I would allow him to go
to the blackboard, he would exhibit some of his ac-
complishments. The sublime assurance of the man
was refreshing and made me consent, for I felt that
at any rate he could not harm us. and whatever he did,
would be a diversion from the humdrum of daily
school life. He went to the blackboard and asked
that one of the oldest scholars give to him a sum in
addition, and to make the sum as intricate as he
pleased. .'\t this, one of the scholars called out sums,
one after the other, mounting into the hundreds of
thousands. A long list of these was called out until
the blackboard was full from top to bottom. With a
wave of the hand up the column, in a second the tramp
called out the answer, which we found, after some-
what laborious calculation and casting up of the
columns, was correct. The same feat he demonstrated

SOME ECCENTRIC LIVES 40.1

with fractions, with subtraction and division. He
was a past master in the art of rapid calculation. Hav-
ing for half an hour thus amused us and himself, he
courteously withdrew and shambled off down the road,
another example of a misdirected life, a man home-
less, friendless and purposeless.

While in Death Valley we heard of, but did not
see, a man who for forty years had existed in a rude
cabin in the hot hills of this eastern rim — existed,
yes, for such a life could not be "hving." To live
means to aspire, to think, to act, to recognize the re-
lations of one being to another. This can not be
done by one whose days and nights are measured by
nothing hut a revolution of the earth on its axis, by
the rising and setting of the sun. If the environment
of continuous darkness blinds the mole, and makes eye-
less the fishes of Mammoth Cave, forty years of seclu-
on surely must draw a cataract across the mental
ision of a man whose life is passed almost in total
lence. This was a moral necessity, for were it
otherwise, there would some day come a depression,
a terrible revolt against the silent days, and in its
delirium the mind would in wild frenzy put out its
own light or grope through its gloom to some outlet
from intolerable solitude. We can not mock the spirit
forever and deny to it its birthright, and remain nor-
mally human.

Chapter XXII

THREE HEROES— AN INDIAN, A
MAN AND A NEGRO

rip HE doctrine of the natural depravity of man is
■^ often overthrown by some splendid exhibition
of qualities in the individual that lifts him into some-
thing fine — some act that quickens our pulses. We
are often compelled by the logic of the heart to con-
clude that EX cathedra deductions of the churchmen
are imperfect measurements of the spirit.

The schoolman may analyze motive and passion, —
in fact all the emotions that lie at the base of
human character, and arrive at conclusions that estab-
lish to his satisfaction formulas by which he measures
the moral fibers of the average human life, but the
schoolman fails in emergency and his rules go to
pieces in the storm of experience. No man can be
measured except by what he can do — what he has
done. His aspiration and dream are fleeting as the
summer clouds until they become fixed by action. A
single act in hours of emergency discloses weakness
or strength, and be that act heroic or mean, it perma-
nently fixes moral status. The Master knew this when
He taught the multitudes "you shall know them by
their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns or Rgs
404

THREE HEROES 405

of thistles?" If a man's action be mean, men there-
after may be deceived in him by the glarauor of his
repute, but the man himself forever knows what he
is, and there are two in the universe to whom he
stands naked — himself and God.

If we have in these pages dwelt long in the desert
and among the dwellers therein, it is because we have
never been free from the fascination that possest
us while we were part of it and them. We feel that
to lose the memory of them would be a spiritual loss
and leave a vacuum in our moral make-up.

The chili of an autumn morning at Big Pine, a
little village in Owens River Valley, drove us to the
warmth of a grateful fire In a little hotel. We had
found an old magazine and were engrossed in its
pages when an Indian came in with an armful of wood
which he threw down just at our back. We were
startled for the moment and looked up and met one
of the surprises of our life. Before us stood a majestic
man. His face had In it the strength and beauty of
a great spirit : he towered over six feet in the splendid
proportions of a Greek statue. He smiled his apology
for disturbing us, and a "kingly condescension graced
his lips." We felt as one who had seen a vision. We
had seen thousands of Indians, fine models of natural
men and had often from the artist's standpoint ad-
mired and wondered at their perfection, but never
such as he who stood before us. As he went out, we
turned to a man who sat by the fire and asked him
"who is that man?" He seemed surprised and said,
"Why, don't you know him ?" "That is Joe Bowers,
chief of the Inyo Piutes," and then with the enthu-

4o6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

siasm of his respect for the noUe Indian, gave as the
story of his diaracter and career. It is no fairy story,
aIdK> it seemed as unreal It was die story of a
humane, heroic man worthy to be made immortaL
His tribal name we do not know — ^we never knew.

The opportunity to become ^miliar with sudi a
man, to learn from him the rareness and beauty of
a life began in an Indian cradle, educated by its 0¥m
supreme quality, was not to be lost, and in after days
Joe Bowers and we became friends, not friends as
the world understands it, but friends in its noblest
sense — followed by a companionship that had in it
an ever increasing diarm. He grew, as the days
passed, it seemed, taller, statelier, more serene and
majestic We found that to be counted worthy to
be his friend was to hold a certificate of good
character.

Physically he was without flaw, tho at the time we
first met him, age had b^^ its disintegrating work,
and he had lost some of the superb energy of his
earlier manhood. He was still, however, a magnifir
cent human shape. Six feet in height, he stood in
repose the perfection of grace and strength. About
him was something that always compelled atten-
tion and awakened admiration. Into him had en-
tered the majesty of the heights that environed his
youth, ever present about him as he grew to man-
hood. He had been nourished by the silence of lonely
places, enriched by the heavens and the earth. The
voices of streams and storms; the coo of birds; the
scream of the eagle in the sky were utterances of the
oracles whose meaning he may not have always ac-

THREE HEROES 407

curately interpreted, but he knew by the response of
his own nature that they were as "the voice of one
crying in the wilderness."

There was an impressive dignity in the poise of
his head firmly set upon massive shoulders. Authority
and power were in this poise, and few men would be
reckless enough to treat him with disrespect, for he
compelled homage by his mere presence. No one
ever approached him more than once with condescen-
sion, for to such he was the very spirit of unspoken
scorn. To gracious demeanor and word he was open
and sweet. The summer sun never made the eastern
heavens more radiant tlian did kindly words make
this brave and rugged face — a face wherein spiritual-
ity had set its lines of power and traced a network
for the play of delicate emotions. It was the face
of one bom for empire, the widest empire possible to
the limitations of his life. In other places and times
he would have been a ruler of a nation rather than
chief of an untutored tribe. It was after all in the
deeps of his eyes that one caught a glimpse of the
rarely endowed spirit that made him the master of
situations perilous to himself as well as to others.
They were eyes "to threaten and command," at times
like the heavens, full of beauty, glorious with the
lights of the dawn and the shadows of the sunset,
cloudless and serene, and then again full of thunder
and lightening and storm. He feared nothing but dis-
honor, loved nothing but things noble. His chief
qualities were a power to command, courage, and
beneficence.

His career as chief in desperate times of conflict

4o8 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

with the whites will demonstrate all we have written,
and a recital of his acts during these desperate times
marks him as one of the most glorious examples of
the perfect man — a Christian by instinct, profoundly
religious without instruction, a man of peace in the
midst of war, one of the few upon whom Nature had
conferred the patent of a noble.

It is but fair to say that doubtless he was greatly
indebted to tribal virtues. A close study of the Piutes
disclosed to us that when unsullied by the vices of
civilization they were, in the mass, governed by
noble racial instincts. As a tribe they were re-
markable for two great virtues — honesty in the man
and chastity in the woman. Their laws were as
stem as those of Judeans. In the warp and woof
of these great qualities, it is not a matter of won-
der that there should be woven now and then a
character of supreme grandeur, a focalization of
spiritual force, clear-eyed enough to see truth that
was universal, as operative in the solitudes of Inyo
as under the dome of St. Peter. The uplift of tribal
virtues must at some time and place produce excep-
tional characters. If Judean philosophy found speech
in Isaiah and David, why should not the moral genius
of the Piute live in Bowers, individualized and illumi-
nated.

The pages of history are made enticing by many
a story of human action along the lines of endeavor,
stories that thrill, comfort and inspire us when we
become sore and tired with the endless strife of the
selfish. They lift us above the sloughs of despondency,
when we are nearly suffocated and out of moral

THREE HEROES

breath. Such is the story of Joe Bowers'
conduct during the Indian War of 1856. The
territory lying south of the Sierras in California was
Indian territory under the protection of two com-
panies of United States soldiers, at Fort Independence,
near the present town of Independence. The steady
encroachments of the whites made the Piutes rest-
less, and the constant brooding over foreign occupa-
tion ripened into a fighting mood. It was the old
story. As the strain became more tense, individuals
first protested to their chief, and then the tribe was
aroused to council and war-councils were held with
' all the mysticism invariably a part of such councils.
At these Bowers presided with authority, which was a
part of his being. He had taken accurate account of
conditions, recogriized the sure results to his tribe of
the incoming of the whites ; knew that possession and
domain would pass out of the hands of his people,
and that slowly but surely the time was coming when
they would "read their doom in the setting sun." But
with the largeness of his wisdom, he also knew that
resistence to the inevitable was vain. He had talked
with the Commander at the Fort for the purpose of
ascertaining the military resources of the United
States in case of war, and armed with knowledge,
quickened by his own intuition, he knew that protest
was hopeless, — that slaughter of his tribe must re-
sult, and that however long the contest might be
waged, and with whatever iirst victories to his people,
that ultimately they would be crusht and subjugated.
His great heart was sorely torn and disquieted, but
he saw his way clearly as all supreme souls do, and

409 ^^H

humane ^^H

"he vast I

N THE PACIFIC CO-

he acted at his own personal peril for what he knew
to be the best for those who looked to him for guid-
ance. The Indians were now at a fever heat, and a
final council was called to declare for war or peace.

It was a great concourse of subchiefs, medicine
men and representatives of the old and young of the
tribe. It had a peace party headed by Bowers, and
a war party headed by a fiery young subchief, second
in command to Bowers. For days the discussion went
on. Bowers told them that the handful of soldiers
at the Fort were but a part of a great army like them
beyond the mountains, where thousands and thou-
sands of white men had had like contests, and that
there had always been but one result — the subjugation
of resisting tribes, and that they could not escape a
like fate in case of war. Into the scale for peace he
threw all his tremendous influence. For them he
had been until now Father and Guide. Never before
had his wisdom and justice been questioned. The
final vote was taken and it was for war. Then Bowers
rose to the height of majestic action. He told them
that he would not fight and that if they went to war.
they must find a new chief and leader. Had he been
an ordinary man, this would have been his death
sentence, for it was the law of the tribe that if a '
chief refused to fight when his people called for war,
he forfeited his life. Tie looked serenely into the face
of fate, but conquered since the law was waived. He
was retired as chief only during the war. and the
hot-headed subchief was chosen as warchief.

Bowers' moral grandeur now was exhibited, in
that while his people were fighting the whites, he

I

THREE HEROES 4"

went about saving their lives. To lonely miners'
cabins in far-off canyons he went, warning the miners
to flee to the fort. He was asked by them what they
should do with their possessions, and he said, "Leave
them as they are, I will protect them, and when the
war is over, come back and you will find all as you
leave them." At the door of each cabin he planted
a long, slender reed upon which was fixed some mystic
symbol. This was notice to the Indians that the cabin
and all about it were under his protection. Many a
miner, whose life would have been sacrificed, was
thus saved.

At one point on the mesas, that lay about the base
of Waucoba Mountain, sixty miles from the fort,
over a range of lofty mountains, two men had their
camp where they were herding over two hundred head
of cattle, fattening upon the white sage abundant
there. These he warned to flee to the fort, telling
tiiem to leave their cattle to him, and that they would
be safe. Grateful for their lives thus saved, the men
told Bowers that his people during the winter might
become hungry, and that for his services, he was at
liberty to kill as many of the cattle as he chose. This
offer was accepted. The same mystic symbol of his
protection and authority was posted at this camp;
all was saved ; strange as it may seem, when the war
was over, miners and cattlemen returned to find all
as they had left it, except the cattlemen found a
pile of heads, twenty in number, carefully preserved
as evidence of the number the Indians had killed and
eaten. As the men examined these heads, they found
that in every instance they were of inferior cattle.

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

and they eaid to Bowers, "Why, Joe, you killed only
the poorest of the cattle. Why didn't you pick out
better ones?" With a winning smile, so common to
hira, he replied, "Oh, maybe so, poor steer plenty
good for Injun." This reply had in it neither music
nor rhetoric, yet one would hunt in vain the literature
of all times and ages to find words into which had
been breathed more of the fine beauty of a great soul.
Thus during the entire war, waged with the savagery
of Indians, without mercy or quarter, did Bowers
pass from point to point of danger, saving the lives
and property of the enemies of his tribe, but while
his people knew of all that he did, they lifted no hand
against him. Let no man say in the presence of such
moral strength that the wild man of the earth's waste
places "is of the earth earthy."

When the war ended. Bowers, having been justi-
fied for his actions, rose again, by the grandeur of
his character, to his chieftainship, never thereafter to
be challenged. We remember the last time we saw
him on a lonely trail crossing the desert mountain, be-
tween California and Nevada, We were both alone
and were surprised to see each other, and I said,
"Where are you going. Bowers?" He replied, "Oh,
some bad man make trouble between Piutes and I go
fix him." It seems to us always afterward that we
were glad of our last view of him as he was thus on
a mission of mercy.

In consideration of his services, the Government at
the close of the war placed him upon the pay-roll of
the army in some subordinate office, — a sinecure suffi-
cient to sustain him in comfort in his declining years.

THREE HEROES 413

' If he had been an Anglo-Saxon, in some center field
of the world, he would have been part of some noble
chapters of history.

Ill a solitary miner's cabin on the eastern slope of
the White mountains, we found living in the quiet of
a remote, secluded life, two men nearer to David and
Jonathan in the beauty of their friendship, than any
two we have ever met. One of these was W. S,
Greenly, whose qualities of mind and heart were
charged with that magnetism which flows from a great
purity of life. He was at once a hero and a martyr,
for, with an equipment of power large enough to have
made him a dominant figure in commercial, political
and social life, he lived beyond his opportunity be-
cause he loved, with a love passing that of woman,
the man who was his companion in loneliness. Green-
ly is dead. This we learned not long ago when
we wrote hoping to find him still adorning our com-
mon human nature with the nobility and the sweet-
ness that made our acquaintance with him a fruitful
memory. No braver, kindlier heart ever beat within
a human bosom. He was a strong man, with all the
modest gentleness of a woman, and in him it was
verified that "the bravest are the tenderest." Those
who knew him honored him with great honor, and
to be his friend was a choice thing. The serenity of
his temper was as unvarying as the seasons. Im-
pulse had no part in hi.s mental action. He was not
slow to action, nor hurried tn speech. Benevolence
was his basic quality. His days had not always been
full of peace, nor his life without stirring events,
which marked him as a man for great emergencies.

r

H Bex

H odK

414 LIFE OS THE PACmC COAST

Bctwcra Mn and Bomts, Ac K n ic Qi ie i . tnere cx-
B BMBan^ii, 35 cadi iccngiKixd ■■ tnc
^^Im^ s BBn. Onnmnljr, tbuc cstsbra ictsons wky
^Kf dmrid Ibtc httM e— HW» far Giverijr was tbe
ntm who bd nic iume t^at MBBy defBtcd dm Fnitcs

forever tfanr stroggiles against tfae sofmatcj of tix
whites.

At tbe tone tiie war broke out. Gnenlj was a joeag
nan wbo had cotne into tbe Owou Rnrer country to
trj bis forttnMS. At this tinie (be region had great
rcpate for its supposed minera) wcahb and had thos
attracted many aspiring young men of great ability.
The dream of wealth had Ittred them from tfae com*
forts of Eastern homes, to brave the perils of the
frontier. For a while Greenly watched the events
of the war and as tfae soldiers, unused to the methods
of the Indian warfare, suffered defeat, he became
satisfied they were unequal to the conflict, and that
if the whites were to be victorious, an important
change must be made in the personnel of the
fighters, as well as in their tactics. He, with others,
had sought the protection of the Fort, and there
were then gathered in the place a number of young
men, brave and active, who chafed at confinement,
and grew restless from the frequent defeat of the
soldiers. Following one of these most serious de-
feats, Greenly took up the matter with the Com-
mander, and formulated a plan by which he, as leader,
and his associates, as his comrades, should offer to
the Commander of the fort their service as fight-
ers, provided always that Greenly should direct the

THREE HEROES 415

further campaigri, and that he should have supreme
authority and the soldiers be subordinate to and
subject to his commands. At this time the In-
dian forces, numerous and defiant, by reason of their
successes, had established their central camp at a point
about half way between the Fort and Owens Lake,
which was distant about sixteen miles. The com-
mander at first repudiated Greenly's plan, and re-
fused to surrender his command of his soldiers. What
other course could be expected, for pride is ever
greater than discretion. Greenly, however, was
master of the situation. He knew how desperate the
situation would be before long", when supplies became
exhausted, and no opportunity for replenishment, for
the Indians held every road leading into the valley,
and no chance existed for getting word to the outside
world for relief. These facts, day after day, he urged
with eloquence and persistence, until the logic of the
desperate situation became unanswerable, and he had
his way.

At once he armed his little band of independent
fighters, and inspired them with his own spirit, and
thus equipped was ready for the field. He desired,
however, before the execution of his plan, to give the
Indians a final chance to retire from the conflict and
determined to visit their camp and submit terms to their
chiefs and fighting men, in council. Eight miles down
the desert valley nightly the Indians held their war-
dance — their method of keeping hot their hate and
courage. Their fires were visible from the fort, and
here several hundred warriors danced themselves into
^Lthe frenzy of battle.

4i6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

One night, unarmed. Greenly mounted his horse
and left the fort, alone and defenseless, except as he
was defended by his own courageous and quenchless
spirit. He rode through the darkness into the excited
camp, and coolly dismounting, tied his horse, entered
the council chamber, and called for the chiefs. The
audacity of his act compelled their respect, for the
Indians are great worshipers of heroes. Far into the
night he urged upon the chiefs the hopelessness of
their case, the certainty of defeat and the consequent
result. While they gave him respectful attention, they
were unmoved, and he might as well have spoken to
the dead. As the dawn began to break in the East,
he mounted his horse for his return, but not
before, as his final word, he had told tfie chiefs
that he would drive them and their warriors into
Owens Lake. On his return to the fort he or-
ganized his men into fighting order, and, support-
ed by the soldiers, started forth to keep his word :
and keep his word he did, for after desperate charges
and almost hand to hand fighting, tlte Indians be-
gan to fall back toward the lake. By Greenly's
conunand, the squaws and papooses were allowed
to escape into the protection of the sagebrush,
where they crouched like quail, safe from the on-
slaught. Slowly the Indians, mile after mile, were
pressed down the valley, until before them shone
the waters of the sullen lake. Then they remembered
Greenly's threat, and they fought with new despera-
tion. But as steady as the march of the sun in the
heavens, on and on and on they were pressed until
the shore was reached, and on into the lake. The

THREE HEROES

' Indian war was over, and the dead warriors of the
tribe floated in the sullen waters.

The memory of this terrible day kept the peace ever
afterwards. Greenly resigned his command, went
about his work, a modest, retiring man, out of whom
could be drawn the details of his achievement only
by loving persuasion. Oh, how mean we sometimes
feel, when we in our hours of doubt challenge the
capacity of mere men to be almost like unto God,
when we call them clay only and deny to them their
divinity.

This same war disclosed another heroic soul, a
simple black man — a negro servant who, in an hour
of peril, to save those whom he served, gave up his
life, his body to mutilation and torture.

Near the railway of the Carson and Colorado Rail-
road, in the Valley of Owens River, one always notices,
rising out of the level plain, a peculiar mound of
rock, a mere volcanic puff covering not more than
an acre of ground. Its peculiar color and situation
always attract the attention of the traveler and upon
inquiry he is informed by some trainman that it is
known as "Charley's Butte." The story connected
with it, which gave it its tragic baptism, is well known,
and upon inquiry this is what is told:

During one of the fiercest days of the Indian war,
a family consisting of several men, women and chil-
dren, were fleeing to the fort. In the party was an
old negro servant named Charley, who had been with
the family for years. He was a patient, faithful man,
always recognizing the relation of a negro to the
white man, even in his state of freedom. He was a

j^ white man, ev

4i8 LIFE ON THE PACIF

typical Southern negro, with all the loyalty peculiar
to those who lived with and served the Southerners.
The party were mounted upon horses, and vrere
urging them to as great speed as possible, over the
broken and rocky way towards the fort, still some
six miles away.

Ju3t as they forded Owens River, a warwhoop was
heard in the distance, and soon there rode into view a
band of painted warriors on the war-trail. They had
discovered the fleeing family and were riding in fury
to cut off their escape. The horses of the fleeing party
were worn with long riding, and with whip and spur
they failed to preserve the distance between the pur-
suers and the pursued. Charley, with a little girl
in front of him, was riding in the rear. For several
miles the life race was kept up, but slowly the warri-
ors gained. At last Charley saw that unless some-
thing heroic was done, they would be overtaken and
slaughtered. Then it was that his soul acted, and
he determined to sacrifice himself for their salvation.
Slipping from the horse, he told the little girl to ride
as fast as she could and tell those ahead to keep up
their nm for the fort and lose not a moment. The
little girl said, "What are you going to do?" To
which he replied, "Never mind what I am going to
do, but you ride and do as I tell you." He knew he
was facing an awful death at the hands of the infuri-
ated savages, whom he was robbing of their prey.

Armed with a rifle and two revolvers, he turned
and faced his foes, calm and certain. His action was
notice to the Indians tliat they were in for a fight,
and before that determined negro they halted for

THREE HEROES

conference. These were golden moments, for every
second of delay in the chase meant more chance of
safety to those who were, as fast as jaded horses
could run, fleeing for their lives. The conference over,
on came the Indians, charging upon the lone and
silent figure of defense and sacrifice. As soon as
they were in range, Charley's rifle spoke with deadly
aim. Again the Indians were staggered and other
moments cut out of the distance to the fort before
the flying refugees. The Indians charged again and
again, but Charley's revolvers met their charge and
thus, until his weapons were empty and he defeqseless,
he held at bay the charging demons. On their last
charge there came no reply, and they rushed upon the
defenseless hero, seized him, carried him to the little
Butte across the river, and after terrible torture and
mutilation, burned him to death. And this is why the
little mound is to-day known as "Charley's Butte."
As his torture was producing a wail of unutterable
agony, the family rode into the fort and were saved.
Find for me, if you can, in any page of heroism a
more lofty act of self-sacrifice than this from a poor
member of a despised race.

We have long intended and we still intend some
day to have a white marble shaft erected on the sum-
mit of this sacrificial mound, carved thereon, in letters
large enough to be read from the windows of the
passing train, "Sacred to the Memory of Charley — a
black man with a white soul. Killed in the Indian
war while defending his master's family."

"Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay
down his life for his friends."

Chapter XXIII

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE

>-v F course, but few places in California are purdy
^^ frontier, but there are many remote places
where live people with a natural aversion to the centers
of life. They love freedom.

During; the three years we spent in and about Inyo
County, we had many experiences with these simple,
kindly people. There was a gravitation toward friend-
liness, and we had opportunities to render serv-
ices in many ways to those to whom such services
were acceptable, through distress, illness and death.
The larger part of the territory covered by Inyo
County is a vast domain, traversed by ranges of
mountains, long stretches of desert sands, awful
wastes, without a single human habitation. It will
be more perfectly understood how vast and desperate
the larger part of this territory is by a glance at the
map, where a superficial view will disclose Death
Valley, Pannamint Valley, Saline Valley, and a large
part of the Mojave Desert. Masses of volcanic hills
and lonely mesas are given over to desolation, cacti
and the sagebrush. All of this silence lies to the east
and south of the valley of Owens River, which flows
420

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE

through its principal fertilized valley, forty-five miles
in length.

In this valley, during the time of which we write,
living in varying degrees of prosperity and comfort,
were the twenty-five hundred people who comprised the
registered population, and it was among these that
we found the friendships of which we have spoken.
The majority of these were law-abiding, and while
there were some given to the minor dissipations that
somehow seem inevitable to frontier communities,
they were free from violence, and while they might
be sometimes uncouth, Ihey were never vicious. The
ever present public school was planted wherever suffi-
cient children were collected to authorize a claim upon
the public treasury. Education was attended to by
those competent. Religion was another thing, and,
outside of that few of spiritually-minded to be found
everywhere, the mass in matters of the spirit went
as they pleased. At this time there was, among all
of these people, so far as we can now remember, but
one minister, and he of tlie Methodist Church — that
great American ecclesiastical pioneer that has during
the evolution of the American States cared for the
souls of the pioneer as he fought his way to dominion
over wilderness and desert. We have penetrated to
many forlorn and lonely outposts in the West, but
we have never been quite beyond the voice and influ-
ence of some devoted member of this church, who
acted as the "sky pilot" for the rude and very often
desperate absentees from civilization.

The field at that time was too large for the
work of this lone pioneer of faith, and the

423

sick often went without consolation, the dying
without consecration, and the dead were low-
ered into their eternal resting place without
prayer. Men may be in their strength indif-
ferent to religion, may even sneer at the advice of
its followers, may suspect churchmen of hypocrisy,
Ixit they long for some spiritual word when their be-
loved are in peril, and the white faces of their dead
lie before them. Few are proof against this universal
desire, when the dread specter casts its shadow upon
their household, and in the desolate hour they cry
aloud for some voice to mingle with their lamenta-
tions, and we. without profession other than that we
believe in the Master, in the mercy of the Father, and
in the abundant affection of the Infinite for the finite,
were often called to bary their dead and to comfort
the living. In these sad offices we were often brought
face to face with desperate lives, the pathos of dis-
solute years, the tragedy of souls that made the heart
ache with the terror of it all.

We shall not forget one funeral at which we ofiici-
ated at Cerro Gordo. Years before, when the town
was in the flush of its mining days, a beautiful Irish
girl drifted into camp, then a wild, boisterous town,
with all the dissipations and sins of such places,
"where the making of money was the one object, and
there was a total absence of moral restraints. The
law operated only in a feeble way, to punish crimes
that interfered with property or life; minor offenses
were regarded as mere peccadillos, to be overlooked.
The men who did the work were strong, impulsive
animals, through whose veins ran riotous blood. They

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 423

' -toiled like giants, and reveled after hours with a
terrible abandon. If well paid and fed, they faced
the daily dangers of the shaft and drift without
thought. The present was their existence; no thought
of the future disturbed their days or nights. Redc-
less, they flung defiance to fate and braved with a
steady pulse the exigencies of life ; wounded or
sick, they sought the shelter of the rude Miners' Hos-
pital, and without complaint took the chances of dis-
aster. The saloon and the gambling house were their
resorts for pleasure, and in the excitement of drink
and chance they found the only outlet for their over-
abundance of physical strength and passion.

Such was the whirlpool into which this girl was
cast. The bloom of the Irish climate was in her
cheeks, her eyes were deep and blue as the lakes of
her native land, and her light-hearted joyousness was
the gift of the race from which she sprang. She
was a typical Irish lassie, dainty, alluring and sweet.
What chance had she in her environment, what destiny
but to fall? And fall she did. The bloom withered,
the daintiness faded, the happy heart grew callous.
She kept on and on, the victim and plaything of
men who could not remember when they had reverraice
for woman. She became the Queen of the Camp,
and ruled in a whirl of revelry. She was known as
"The Fenian." So long as her beauty and charm
lasted, she found in her life such compensation as
is possible to a woman in such an estate. The mines
worked out, the camp was deserted, and the rush
of active energies, that once made the mountain-top
^L noisy with work and dissipation, yielded to loneli-

I

424 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

ness and silence. "The Fenian" did not follow the
drift. The terrible havoc had robbed her of every-
thing but life. and. a drunken derelict, she stayed on,
hopeless, drowning- memories of her pure prlhood,
even the recollections of wild days, in drink. Here
we found her in 1882, one of the dozen or fifteen
people whose interests and hopes made them cling to
the deserted camp. There was no trace of the ancient
beauty, either of face or form; blear-eyed, shrunken,
shriveled, she wandered like a ghost where she had
once ruled as a queen. She lived on scant charity,
and her wants were few. except for whisky, which
she drank as the sands drink up a stream. One morn-
ing a Portuguese called at our place and said, "The
Fenian is dead and we want you to bury her."

We were embarrassed, but remembering that
we had always been treated with distinguished con-
sideration by Ihe few people who remained, we said,
"Yes, we will do what we can;" and yet we did not
know exactly what to do. The poor derelict, how-
ever, had been a woman, and in her estate of death
had become vested with a new dignity. She was
pure again, and under this inspiration we sought for
something to say at her grave. We sought out an
Episcopal lady, the wife of the receiver of one of the
mines, hoping to find a prayer book : she had none,
but gave us a Bible, and with this in hand we wrought
out a burial service of our own, and just as the sun
of a perfect summer day was declining across the
valley, over the rim of the snowy Sierras, a little
group of sad-faced, real mourners stood about the
grave and gave reverent attention to this simple burial.

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 425

Among these mourners were several Mexican women
who had been the companions of the dead. The mau-
soleums of Oriental princes were never more magnifi-
cent than the place where we laid the dust from this
desperate life. Four thousand feet above the valley,
on the slopes of Cerro Gordo, we looked off to Whit-
ney, standing supreme and beautiful in the glory of
the setting sun ; near its base the face of Owens Lake
was taking on the colors of the late afternoon, and the
sky arching from the Sierras to the Inyos was soft
and sweet with the lights of dying day. This was
to be her environment until the resurrection. Who
could have a resting place more magnificent?

One of the most beautiful and pathetic human
actions we have ever witnessed occurred when we
told those in charge that they could fill in the
grave. Then the weeping Mexican women, who
had been in tears through all the service, lifted
their faces toward the heavens, and, crossing them-
selves, gathered up some of the clods and, with
the passion of despair, kissed them, moistened them
with their tears, and cast them, thus sanctified, upon
the cofBn. It was a divine act, for which we felt
sympathy and respect, and our own eyes filled with
tears. We felt that if any of us were disposed
to criticize the handful of dust we were leaving
to its eternal rest, we would be competent to do
so only if we were without sin; and the Master's
great rebuke to the brutal searchers after the life of
the woman in Judea, came to us with new apprecia-
tion — "Let him who is without sin cast the first
stone."

4*6 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

A like service we were called upon to render for
a little Jewish mother, who had lost "her babe. In her
agony she was lifted beyond her faith, and the mother's
heart cried out and would not be denied. She
could not bear that her beloved should be laid away
forever without some voice of consolation. We were
twenty miles away, and a courier was sent to us
asking: if we would help. It was a strange situation,
more embarrassing than before, for what could we,
a Gentile, say over a Jewish babe that should be
inoffensive to the differentiated faith. There comes,
however, to the willing heart, in great human exigen-
cies, a way, and turning to Isaiah, Job and David, we
soon found a ritnal sufficient in beauty of phrase and
context to comfort the heart of the suffering mother,
laying away her beloved without the services of her
own faith. It did comfort the little mother, for with
grateful tears she thanked us again and again. Per-
haps nothing could have more strong)y illustrated the
near relations of human beings and the kinship of the
religions of Jew and Gentile, than our ability, out of
the Old Testament, common to both, to find words
of faith, hope and comfort of authority and accept-
ance. This simple service was to us a liberal educa-
tion, for often since we have found our way into the
synagogue to join in its services and felt in them
an uplift to heights where the Jewish prophets, seers
and singers, ages ago, illuminated the centuries, as
they do now, with a spiritual energy that is among
the best gifts to mankind everywhere.

Many times afterwards we performed such sad
offices and through them came very near to the hearts

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 427

of many worthy people. We were called also to
sick beds to watch with those sick unfo death, lonely
men who, far away from home, in the desert, were
making their last stand against the inevitable. There
was something inexpressibly terrible in these sad and
desperate sick rooms, and the hardest heart could not
avoid a throbbing ache. These were cases where
penniless miners were making a hopeless struggle for
a few days more of life; men who lay on rude beds
in habitations without comfort, looking hour after
hour into the face of death. If these awful hours made
them afraid, none knew, for no word of dread passed
lips slowly losing their power of speech. They were
among the heroes, whose courage is unswerving, who,
in the silence of their own spirits, held their peace.
The battlefields of the world furnish no heroism
greater than this.

Two of these cases we recall, that tested our capac-
ity to endure. One was an old Cornish miner, who
died at Lone Pine. For years he had worked in the
mines, a faithful laborer, earning his daily wages
honestly. Age laid its hand upon his energies and
the White Plague seized him as a victim. Slowly he
drifted toward the eternal shore, homeless and alone.
He had been like all of his kind, improvident, — a
firm believer in the doctrines: "Take no thought for
the morrow, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink ;"
and "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," and
in the last extremity was penniless. There is a free-
masonry among the miners, an unwritten law, a
charity that looks after distrest and disabled mem-
bers of their craft. This is particularly true of the

Cornish miner, and so the poor dying fellow had a
place where he could fight out the great contest be-
tween life and death, and at last died in peace. We
all took our turns as watchers, when it became neces-
sary, and for several months rough but kindly hands
ministered to all his wants. There was an absence
of woman's tender ministrations and sympathy, but
we gave him of our best and he was satisfied. When
he died, we went out upon the streets of the little
town, and in half a day by cheerful contributions
raised one hundred and thirty-five dollars for his
burial, and we gave him, for that place, a royal inter-
ment. Almost the entire population followed his body
to the little cemetery, and if the spirits of the dead
are conscious still of the things of this life, he must
have felt the reverent mood of those who buried him.
The other was a sadder case. One day, at Inde-
pendence, the keeper of a little hotel came to us and
said, "There is a young man at my place very sick,
and some one ought to see him." We went imme-
diately with him, and as we entered the room saw a
splendid specimen of a young American, who in heahh
would have been a giant. He was a stranger who
had come to town a day or so before — from where he
did not say. His name he did not give; he was in-
deed a "stranger in a strange land." As we looked
at him, we saw that he was in extremis. Already he
was beyond speech. The failing heart was giving to
his cheek and brow an unearthly pallor, and out of
his eyes was swiftly fading the light. One effort to
hold on to life, and he was dead. Could anything
have been more terribly pathetic — a strong man dy-

to.

I

I

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 429

ing, alone, unknown, in the very springtime of his life.
Somewhere, it may be until now, some loving soul of
a woman — mother, wife, or sweetheart, waits in vain
for his return. These desperate chances of life and
death are to be counted among the terrors of the
frraitier; the "Potter's Field" here holds many un-
known dead.

There were other events that made our stay in
the county at times exciting, — one particularly. At
one of the towns in the valley there lived a sweet girl
of sixteen. Her father, then dead, had been an Amer-
ican, her mother a Mexican, She lived with her
mother, who, from subsequent events, proved un-
worthy of her care. She was a dainty, alluring little
damsel, of great sweetness of disposition, beloved by
old and young alike, for she was happy-hearted, win-
ning and attractive. A vicious vagabond Mexican,
frequenter of saloons and houses of unclean fame, con-
cocted a scheme with the mother to take the girl to
Los Angeles and place her in a dance-house. Early
one morning, a couple of excited, trembling little
lasses called upon us at the hotel and with tears said,
"They are stealing Lolita and are taking her to Los
Angeles; what can you do?" We comforted them and
told them we would bring her back. As we went out
upon the street, we found the whole town in a ferment.
We quietly spoke to a few of the leading citizens and
undertook the task of finding and bringing the girl
back to her friends. We knew a determined man in
town, to whom such a task would be more than
welcome.

We sent for him and asked how soon he could

430 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

find three men like himself for a swift trip and
possibly a giin-fig-ht, telling him the facts, and that
the fleeing party were well along by that time on their
way across the Mojave Desert, toward Los Angeles.
He said he would be ready in an hour, and before that
time four resolute men, heavily armed and riding
animals fit for such an undertaking, rode up. We said
to them, "We do not know how many there are in the
fleeing party, or how desperate, and you may have
a fight, but bring the girl back, and drive the balance
of the party out of the county." A significant smile
and a nod was the answer, and four determined men
on a holy mission were riding like the wind toward
Los Angeles. The people watched sleepless during
the night, and until noon the next day, and then the
suspense became painful as the hours of the afternoon
slowly waned toward sunset.

Just as the top of Whitney began to redden in the
glow of sunset, down the road we saw a cloud of
dust; excited people filled the street and waited. Soon
four horsemen rode into view, and to the straining
eyes there was the flutter of a woman's dress. The
tension of thirty-six anxious hours was over, and while
men shouted their joy, women clung to each other
and wept. Up the little street rode the four dusty
horsemen with Lolita. It was a happy Httle village,
for its best beloved had been rescued from the jaws
of hell. The daring riders, like all such, for "the
bravest are the tenderest," blushed as women blessed
them for their work.

The report of the leader was that they rode without
a moment's rest until they came upon the fleeing party

L

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE 431

some sixty miles away, in the Mojave Desert. With-
out more ado they demanded the girl. She, wild with
joy, rushed to her rescuers. The vision of four deter-
mined men, with their guns at their saddle horns,
overawed the cowardly abductors, and they offered no
resistance. The rescuers mounted the girl on the
extra horse they had brought and, warning the
cowards to keep on to Los Angeles, rested a while
and then turned their horses and were soon on their
return.

At once on the arrival of the girl, we sought out
a near relative and gave him a letter to the District
Attorney at Independence and sent him speeding
away. Upon receipt of the letter, the District At-
torney made immediate application for the appoint-
ment of the relative as her guardian, which in due
time was granted, and this incident was closed with
the salvation of the beautiful child. There was no
sadness in this incident ; it was all joy.

In the barroom of a little hotel one night, when the
wind, below zero, was blowing a gale from the icy
peaks of the Sierras, we all crowded about the stove.
Besides ourselves, there were half a dozen rude miners
and a woman, — and such a woman ! A creature hardly
clean enough to live in a sewer, a drunken, vile-
mouthed, debauched, semblance of womanhood, who
had wallowed in slime until she was the vilest of the
vile. She had wandered for years about the country,
a bird of prey, laying her foul talons upon whatever
victim came her way. At the moment of which we
write, she had crowded her way to the stove, and
blinking out of her bleared eyes, was smoking a cigar.

432 ■ LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

In such a crowd the topics of conversation are not
always the cleanest, and we were often compelled to
leave them. There was no place to go to at this
moment, for the little barroom was a place of shelter
from the storm.

Some of the men, perhaps impelled by the
presence of the woman, were prompted to tell stories
hardly as white as snow. At last we said, "We think
you gentlemen have forgotten something." It was
always in that country an imperative custom to call
everybody "gentlemen." One of them looked up in
surprise and said, "What have we forgotten?" And
we replied, "That there is a lady present." A rude
laugh broke out, and one said with an oath, "Well,
that's a joke." The woman, with a strange, pathetic,
grateful look, glanced at us a moment, and then at
the others, with scorn, and without a word got up
and went out. She was gone for quite a while, and
realizing that no human being could long survive the
terrible cold of such a night, we felt an impulse to
go out and look after her. We found her leaning
against the corner of the hotel, where the wind was
beating upon her with a deadly chill. She was crying
as if her heart would break, sobbing as a child sobs
with a broken in-suck when it has exhausted its
capacity to cry.

I said to her, "What's the matter?" She said,
"You know what's the matter," I said, "No, I don't
know what's the matter," and in a real woman's
voice, out of which had died all that was coarse and
vile, with the voice of one who had once known of
sweet things, she said, "You called me a lady." I

feL

INCIDENTS OF FRONTIER LIFE

said to her that that was all right, but that she must
come in to the stove or otherwise she would freeze to
death. She came in with the marks of tears still on
her shrunken cheek, and sat down. She was usually-
noisy, boisterous and obtrusive, but for more than an
hour she sat a silent, absorbed creature. Her mood
affected the rude men, and no more offensive talk was
heard. We often wondered what memories of the
past were awakened, what pictures of herself, a happy,
unsoiled child, nourished by a mother's care and love,
what visions of her girlhood when she laughed and
danced in the beauty of a sinless life. Is there a
more terrible shape in the universe than a depraved
woman ? Surely, except that her very faculty to think
is dulled, there must be times when she will shriek
aloud to the heavens the story of her degradation.

It has been a comforting theory of ours that there
is a divinity in human lives, which can be reached. It
may lie buried beneath the debris of vicious years,
but down deep somewhere the white light bums. Is
not this the explanation of heroic acts performed in
great exigencies by some whose depravity we have
regarded as beyond repair — some sudden exhibition
of gentleness in the brutal — the almost universal
generosity to the suffering by unholy women? Who
knows? Was the divine in this poor wretch touched
by a single kind word, and did she for the moment
become clean ? Who knows ? We do know that she
was grateful, for while we never spoke to her again,
we saw her often watching us, as we walked the street,
following us with pathetic eyes, as if we were to her
a vision of something that was more than human.

434 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

If we only knew the winning power of a gentle
word to such as these, wotild we so often pass them
with cruel scorn?

From out the waste places, when we left them
forever, we brought with us memories of things such
as we have written, human things that '^make the
whole world kin/' and we have often, as we have re-
called them, felt that the exterior boundaries of our
life were widened by its intimate touch with even lives
desperate and hopdess ; we were taught also much of
the patient endurance and heroism of lowly lives.

Chapter XXIV

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS

np HE West has contributed many chapters to the
■*■ history of brave men. These men were so
nearly alike that they constituted a type. They were
found principally among the peace officers to whom
■was delegated the maintenance of order and law along
the western frontier and in the great territories be-
yond the reach of refining influences and where gath-
ered together the outcasts and outlaws from all
parts of the world. It requires a very brave man
to perfectly understand the temperament of this type.
To compel obedience to law among the lawless and
the desperate, to whom liberty is license, is no easy
task, and a fearless sheriff was more a power than
the court. The vast stretch of desert, mountains and
arid plains reaching from Texas to British Columbia
and from the Pacific to beyond the Rocky Mountains,
in evolving years was bloody ground, and the peace
officers who had charge of the administration of the
law lived on the edge of peril. The community was
always reckless, and almost always desperate. Vigil-
ance, patience and an unfailing courage must be on
constant guard. The desperado had red blood, and he
found an overflow for his moods in deadly gun-fights.
435

436

Desperate situations require heroic treatment, and he
who was responsible foT good order must be ready at
every moment to face death. All of this required
nerves of steel : otherwise there must have corae a
break somewhere in the physical fibers, leading at last
to a disintegration of the mind itself.

Much has been written of the work of individual
peace officers ; and it would be more exciting than
fiction, if some competent hand could gather together
the plain facts connected with the administration of
law in the great reaches of the West in the days when
the outlaw dominated. The early California days were
not free of disorder, violence and disregard of law.
Vicious men defied the rights of their fellows and
flung defiance to those who opposed them. There
was a time when the very pronunciation of the names
of Murietta and Vasqtiez made men turn pale and
chilled them into silence. The general population,
however, filling up the mountains with the best citizen-
ship of all countries, drawn here by the lure of gold,
held in check largely those who, with less restraint,
would have been vicious, and so in California it was
not with communities of the desperate the law had
to contend ; it was with the individual. Though bad
enough, California in those days, when compared
with New Mexico, Nevada, Idaho and Montana, was
orderly and peaceful. The State was fortunate in
two sections; San Joaquin and Calaveras, in having
in the office of sheriff remarkable men who for years
were kept in office by reason of tlieir express fitness
for the place, and history would not be complete with-
out making important note of their lives and services.

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 437

Tom Cunningham was the sheriff of San Joaquin
County for twenty-four years. History gives to him
a prominent place among the peace officers of the
State, for his activities were often beyond the limits
of his own bailiwick. Many years ago, there drifted
into San Joaquin County a young, robust, wholesome,
active Irishman, who at once entered into all of the
relations of a good citizen and engaged in business,
and for years was a plain business man carrying on
the trade of a harness-maker. He was of too great
character, however, to be allowed to live always in the
quiet of a commercial life. At that time he was in
his prime, took a great interest in public affairs, and
by his peculiar fitness gravitated to the office of Sheriff.
We knew him first in 1884. For years before his
name had been familiar to us, but somehow our ways
had always diverged. In 1884 we went to Stockton,
and for months before we met him face to face we
frequently saw him upon the streets and about the
courthouse, with the attitude and carriage of a soldier.
There was dignity in his bearing, and with great
energy he never seemed to be in undue haste. He
moved about like a man who knew men; was marked
among thousands and would have attracted attention
in any crowd, anywhere. After many days, in a sort
of desperation, for he seemed illusive to us, we turned
to a bystander and said, as Cunningham passed, "Who
is that man?" With a questioning smile, the by-
stander replied, "Why, don't you know Tom Cunning-
ham?" From thence, for fifteen years of close friend-
ship and relation we did know him, and the knowledge
was worth the while. A perfect equation of shape.

438 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

from head to foot, he was proportioned like an athlete,
and in repose or action suggested power and alert-
ness. He was fond of blue, and. thus dressed, looked
like a retired general. There was no strut or vanity
in him, but the poise was there — the military hang.
He was naturally nervous, constantly keyed to high
tension. This was indicated in the curve of the lips,
the flush of the cheek, and a certain magnetic sugges-
tion in the eye. It was not the flutter of unsteady
nerves, for these were as if made from beaten steel.
It was rather the radiation from a nature that recog-
nized to its highest limit responsibility to his own best
work and the well-being of a whole community — a
passion for justice and a determination to have it. If
some physical phenomenon could illustrate this com-
bination of brain and heart force, it would be the
shimmer of a landscape when the summer sun was
radiating the air and it trembled in the pulsation. His
face had in it too much of Irish ruggedness to be
handsome, as women say it, but it was fine, strong
and noble. It was of a high type, indicating courage,
sagacity and benevolence. This was the true index
of his character, which "like a city set upon a hill can
not be hid." During his long term of office, these
qualities kept him oftentimes, when in delicate and
perilous situations, serene and masterful. He was
not a man of mistakes, for with rare judgment he
weighed situations, familiarized himself with his rela-
tion to duty, and by a process of his own reached con-
clusions that carried him with safety to the end.

This readiness of judgment and caution was finely-
illustrated by his action in connection with the first

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS

attempt to capture Evans and Sonntag, the desperate
robbers, at Fresno. The situation was critical and
the peri! desperate by reason of the well known des-
peration of the outlaws, and the sheriffs of several
counties were called to assist the sheriff of the county
where these men were known to be in hiding. Cun-
ningham always insisted on that action, which im-
periled human life to the minor possibility. In con-
sultation with the other sheriffs, he insisted that fifty,
or if possible more, determined, reliable men should
compose the assaulting party, for the reason that in
the face of such an overwhelming force, the outlaws
would be overawed and this force would demonstrate
the folly of resistance, thus securing the capture with-
out a fight. Cunningham stood firm in this and would
not yield, and said that unless this plan was adopted,
he would go home, and he did. There were those
unkind enough, and perhaps jealous enough, to at-
tribute this action to fear, but no one who knew Cun-
ningham harbored so absurd a thought. We knew
that there was some satisfying, underlying reason for
his sudden abandonment of the chase, and on his re-
turn home, we sent for him and asked him for the
reason, and he explained it as we have written. How
completely did the future show his wisdom and justify
his conduct. The house, where Evans and Sonntag
were hiding, was by the sheriff of the county and a
small number of deputies surrounded during the night
and watched till morning, when their surrender was
demanded. When the morning broke and the demand
was made, instead of surrendering, when the daring

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

reckoned upon an even chance to fight through the
ranks and escape, and a terrible gun-fight ensued,
and after killing and wounding several of the sheriff's
party, they escaped to the mountains, to cost the State,
before they were finally captured, two hundred thou-
sand dollars, and some valuable lives. Cunningham's
plan would have saved all of this.

He told us once that early in his official life he
determined never to take a human life unless under
all circumstances it became absolutely unavoidable.
This mood became known to desperate men, who
robbed stages and trains and despoiled their fellows.
for a livelihood, and Cunningham was respected by
them, and his safety assured more than once. He
was told by one of these, whose capture he was seek-
ing and whom he subsequently arrested, that on a
certain night at a certain place he could have killed
him from ambush, but that he could not harm his
friend. Cunningham participated in many hunts for
desperate outlaws, but never found it necessary to
shoot at men, tho he did frequently kill the animals
upon which they rode. He told me that he had respect
for a man who, at the peril of his life, robbed a stage
or a train, as these were acts which required great
courage, and that almost without exception he found
such transgressors to be noble men in ruins. He had
a soft spot in his heart for all but petty criminals,
the jackals of their trade, and even to them he was
kindly while they were under his care. Hundreds
of confirmed criminals could testify to acts of kind-
ness, advice and assistance given them by Cunning-
ham, when they were in need and every other man's

^L was

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 441

hand was against them. He died poor, because he
gave with both hands to the outcast. We have known
many generous men, whose hands were given to
charity, but among them all Cunningham towered
easily chief.

There was to be seen neither choice nor limitation
in his giving. He spent no time in searching after the
worthiness of the recipient; his need was all that he'
wished to know, and then he gave, not as the niggard
gives, but like a prince. In all of this wide charity,
he obeyed the Scriptures in that his left hand did not
know what his right hand did. Personally, we know
of many of these charities. Like Lincoln, he was
not what men call religious, but righteousness in the
individual and in the masses he recognized. Pure life
and living were inspirations to him, and he gave to
all churches and kindred institutions, because of their
uplifting force, and he looked to them for support
in his work, for decency, obedience to law, and the
reign of morality. His regard for the law amounted
to a passion, and grew and strengthened with his
years, and all that he needed to arouse him to action
against the highest was the fact that they were violat-
ing the law. We remember one occasion when he
threatened to arrest a group of leading citizens who,
in connection with the District Fair, had given permits
to certain gamblers to carry on their games. The
threat was enough to stop the games, for these men
knew with whom they had to deal. One of them, a
well-known legislator, once a member of the legisla-
ture, endeavored to reason with Cunningham, but he
was inflexible, and in a burst of indignation said.

I

442 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

"Senator, wipe the statute off your books and your
men may gamble all they please. I have to enforce
the law."

During all the years Cunningham was sheriff, San
Joaqiiin County was avoided by the vicious, and Stock-
ton was reckoned as the most law-abiding and orderly
city in the West. This was the example of what one
brave, honest, clean official can do to compel first re-
spect for law and decency, and then obedience.

Few men had Cunningham's capacity to deal with
men in the mass, when they were excited and turbu-
lent. While many of the cities of the State were in
despair over the inability to master the half-starved,
half-crazed members of the "Coxey Army," Stockton,
through Cunningham's mastery of men, hardly knew
that there was such an army, altho more than once
many members of it invaded the city. They stopped
only long enough to have a talk with the sheriflf; if
hungry to be fed by him, and then to move on to
torture some other place, whose peace officers were
unskilled in mancraft.

For years, while Cunningham was an active Repub-
lican, the office of sheriff in San Joaquin County was
out of politics. He was either nominated by both
parties, or the Democratic party made no nomination,
and so for twenty-five years, until he refused to stand
for the place, he was the people's sheriff. He was
faithful to his trust, and while he counted his friends
by hosts and knew every prominent man in the
county, he had no friend whom he would exempt from
the execution of the law. In this execution he was
always kindly, giving to every one the benefit of the

I TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 443

f doubt, and, so far as his duties allowed, extending;
every privilege. He had many friendships among
lawyers, and while he was personally closer to some
than to others, he was always absolutely impartial
in his dealings with all of them. He had no imme-
diate jurisdiction of the City of Stockton, except as
a general peace officer of the county, but he was always
the counsellor of the police force, in constant con-
sultation, giving to them the benefit of his knowledge
and experience.

His knowledge of the temptations that beset the
young made him watchful, and he exercised a paternal
supervision over them. A boy spending too much
of his time upon the streets at night, indulging in the
minor vices of men, or disposed to be prematurely
"a man," was sure sooner or later to have an interview
with Cunningham, a friendly talk in which for the
time the sheriff was sunk in the man. He did not
threaten but remonstrated, set before the young fellow
the inevitable results of an evil life, enforced it with
examples with which he was familiar, and. picturing
the peace and delight of a pure life, would entreat the
erring boy to turn from his evil ways, and after this,
he always endeavored to have the boy maintain his
respect. Many a man, now reputable, can testify to
the influence of the great sheriff upon his life. His
L.pcculiar power in such work was because he never
itiireatened. He placed before the offender the two
' ways, pointing out the end, and left the choice to
their judgment and conscience. He was a brave lad,
however, who could be defiant when he felt that Cun-
Y jjingham's eye was upon him.

L

444 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

During his entire term he was a sober man. No
one, better than he, knew the power of wine to over-
throw the judgment, the possibility that at critical
moments passion instead of judgment would lead to
situations where error would be disastrous. He was
convivial, had the Irish temperament, was fond of the
good things of Hfe, but held himself in the firm grip
of an iron control. This as much as anything gave
him the commanding influence that he had with the
oflBcers of the law, and with courts throughout the
State, made him the confidant of many desperate
men, opened to him many opportunities for good,
finally enrolling his name among those who had helped
in a large way to build up the State along the best
lines. He was a power for good' and his retirement
from office seemed like a public disaster. There was
a staunch loyalty in the man that made him very
lovable.

Time and money were counted as nothing when
a friend was in need. There seemed no limitations
to him in this respect. He was a solace to those
whose hearts were sore, bread to the famishing,
consolation to the sick and rest to the weary. A smile,
a pat on the shoulder, a grip of the hand from him,
were often comfort beyond words. He seemed to
know by an unerring intuition just what one needed.
There was none of the mystic in him, for he was
built physically too strong for this, and yet he seemed
to possess to a large degree what men, because it
can not be otherwise defined, call the "Sixth Sense."
This doubtless came from his education in the office,
his close touch with all manner of men under varying

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 445

conditions, his analyses of motives and comparison of
individuals. Most men are hardened by contact with
vice, — the continuous touch with the "night side" of
human nature, which blinds the mind, hardens the
heart, and dries up the fountain of faith. Suspicion,
unbehef in human goodness, poisons their minds, and
they generally subscribe fully to the cruel maxim :
"Believe all men to be evil until they prove themselves
to be good." This terrible niood plays havoc with
a man's own nature and renders him incapable of
reaHzing that the world he deals with is but a seg-
ment — a dark corner only in the larger world where
self-sacrifice, devotion and clean living are operating
daily.

Cunningham was singularly free from this moral
dry-rot of the heart. He believed in his fellows, even
found in the convict some quality of virtue that in his
degradation kept him still a living soul, some clean
spot where the seeds of good might be planted to
bring forth a moral harvest.

His attitude to the convict was always that of a
friend. In taking them from his bailiwick to deliver
them to the State Prison, he always treated them with
kindliest consideration, kept out of sight on the cars
and in the streets the evidences of the man's state.
Unless with some desperate man to whom escape was
ever present, an overmastering temptation, he
seldom used handcuffs. He never failed to pay out
of his own pocket for whatsoever of luxuries the
poor wretch might suggest, and many a convict will
remember with gratitude the kindly generosity of the
great sheriff. All this was the strong throb of a

446 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

heart full of pity for him wiio seemed ever to be the
victim of the environment that civilization, poverty,
and bad example had grouped about him, to which
mig^ht be added the deadly work of drink. He in-
variably attributed a man's downfall to something
outside of the man, not within him. This quality gave
him the real friendship of even confirmed criminals,
men who made unlawful prey upon their fellows a
business, to whom crime was a deliberate choice, out
of whose hearts had perished the attributes of man-
hood, the terrible products of a dead conscience. These
were the Ishmaelites of the world, whose hand was
against every man and every man's hand against
them. They were the natural enemies of the peace
officers and looked upon by them as such. Cunning-
ham told us he sought for the confidence of such men
for two reasons — first, because tJiey were human and
needed some man other than their own kind whom
they could call friend, and secondly, because they aided
him greatly in preserving the people of his country
from their operations.

There is a well-known division among criminals,
into well defined classes, and between those of the
same class there exists a sort of freemasonry. A
community of evil interests binds these together, so
that an entire State is kept informed of conditions
favorable to tlie successful commission of crimes.
Word is passed along the line, and confederates in
Los Angeles become perfectly well acquainted with
the opportunities for their work in Siskiyou or San
Joaquin. The reputation of peace officers for honesty,
courage and activity becomes a part of this knowledgi

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 447

and this accounts for the fact that while some com-
munities are comparatively free of crime, others are
overrun with active and daring outlaws. During the
entire twenly-five years that Cunningham was sheriff
of San Joaquin County, that county was singularly
free from criminal invasion, and the City of Stockton
the most avoided city in the State. This condition
was left by him as his legacy, and in a measure it still
exists.

The range of this community of friendship exist-
ing between Cunningham and the criminals often
made him a valuable aid to the sheriffs of other coim-
ties, for when some well-known criminal was under
arrest and being submitted to searching inquiry, re-
mained dumb to all questions, he would finally say,
"If you want me to talk, send for Tom Cunningham
and I will talk with him." This was done many times,
until he became by a sort of common understanding
the "Father Confessor" of the jails. Nothing could
more fully illuminate the genius of Cunningham, a
rare combination of mental and moral endowment,
for none but a brainy man could have carried him-
self through such contact and come out without scar,
and brainy as he might be, doors of opportunity would
be barred against him, unless he had a steady heart,
beating without a skip, with the mercy that kept him
tender, full of pity for all human beings in distress.

To the courts he was an adviser and support.
Judges trusted him to the utmost, and for them
he had the same great respect he had for the
law itself. He believed in the integrity of the
judiciary and was impatient with those who should

448 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

but did not sustain the administration of the law
by the courts. To him "the king could do no
wrong." He was a shrewd measurer of human
action, was hard to deceive, was not clouded in
his judgment by reason of his affiliations; but he
had faith in the men selected by the community
to sit upon the bench and he stood by the side
of the court as the executor of the law and its decrees,
with perfect trust in their righteousness. He aided
the courts by his experience and advice in the ad-
measurement of sentences, and his suggestions as to
length of sentences were invariably heeded. He was
able to draw, from his knowledge of the criminals,
the character of the evidence and the circumstances
surrounding it, a perfect equation between the offense
and the sentence. In all of this he was merciful but
just as between the offender and the State. Many
times offenders had reason to be thankful for the
sober, merciful judgment of the sheriff which had in-
fluenced the harsher judgment of the court.

It was not only in criminal matters that Cimning-
ham's qualities were exhibited, for in civil affairs he
was equally efficient. He had a clear idea of the rights
of litigants, and while giving to the successful suitor
all that the law entitled him to, so far as he could
within the line of his duty, he made defeat to the
unsuccessful as unembarrassing as possible. He was
ready to persuade the man seeking to attach or fore-
close upon his neighbor, that it should be done only
when it became an absolute necessity. He knew by
long acquaintance almost every man in the county
and his resources, and with this knowledge he was

^H

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 449

able to determine whether drastic measures of litiga-
tion were necessary, and it was in the clearness of
this light that he persuaded men to be merciful in
their business. Many are the men whose estates and
homes were saved by this large and kindly wisdom.
Of course, this was a sort of paternalism exercised by
an executive officer of the Government against which
shortsighted men so frequently rail, but it was a pater-
nalism which had its root in the deep affection he had
for all the individual members of the community that
had sustained him for so many years in so loyal a
way. It was a fine expression of the man's deep-
seated gratitude for the people's long reposed con-
fidence in him, and he wanted to pay back to them all
that he could of his moral debt.

Lowly people, to whom life had been hard, were
objects of care to Cunningham, and to the ill and the
suffering he ministered in a comforting but unostenta-
tious way. Of course, such a man must have enemies,
and he had his, though they were few. The enmity
of a man was no bar to Cunningham's willingness to
aid him when necessary. One instance of this gener-
osity will suffice to show this peculiar trait that entered
into his dealings with those who had sought to injure
him. A poor man, with a large family, for some
unknown reason had expfest great antipathy to the
sheriff. His family were subsequently stricken with
smallpox, and his entire household quarantined. The
sheriff heard of it, and knew from the man's circum-
stances that they must be in need, and so he purchased
an abundant supply of provisions, and after nightfall
carried them himself to the backyard of the house.

450 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

hailed tlie man and told him what he would find at
the gate. It was a godsend, for indeed the smitten
family were in distress. This unexpected generosity
was continued until the lifting of the quarantine. It
was "coals of fire upon his head," so far as the
sheriff's enemy was concerned, for the kindness broke
his unfriendliness, and he was ever afterwards a grate-
ful constituent.

Stockton had quite a negro population, and the
colored men to a unit were always for Cunningliani.
An amusing incident occurred during an exciting elec-
tion in connection with a colored man's club called,
"The Silver Side Club." A noted Irish wag of the
town had taunted some of its members with a state-
ment that the Irish Were going to down the colored
men In the election. This was taken as a serious
threat, and the club decided upon retaliation. A meet-
ing was called to consider the situation, and the club-
room was full. The presiding officer, with the pomp-
ous air of his kind when in authority, rapped for
order and stated the threat and asked for immediate
action. An old colored man. with a squeaking voice,
rose and made a motion that at the forthcoming elec-
tion no colored man should vote for an Irishman. A
second to the motion brought the matter to a focus,
but just as the president was about to put it to the
vote, up jumped a well-known colored patriarch, who
said, "Mistah President, we seem to be going too fast.
Befo' de motion is put by the cha'r. I desire to say
that Massa Cunningham who is friend of the colored
men, is an Irishman, and dis resolution will carry
away de colored vote. I therefore move you, Mistah

^K we

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 45'

President, that a=; Massa Cunningham is a sort of
superior Irishman, he be 'cepted from de resolution.".
With great clapping of hands and stamping of feet,
the motion as amended was carried with a shout,
and Cunningham, as of old, got the colored vote. It
was true, as the old negro stated, that he was a supe-
rior Irishman, for he never failed to exhibit the high-
est type of the virtues of that race that everywhere,
in forum, in commercial life, and on the battlefield,
has won renown by reason of its honor.

It would not be fair if we made no mention of a
splendid man who. in the same office, in an adjoining
county, for more than forty-five years was a fearless
defender, oftentimes in desperate situations, of law
and order. Ben Thome, as he was afifecttonately
called by all the people, was during all of these event-
ful years, from 1855 until his death, a peace officer
in Calaveras County, and for thirty-three years its
sheriff. He was first appointed Deputy Sheriff in
1855, for the sole purpose of ridding that section of
the marauding bands of desperadoes that infested
the mountains and preyed upon the miners. Thome
was equal to the task and by his ceaseless energy
drove them to jail, the gallows or to flight. 'He be-
came a haunting terror to the outlaw, and they soon
learned that their only safety was in flight, once he
was upon their trail. It woidd serve no purpose to
narrate the especial cases, although they were many,
in which he brought these outlaws to justice. They
are a part of the criminal history of the State, pre-
served in appropriate places. It is with the man that
we are dealing, not his achievements, and it suffices

452 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

to say that he never failed in his duty tho oftentimes
he performed it in the face of almost certain violent
death.

Thome had a mixture of Danish and English blood,
and in this admixture was the best of both. He
was born in New York, but was early taken to the
unbroken West, where in the breadth of the continent
his native traits were nourished and his energy was
given a field for its expansion. Here he was made
familiar with native warfare and its brutal savagery.
This was the school of peril in which he was trained
for the heroic work of his manhood. In 1849 he
crossed the plains to California, and in the long trip
was, with his comrades, beset by countless perils. The
dreaded cholera broke out among the emigrants and
followed the line of travel from train to train, smiting
its thousands who had left their homes with high
hopes. He nourished the sick and buried the dead,
taking no account of his own possible fate. He
seemed to bear a charmed life, to be a child of destiny,
and past the dying and the dead he struggled on
toward the land of his achievements. No man could
look into the quiet, determined face of Ben Thome
and peer into the silent deeps of his brave eyes, with-
out recognizing at once the excellence of the man.

He was not robust, but was knit together as if he
had an abundance of iron in his blood. Modest and
retiring, he moved about among his fellows, gentle
to the weak, stern to the evil, a fine combination, often
found in this type of man, of gentleness and valor.
There was in him the spirit that seemed impervious
to any recognition of the possibility of harm while

I

TWO GREAT SHERIFFS 453

performing his duty. To perform this duty in the
bravest, largest way, was his passion. It was his only
passion, for under circumstances that might well have
paled the cheek of the bravest of the brave, he was
as cool as ice. It was this quality that served him in
desperate situations, for it overawed the most reck-
less and desperate and made them obedient to his
will. This obedience he must have, for he was uncom-
promising, and as relentless on the trail of a wrong-
doer as fate. In the chase of a fleeing criminal he
knew no fatigue. Hours, days, of continuous travel
over untrailed mountains, down into deepest canyons,
over lone miles of valley, there was no power to
touch the matchless resource of his tireless strength.
He was a minister of outraged law, and its voice
called to him for retribution. Fatigue and weariness
had no power to stay him. Such men are substantially
the agents of some plan whereby the frontier may be
regenerated and the perils of life there may yield to
peace. Unlike Cunningham, he was a Democrat, firm
in his faith, but, like Cunningham, he had nothing to
do with politics in his office. As political nominee or
independent candidate, he was always elected. He
satisfied the people, and they satisfied him. Under
his fearless administration of the law, slowly at first,
but finally, his county became a place of peace, and in
the quiet of the hills the very best citizenship, tho
much of it was foreign, found homes in absolute
safety.

We knew Thome well for years, the same quiet,
reliable, modest man, kindly and companionable, proud
of his county and its people, glorying in its peace and

454 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

prosperity, but making no mention of his part in its
accomplishment. If we remember rightly, he died
in office. During the last years he was ill and racked
by disease that sapjped much of the joy of life, doubt-
less the heritage of his work, but he looked upon
death with resolute mien, the same resoluteness that
had marked him in exciting times as one of the most
remarkable men of the West. His quenchless eye
still shone with the light of an undaunted spirit
Whether he had religious faith or not, we do not
know, but such men must be in the highest sense re-
ligious, and somewhere in the beauty of the eternal
life he must be at rest, for even God could not spare
such souls out of the universe. It they perish, there
must come finally moral disaster to the universe
itsdf.

Chapter XXV

l-A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD AND THE
MAN WHO TRANSPLANTED IT

T^ ROM the days of the Puritan the breeding grounds
■•■ of the scholar have been Harvard and Yale.
Here they have found the allurements of study, content
to forego the activities of life where their fellows con-
tended for material things. This attitude has become
fixt, until to be admitted to their companionship re-

I quires solid culture founded tipon broad scholarship.

I The scholars of the Republic clung with affection to
the altars that great minds had erected in the universi-
ties. They heard the voices of other men calling from
the large spaces of the continent. But this did not
disturb their peace. As a people we were half a
century old before the East began to send out her
gifted sons to carry wisdom into the forests and
prairies of the West — the West which lay just beyond
the Mississippi. The advance guard were the sinewed
sons of adventure. In these days, in this same terri-
tory, millions are housed, and the moral and political
center of our people is established.

The call of the West was not the song of a siren —
rather the voice of a giant blowing vibrant messages,
the cry of the Macedonian, "Come over and help us."
455

456 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

The young responded eagerly to the invitation, and
soon were possessing the West. They were splendid
in courage and hope, expanding rapidly to the lengths
and breadths and heights about them. The story
of this multitude is inspiring history, which never
fails to stir us. In the individual life, however, is
where we more clearly discern the indomitable genius
of our people, for in it we find focalized aspiration of
a mighty race.

Careers of the successful are of the same type, as
there are in such the same deathless faith, the same
iron in the blood. With many of these individuals
we have been associated in business and in social life,
and by close contact able to measure them. We shall
try to sketch a single character, with features perfectly
drawn, as the engraver etches them when he seeks to
transfer to his plate the face of his subject, engraved
with delicate lines here, and broad lines there, so that
spirit shall be in the picture and speak truthfully of the
man, so that men shall be able to say, "This is a noble
or a mean soul." We will try the engraver^s skill and
draw the features of one who is a fine example of the
high type of which we have written. We asked him
once for a few of the facts of his boyhood, with which
we were not familiar but which we needed, for no
greater truth is written than, "The boy is father to the
man."

The first statement T. S. Bullock (lovingly known
as Tom Bullock) made to us was: "I was born of
poor but God-fearing parents." In these reckless days
men have ordinarily no time to apply to their
lives the relation of such a statement. The struggle

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 457

IS too fierce, the pace too swift. Such a recital, how-
ever, when one begins the story of his life, is sugges-
tive; and gives the key to a career, and makes plain
the sources of character. There is a sermon in these
simple words, and they hold us to simple faiths. How
many fine souls have made this same statement in
many lands and ages, until it seems as if a great
life is a natural evolution "from poor but God-fearing
parents."

Tom Bullock was born in Sterling, Indiana. He
had none of the advantages of the youth of to-day.
He worked with his hands. His education came to
him in the achievements of later years. At eleven
he was clerking in a country store, as Lincoln did.
From fourteen to eighteen he was at work in the dis-
tasteful atmosphere of a pork-packing house In Kansas,
then the seat of turbulence and violence, where liberty
and slavery were waging deadly battles for mastery.
In 1871, a mere stripling, he took his life into his awn
hands and started for California. What he had
heard of its cHmate and opportunities made the pack-
ing house, with its foulness, intolerable. Of money
he had little, of will plenty. It did not take him long,
when he reached California, to find that San Francisco
was a fascinating place, but not one of opportunities.
He started for Los Angeles as a steerage passenger on
a coast steamer. Los Angeles was not satisfying, and
he struck out for the desert, and walked alone over
burning sands, through long stretches of silent levels,
climbed over hot hills, often hungry, more often tor-
tured by the awful thirst that makes the southern
desert so perilous to human hfe. This tramp he kept

458 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

up for forty-two days, until he reached Prescott. Sub-
consciously he realized that here was his opportunity,
and he went to work in a placer mine, where he toiled
like a galley slave without much reward for tight
months. At the end of this time he found himself,
after paying his board and lodging, the owner of
eight dollars, with hardly enough clothing to cover
his nakedness, and actually shoeless. The eight dol-
lars earned by such hard endeavor exercised an occult
influence over him, and he had them made int6 a ring
so that he might always have his first earnings in the
West, This failed of its purpose, however, for short-
ly afterwards, while a passenger on a stage coach,
just out of Florence, the outfit was held up by a high-
wayman, and he parted with his ring. This, by a
curious coincidence, was the first stage hold-up in
Arizona. While he lost his ring, he became a part of
history as one of the first victims of stage robbers
in that territory.

Back to the store in Prescott he went as a clerk
for a year. He was now twenty-one years of age, and
that genius, that in future years made him famous
as a railroad man in Arizona and Mexico, began to
work in his blood and brain. He went to New York,
where he plunged into street work, laying gas mains,
erecting buildings and street railways. He exhibited
a rare genius for such work, and before long became
noted, and from New York expanded his operations
until he was engaged in like work in several adjoin-
ing States. He grew with his work until he became
a master, and soon was the associate of leading finan-
ciers of New York City. The boy had found his

H A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 459

^^place, and with energy and persistence, his distinguish-
ing qualities to-day, became a director of events rather
than a mere executor of them.

In 1886 he had money and influence enough to
become a builder of a railroad of his own, and went
back to Arizona, his first love, and constructed seventy-
seven miles of railroad, from Seligmann to Prescott.
The history of this line reads like fiction. In the
building and in its financiering he exhibited the high-
est qualities of the trained promoter as well as the
practical builder. He imprest the legislature of Ariz-
ona to such an extent that by its act the Territory
lent its name and security to the bond issue by which
the railroad was built. For eight years this line was
prosperous, but at the end of this time the inevitable
competition occurred and a shorter line was built as
a part of the Santa Fe system, and "Bullock's Road."
as it was called, became useless. He was "up against
it," as the Western phrase was, but not for long, for
the courage of the young railroad man found a way
and a place for its transplanting. How this feat was
accomplished, we will disclose before the end of the
chapter.

He was still growing, still expanding, and from
1888 to i8gi we find him in Mexico, constructing four
hundred miles of railroad from Trevino, by way of
Monterey, the capital, to Tampico. After its comple-
tion, accomplished by almost superhuman miracles in
finance, he sold the road to a French syndicate. Thif^
road afterwards became a part of the Mexican Central
Railway system. While Bullock cleaned up a fortune,

^^his profits were cut down by more than half from the

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

fall in the price of silver in the United States, for his
contract called for payment in silver. At the time it
was made, silver was worth ninety cents per ounce ;
before he was ready to turn over the road silver had
dropt to forty-five cents per ounce, and he suffered
the loss. His fame, as a successful operator, builder,
and financier, was now established firmly, and he had
a host of friends in the business world ready to back
any enterprise which he might stand for.

Connected with the building of the little seventy-
seven mile railroad there were interesting incidents'
illustrative of Arizona life. The nickname of the old
settler of Northern Arizona, to distinguish him from
the new-comer, who was known as a "tender-foot,"
was "hazamper." taken from the name of a celebrated
creek near Prescott, Bullock ranked as a hazamper,
and he was a favorite with the large tribe. To the
same tribe belonged poor, gallant Bucky O'Neal.
It was the loyalty of Bullock to the hazampers
that led finally to the building of the road. A
delegation from Prescott was sent to New York to
prevail upon Bullock to return to Arizona and under-
take the task. This he consented to do, and came back
to look over the ground. At this time Bucky O'Neal,
with a partner, Charlie Beach, was publishing a
paper in Prescott, which was of the usual type of
frontier papers, full of ginger and courage, fearless in
the support of public measures of merit and merciless
in denunciation of bad things and bad men. Bucky
O'Neal and Beach were great admirers of Bullock,
and as soon as it was known that he was coming to
undertake the railroad, the little newspaper was filled

ivas filled^^H

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 461

daily with praise of the project and the man. Public
sentiment was thus warmed into high expectation,
and all but a few "soreheads," pessimistic prophets of
despair found everywhere, believed in the enterprise
and trusted Bullock to carry it through.

When he arrived from New York, the whole town,
except the few "soreheads," turned out to welcome
him with noisy joy. No returning conqueror ever
received a more hearty welcome to his home than did
Bullock when he stepped from the stage. Prior to
his arrival a crowd was standing on the street, the
same crowd one sees even to-day in any remote little
Arizona town — standing with hands in pockets, spit-
ting tobacco juice, listening to some town oracle.
Among the crowd was one of the "soreheads," and
a hazamper asked him what he thought of it. The
"sorehead" replied, "I think it's a fake; no darned kid
of a hazamper like Bullock could make me believe that
he could build seventy-seven miles of railroad through
the desert." An old hazamper standing nearby over-
heard the remark, and went straight to Charlie Beach
and told him what the "sorehead" had said. That
was enough for Beach, and he marched down the
street, met the "sorehead" and promptly knocked him
down. The "sorehead" did not wait for more, but
staggering to his feet started post-haste for the pro-
tection of his home. But he was destined for another
knock-down, for O'Neal had heard just then of the
obnoxious remark and he too took the warpath and
just as "sorehead" turned a corner he came face-to-
face with O'Neal, and biff went his fist, taking the
"sorehead" in the jaw, and down he went

I

M

462

Two knock-downs wttliin half an hour changed the
outlook of the "sorehead/' and he from thence joined
the ranks of the shouters for the railroad.

Poor Bucky O'Neal rushed to the front during the
call of troop? for the Spanish War, with a company
he had organized among the Rough Riders, and at
the first battle of San Juan fell dead with a buUet in
his heart. At the moment he was shot, he was a
hundred feet ahead of his company, rushing with his
impetuous spirit into the center of the fight. When
it was known to his friends that he had gone to the
war, almost to a man they said that he would die in'
battle. This was no evil prophecy, but the regretful
expression of a fear that had its root in the knowledge
of his fearless spirit. They knew that no self-protect-
ing discretion would ever hold him out of the jaws
of peril, that he would always be in the front where
the deadly bullets were thickest, and where he would
be reckless in his exposure to death, and that nothing
but a miracle could save him from a soldier's fate,
and so it was. for he was slain in almost the first storm
of bullets. That Bullock was loved by such a man
was the highest testimonial to his own worth.

With the road to Prescott paralleled by a shorter
road, one of two things was left — either to sell the
rails for old iron, make firewood of the ties, dispose
of the rolling stock at whatever price it would bring,
or move it bodily to some place where a new railroad
was called for. Bullock never for a moment enter-
tained the first proposition. He was not made of the
stuff that quits, and so he set out on a voyage of
discovery. There was no room in Arizona or Mexico^

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD

for such a road. He was fond uf California, its
climate and opportunities, and so to California he
came. He was not equipped with any extensive knowl-
edge of the State at large, found all of its valleys
occupied with railroads, and at first was compelled
to rely on secondhand information as to places and
resources. He was not only a financier and a builder
of railroads, but he had acquired the collateral wis-
dom that all successful railroad operators must have —
a knowledge of the capacity of the country through
which the road runs, to sustain the road and build
up a contributive, remunerative trade. He knew thor-
oughly that it was one thing to build a railroad and
another to make it pay. In this quality he greatly
resembled the late empire-builder, Harriman.

Patient months were spent in examination of
schemes, but one by one they were rejected because
the sustaining trade was not in sight. He finally
determined that a road from Stockton to Sonora
could be made sustaining, and he organized the Sierra
Pacific Railway Company. The project appealed to
the people of the country through which the road was
to run, and a committee of leading citizens was ap-
pointed to secure rights of way. This committee
diligently worked, but after a month or more demon-
strated only one fact, and that was that rights of
way were not to be had for the asking, and that they
would cost too much to warrant the building of the
road, and so that scheme went by the board. Bul-
lock was somewhat discouraged, but not defeated,
altho at this time he was not in robust health. Mo-
mentarily despondent, while he was confined to his

464 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

room ii! the Palace Hotel, he sent for us and said
he thought he would go back to New York and aban-
don for the time the attempt to transplant the
Arizona road.

We saw that this was simply a sag in the mind
of one -yho was not well, and suggested that there
was no real trouble — that the mistake had been
in trying to build from Stockton, and that the
logical route was from Oakdale, a station on the
Southern Pacific Company's line in Stanislaus County,
to Sonora. The sick man was well the next day, and
within a week ground was broken for the line
of the Sierra Railway Company of California, which
since 1897 has been operated with great profit, giving
an outlet to the vast resources of a great region, build-
ing new enterprises and creating new industries. The
seventy-seven miles of the deserted Arizona railroad
were bodily transplanted and extended thirty miles.
As feeders to this, two other roads have been pi
jected and one has been built. With the mere trans
planting Bullock was not satisfied* This was the first
step only. The country must be quickened, the people
aroused to their powers, industries revived or created.
new people attracted and settled, for a new railroad
must be nursed. To this task Bullock applied himself,
and while inspiring others to the renewal of old ven-
tures and the ^stablisJiment of new, he plunged him-
self into the industrial field, built hotels to accommodate
the traveling public, opened quarries of marble, built
and operated lumber mills and manufacturing plants,
encouraged the agriculturist to enlarge his fields and
orchards, exhibiting in all a tireless energy and the

les. -^^_
.n»^^^|

and the_^^B

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 465

gaiiiis of one who appreciated the resources about
him. Fifteen years of tireless energy have remodeled
the whole country and changed the face of nature, and
a remote region has become the center of industrial
activities.

There is always breadth in what Bullock does. We
do not know whether he could make a single hundred
dollars or not. We have always doubted it, but when
it comes to making hundreds of thousands he is on
"his native heath." It would be impossible for him to
be content with the possession of Government bonds
resting in a safe deposit box. The clipping of semi-
annual coupons would have no interest to him. His
dollars must work, and the work must be along large
lines. He has the instinct of a seer, he looks with
clear eyes into the future, and merges into constructive
agents the mass of things that work out his will. The
courage of his work is illustrated by his purchase in
1893 of a five hundred thousand acre land grant in
West Virginia and Kentucky, which to any one less
equipped would have seemed the very desperation of
a forlorn hope. His million cleaned up from the Mexi-
can railroad was lying in New York banks, and it
must be set to work. He ascertained that in the year
1792 the State of Virginia had, for moneys loaned
to the United States in one of its darkest hours,
granted to Robert Morris, the patriotic banker of
Philadelphia, this land in the then unknown, unin-
habited wilds of western territory. By the way, one
of the heirs of this estate was Mrs. Maybrick, so long
in an English jail It was then, however, as large as

M

466 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

some dukedom in Europe, but poor payment for the
moneys loaned.

For decades the title lay dormant, represented only
in documents yellow with age. There had been
no possession, no assertion of rights, and the ter-
ritory had merged from its primal estate and was
possest by people who had settled and occupied the
greater portion of the grant without knowledge of
the superior title, ignorant that their homes were
overshadowed by a colossal cloud. While the paper
title was flawless, so far as the grant was concerned,
its boundaries were uncertain, ancient surveys meager
and indefinite, and the opposing minds of actual set-
tlers made the oldest inhabitant singularly ignorant
of the landmarks called for in the grant. Added to
this the State had undertaken to cut off the title by
tax sales under the color of law. The people who
claimed title to individual homes were of the class
found in that part of the Union — simple-minded in
many ways, ignorant of the world, divided into clans,
torn by feuds, but ready with the gun to defend in
common against the intruding stranger.

Such were the conditions against which Bullock
and his associates had to contend — ^uncertainty of
description, hostility of settlers, and the claim di
forfeiture by the State. In fact, the purchase was,
from an ordinary standpoint, simply the purchase of
a colossal lawsuit whose end must come after many
years, the expenditure of vast sums of money, perils
from hostile settlers, and the to be expected bias of
the courts and a certainty- of bias in the jury box.
These things did not deter Bullock, and with his title

^K

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 4^7

he began the war now waged for nearly twenty years
with varying success, and the expenditure of tens of
thousands of dollars. Like a football in a hot game,
he has been tossed back and forth from inferior to
superior courts.

With wisdom and friendliness, Bullock early dis-
closed that he did not care for the surface of the
ground, that it was only the coal pits beneath that he
desired, and he offered to deed to all actual settlers
their homes, with a reservation of the underground.
This settled the moral questions and left the legality
of title as the sole issue, and around this has been
waged a ceaseless conflict for twenty years. Out of
the conflict has emerged a clear title to some thou-
sand acres, mostly coal lands, which in itself is a
royal estate, and which will multiply in value into
millions, when projected railroads shall tap that sec-
tion of the country. The story of this grant, in court
and out of court, from its inception to the present
day, is an exciting one. into which is woven every
phase of human character — deadly hates culminating
in more deadly deeds, the loyalty of simple woodmen,
the hand of assassins, doubts of judicial virtue — in
fact, all the lights and shadows as lived in wild places.
If it be true that "to patient faith the prize is sure,"
the clearness of Bullock's vision in his attitude to this
old grant will be justified.

The analysis of human character is always fascinat-
ing, providing one is able in the analysis, to sepa-
rate from the mass of character controlling traits,
mental trends and moral tones, to delve beneath mere
surface expressions into the deeps where the man really

468 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

lives and has his being. The great man is often sen-
sitive about an exposure of his finest moral treasures
hidden behind silent lips; of unsuspected tenderness
he is willing to let the world judge him by super-
ficial things, according to its standards, caring lit-
tle for misconstruction of motive or misapprehension
of reasons underlying conduct. This is possible
only to the man who is sure of himself, who has
weighed himself in the balance and found that he is
not wanting. Great men are frequently puzzling be-
cause they are so violative of our preconceptions. They
do not fit the golden frame we have prepared for
their portraits. Who that did not know of his su-
preme excellence would have selected the gaunt and
graceless figure of Lincoln as he walked down
Pennsylvania Avenue, uncouth in dress and gesture,
as the chief citizen of the world. Would any-
thing in the physical man have given to a stranger
any suggestion that lie was in the presence of a
being with such splendid moral endowment that
he was able, amid the terror of awful years, to carry
alone in brain and heart the destines of his country,
to preserve freedom to the whole people, and to give
liberty to an enslaved race? Who would have choseii
Grant as the greatest soldier of the period? Who
chosen Harriman from a group of his fellows as the
master builder of industrial empire? A man who
has with imperfect weapons won all his battles, who
with his opportunities has measured up to them, and
does not know what failure means, is great.

Come with us and for a moment we will intrude
upon an ordinary hour with Bullock in his office.

A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 469

Busy? Yes. but he does not look it. Before him,
on his knees, lies a sheet of paper, crossed and re-
crossed with columns of figLires. To you they are
as meaningless as the cuneiform tracery on a Babylon-
ian column, as unsatisfying as a Chinese puzzle, and
the fact is they have no meaning to him. It is simply
the trick of the years, a mere process by which he
concentrates his mind upon some problem of finance
he is working out. These pieces of paper actually
litter his desk, for his mind is never at rest except
when he is asleep. As he looks up, we see the face
of one whose native kindness softens regular features
with a faint tinge that for a second colors the pale-
ness so often found in the faces of scholars and men
of concentrated faculties. He is in his favorite atti-
tude, half doubled up in an easy chair — an uncon-
scious pose. In a low voice he talks, without modula-
tion. He has no tricks of speech, and what he says
he states with a directness that never drifts into col-
lateral discussion. He is quick of apprehension and
expects you to be, and this is why he is not guilty of
any dissipation of talk. There is no reserve, for he
is always approachable, and listens patiently to what-
ever may be said. He is rarely poised, has an un-
varying evenness of temperament, patient in every-
thing he says and does. He doubtless would be
classed among the sanguine nervous, but does not
belong to the purely nervous except in so far as that
term includes alertness of mind and rapidity of mental
action, and the capacity to reach, without hesitation,
conclusions.

Business finished, he for a moment will give way

470 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

to social talk, often surprising one by a quaintness
of humor that leaks out of the sunniness of a gener-
ous spirit, and you forget for a second the strong
man and his masterful grasp of situations. Personally
he is winning, charming in simplicity and genuine-
ness. It makes you feel persona grata. He is an easy
man to do business with by reason of his suavity of
manner and the solid grasp he has of situations. He
has a tender care for all his employees, from the high-
est to the lowest, and to the humblest workman in his
employ he is "Tom Butlock." Thousands of simple
workmen all over the continent are proud to say that
Tom Bullock is their friend.

His associates have always found him as full of
integrity as of capacity. For fifteen years we have
maintained the closest of confidential relations with
him, and we have never known him to be jarred out
of his poise, and we have seen him in situations where
a more than ordinary man would have lost his moral
control in a storm of justifiable passion. When stirred
most, the only evidence is a slight flush of the cheek,
an unwonted liojht in the eye. and maybe just the
slightest rise in the volume of the voice. These meas-
ure either his pleasure, contempt or scorn.

There is a large measure of moral beauty in the
man that is discernible only by accident, for there is
spiritual modesty about him. Unless it becomes neces-
sary he makes no disclosure of his generous spirit.
We know this because it became necessary to know
it by reason of his benefactions to those who were
constant recipients of his bounty. These were scat-
tered about the entire country, in receipt of regular

^f A TRANSPLANTED RAILROAD 471

aid. They were in most cases old friends, diseased,
aged and poverty-stricken, to whom his charity was
as if out of the hand of an angel. One day he handed
us a letter. It announced the death of an old lady in
New York, and he told us that for years he had sent
to the poor old lady twenty dollars a month, and re-
cited the story of her relation to him, very beautiful,
very instructive, in that it exposed the dignity and
grace of a simple devout life. He said that once in
New York, when he was beginning to be a man of
affairs, in touch with men who controlled finance, he
was still poor, and found it difficult to keep up the
social pace called for in New York ; that he was in
the midst of a negotiation involving large sums of
money, which he was compelled to secure; that it was
necessary that he be well drest, keep up all appear-
ances of prosperity and live at an expensive hotel.
Just at the time when the matter in hand was about
to be consummated, he found himself absolutely
"broke," without money to pay his hotel bills, which
fact if it leaked out would have destroyed his plans.
He was at the end of his trail and did not know where
to turn. He needed some companionship, the solace
of some genuine soul, some sympathy, to ease the
strain, and he went to the old lady. He was "down
in the mouth." She noticed it, and asking htm the
reason, he told her of his dilemma, and that if he had
a single five hundred dollars he would bridge the
situation and carry out his deal. She listened silently,
and when he had done, left the room, but soon re-

turned and with a motherly smile handed to him out

^^ of an old pocketbook five hundred dollars in green-

LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

backs. He was staggered for the second and asked
where she had gotten the money. She told him that
it was all of her savings of years; that she had laid
this up to secure her in her old age from possible
poverty. He refused to take the money but she in-
sisted with such loving, trustful persistence that at
last he consented. This "widow's mite" was his
salvation, for he was able to close the transaction and
was in funds. Tho he was able in a few days to repay
her, he regarded always his obligation to her as the
foundation of his success, and from thence until the
day of her death he sent her twenty dollars a month
— to her abundant.

On another occasion he handed us fifty dollars and
asked us to purchase a money order and to send it to
some little place in the Cumberland Mountains, Tennes-
see, saying. "This is to pay the burial expenses of
an old friend whose death I heard of the other
day." Many times, when he has been busy, we have
carried out for him such charities. Except for our
close relations with him, we would never have been
able to discover these fine acts of charity, which he
kept from all. He truly has kept from his left hand
what his right hand did.

Bullock is a resourceful man, and outside of techni-
cal matters rarely asks for advice. In business mat-
ters he is reticent but not secretive. This is because
he is certain of his judgment. He has neither sus-
picion nor cunning. On the contrary, when he chooses
to disclose his plans, he is open as the day. His ex-
perience of a busy life has seasoned him, and tho he
ha? passed the half century post, he is fibered with j

473

shirdy mental strength, but is not of robust physical
frame. His strength is vital force which bears con-
tinuous heavy strains. The year following the dis-
aster of 1906 was a severe one for everybody, and
those who had, before the fire, launched new ventures
requiring large sums of money, were for months peril-
ously near the verge of financial ruin. Bullock was
among those, for he was always loaded to the guards
with such ventures. In the trying hours when coin
was a curiosity and money was represented only by
certificates issued by the consolidated banks, he rolled
up his sleeves, shut his jaws together tight, and fought
the peril to a finish, and tho it took off some of the'
flesh from his ribs, paled his cheeks a little and added
a little white to the color of his hair, he won out. He
is a brilliant example of what an indomitable will can
do in emergencies when it is harnessed up with a
skilled judgment.

In social life Bullock is delightful, his humor in-
fectious, his talk restful, even his silence magnetic
with a subtle camaraderie. He is a royal host, knows
how to minister to separate individual tastes, and
spends his money for the pleasure of his guests like
a lord. His tastes are simple, tho in his home life he
is fond of the elegancies. He loves the music which
appeals to the heart, and when free from duty will sit
for hours listening like a pleased child to simple melo-
dies. As an example of what a poor boy may become
and do, with an honest heart and an heroic will, in
the "Wild West," Tom Bullock stands out in fine
relief.

His friendship to any man is a joyous possession.

i

474 LIFE ON THE PACIFIC COAST

first, because it is evidence to the friend that he is
worthy of a good man's esteem, for Bullock is a
sagacious, unerring measurer of human qualities ; and
secondly, because his friendship is a steady force-
something to tie to and abide in. We have seen
much of these friendships, some of which were cut off,
but were not ended, at the grave. We say not ended,
for death had no power to lay its hand upon memories
that seemed precious to him, and h# often speaks of
the virtues of dead friends. We know of cases of
these friendships that were carried over after death
and found expression in benefactions to children and
widows. This quality, perhaps more than any other,
expresses and exposes the real value and sweetness
of the man, for the best of us are too often willing
to forget at the edge of the grave, and to let slip into
oblivion memories which if preserved would make
richer our own lives.

THE END.

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