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VOL. I. 






VOL. I. 



All rights reserved 









Aug. 23, ]875 























XVI. SAN FRANCISCO . . . . . . . . 154 























Euii\s ! A pile of stone, standing in a country of 
mud-tracks, adobe ranches, and timber-sheds ? Yes, 
broken dome, projecting rafter, crumbling wall, and 
empty chancel, open to the wind and rain, poetic 
wrecks of what, in days gone by, have been a 
cloister and a church. 

A wide and ragged field, enclosed within a fence 
of sun-dried bricks, surrounds the fane, marking the 
sacred precincts with a dark and perishing line. 
No human form is seen, no human voice is heard. 
An owl, disturbed in her siesta, lifts her brow 
and hoots ; a lizard hisses through the weeds ; a 
catamount, unused to tramp of horse and bark 
of dog, deserts her hole and darts into the bush. 
Near by, the ocean laps in measured tones along 

VOL. i. B 


a sandy beach. A cry of gulls and cormorants, 
rising from a rock below the cliff, is answered by a 
yell of sea-lions, fighting for their mates ; but these 
mysterious voices from the depths of nature seem 
to feed the silence, and make the solitude 

Eein up, and scan the scene ; a dip in the 
Pacific coast, between the heights of Monte Toro 
and the Final Grande ; a scene to soothe the eye 
with physical beauty and surprise the ear with 
sacred and familiar names. 

A spur runs out from the sierra towards the 
ocean, covered with pines and oaks, until the ridge 
breaks over the waters in a frown of rocks. Some 
Spanish pilgrim called that spur Carmelo Eange, 
the sheltered nook below the bluff Carmelo Bay. 
The peak in front of Final Grande is Monte 
Carmelo, and the foremost headland on the coast 
Carmelo Foint. 

North of this sacred spur, but running side 
by side, a tamer spur drops down from Monte 
Toro ; falling with a gentler slope and clothed in 
softer woods ; a spur on which laurel and madrone 
take the place of pine and oak, 


A glen divides these spurs, through which 
descends a stream, answering to the Kishon in 
Galilee, and called by the old pilgrim Eio Carmelo. 
Lovely as a painter s vision is this glen ; here, 
hollow ground and dripping well ; there, ledge of 
rock and slope of sward ; and here again, garden- 
like copse and musical cascade; each nook com 
manding a view over cypress knoll, bright stream, 
green down, and blue illimitable sea. 

Nestling in a hollow at our feet, half hidden by 
the forest growths, yet with an out-look over ridge 
and ocean, lie the broken stones and falling rafters 
of San Carlos, a Franciscan church, built by Eed 
men, natives of the country, acting under a company 
of Spanish friars. These friars, heralds of the first 
White Conquest of the Slope, brought into this 
corner of the earth the torch of Gospel light, hoping 
to convert and save some remnants of a savage and 
neglected tribe. 

Hitching our mustangs to a pine, and bidding 
our dogs keep watch, we vault the fence of sun- 
dried bricks, and feel our feet within the sacred 
courts ; as sacred in this hour of ruin, as when cross 
and pyx were carried round these walls by holy men, 

B 2 


and angelus and vesper swelled from the choir. 
The soil is black, the odour aromatic ; for at every 
step, you tread on thyme and sage. Sweet herbs 
and grasses make their home along these shores. 
Not long ago, the site now covered by the banks 
and wharves of San Francisco, was known as Yerba 
Buena, otherwise Good Herb, the Spanish name for 
mint ; and yet these court-yards of San Carlos are 
deserted wastes, choked up with briars, and scratched 
by catamounts into deep and treacherous holes. 
Along the outer fence stand wrecks of school and 
bastion, hut and hospital, as desolate as a heap of 
ruins on the Sea of Galilee. Blocks in which the 
Eed-skins lodged and the Christian fathers prayed, 
stand open to the sky, hedged in by weeds, and 
overgrown with grass. Some hundreds of natives 
lived within this fence, yet nothing but these heaps 
of dust and earth remain. Adobe walls soon melt 
away. The summer sun is frying them to dust ; 
the winter rain is washing them to earth. Each 
zephyr steals some grains of loam and drops them 
over wood and field. Ere long, lovers of the past 
will seek for them in vain. 

The stone pile may stand a few years longer than 


the earthen fence. San Carlos is a church of poor 
materials, put together in the crude though showy 
Mexican style. No beauty feeds the eye. No magic 
clothes a gateway ; no enchantment lurks in shaft 
and skyline ; yet a sacred edifice is always solemn, 
and a broken arch affects our feelings like the 
epitaph on a friend. The pathos of San Carlos lies 
in the fact of its being the ruin of an Indian s church. 
No door impedes our entrance to the nave, no 
rail prevents our passage to the altar-steps. A 
portion of the roof still rests on solid beams ; the 
rest has fallen in, and helped to choke up nave 
and chancel. No one seems to care. Starting the 
squirrels from their holes, the night birds from 
their nests, we pick our way from stone to stone. 
A chapel stands near the gate, and a door within 
the chancel opens into a sacristy. Some mural 
paintings still remain on wall and vault ; such 
painted scrolls and pious messages as you read in 
village churches of Castillo. 



A door, now rotting into dust, conceals the sa 
cristy. Closed by a wooden peg, this door suggests 
that some poor soul still cares for the old place. 
Yes, some one cares. A Eumsen chief, old 
Capitan Carlos, comes in once a year, to smooth 
the falling stones and keep his memory of the 
church alive. 

On pushing the door ajar, a ray of light, a rush 
of air, go with us into the sacristy. The floor is 
mud. A broken table leans against the wall. 
Above this table hang some poor oil pictures, in 
the Spanish school of sacred art ; a faded Senora 
of Carmelo, and by way of balance, a yet more 
faded Jesu Christo. Covered by dust and grime 
lie votive offerings of the village sort ; among the 
heaps, a bunch of forest leaves, and a chaplet of 
paper flowers. 

All sorts of creeping things defile the floor and 
wall. The room smells moist and mouldy ; so we 
turn our faces towards the chancel, leaving our Lady 
of Carmelo in the gloom, and shutting the door on 
spiders, centipedes, forest leaves, and artificial 

This chancel has a purer interest than the sa- 


cristy. Here stood the shrine, and here the sacred 
lamps were lit. Some scraps of monkish art still 
light the walls ; poor chequers, lozenges, and naming 
hearts. Like other savages, the Kumsen of Cannelo 
had to learn religion through the sense of sight. 

The Cross has fallen down. 

Inside the church, but near the door, some stakes 
are driven into the ground. These stakes are stems of 
pines. One stake has just been driven into the 
earth ; a second has been snapt by falling stones. 
Who plants these steins of pine in holy soil? 

Here lies the mystery of that aged chief. Each 
stake betrays an Indian grave, and tells the story 
of a lost cause and vanishing race. 




THOUGH friar and priest have left the altars of San 
Carlos to the owls and lizards, some of the converts 
whom these fathers gathered into grace are staunch. 
A squad of Mexicans, armed with writs and 
rifles, drove out Fray Jose Maria, chief of the 
Carmelo friars ; but neither writs nor rifles have 
been able to drive off Capitan Carlos, patriarch of 
the Carmelo camp. In dealing with Fray Jose Maria, 
the liberators had no more to do than close his 
church, disperse his brethren, seize his fields and 
orchards ; but on turning to the native chief, they 
could neither free his tribe, undo the teaching of his 
priests, nor push him from the sanctuary of his 
patron saint. Yielding to force, Fray Jose Maria 
went to Mexico, where he has learned to serve 
another altar, and ceased to think of his mission on 
Carmelo Bay. Holding to his new creed with all 


a convert s ardour, Capitan Carlos hovers round his 
ancient home, knowing no second fane, and clinging 
to the saint whose name he bears. To him, and 
to such rags and tatters of his tribe as yet remain 
alive, San Carlos is a mighty chief, his porch an en 
trance to the land of souls. 

This Indian patriarch claims to be a hundred 
and twenty-five years old. Such claims are not un 
common in this zone. In every ranch you hear of 
centenarians, and in many convent registers you 
read of folk having lived to six- score years. Such 
tales and records are not always false. The air is 
mild, the eating good, the life unvexed. No burn 
ing summers parch the skin, no freezing winters 
chill the blood. From month to month the seasons 
come and go in one soft . round of spring. In 
winter it is May, in summer it is only June. 

A native piques himself on length of days ; a 
big chief wearing his crown of age like one of the 
big trees. From his appearance, no one could 
pretend to guess the patriarch s age ; for though his 
eye is quick, his scalp is bare and black, his cheeks 
are hollowed into cups, his skin hangs down his face 
in flaps. Life seems to hold him only by a thread. 


In summer time lie dawdles in the woods ; in 
winter time he hangs about the farms. Being known 
to every settler, he is sure of bite and sup. His hands 
can bait a snare and throw a hatchet ; yet the poor 
old fellow is so much a savage, he would rather beg 
than steal, and rather steal than work. Aged, but 
not venerable, he loafs in front of whisky bars, and 
fawns on strangers for a drink ; his thirst for ardent 
waters being the only appetite that seems to have 
outlived his six-score years and live. 

You take the Indian as he is a wreck and waste 
of nature, even as this altar of San Carlos is a wreck 
and waste of art. For twenty cents, laid out in 
whisky, you may hear the story of his life, and in 
that tale the romance of his tribe. 

A youth when the first Spaniards came to 
Monterey, Capitan Carlos saw Fray Junipero Serra 
land his company of friars, Don Jose Rivera land his 
regiment of troops. The Spaniards had already built 
a Mission house at San Diego, and were creeping 
upward towards the Golden Gate ; but no Carmelo 
Indian had as yet beheld a White man s face. The 
fathers raised a cross ; the troops unfurled a flag. A 
psalm was sung, a cannon fired ; rites, as they said, 


which gave the people to God, the country to the 
King of Spain. 

These strangers built a castle on the hill, above 
the spot on which they had raised their cross. They 
fenced that castle round about with walls, on which 
they mounted guns, and set a watch by day and 

Like all their brethren of the Slope, the Ked 
men were a tame and feeble folk; munching 
acorns as they fell, grubbing in the soil for roots, 
and wading in the pools for fish. Some bolder 
spirits chased the fox and trapped the catamount. 
The bucks were fond of skins, but skins were only 
to be got by daring deeds. No man, unless a chief, 
had other clothing than a wrap about his loins, a 
feather in his hair. Not one in twenty had so much. 
The squaws were all but naked ; their summer suit 
being an apron made of tule grass, their winter suit 
a wrap,. of half-dried skin. Papooses, whether male 
or female, wore no dress at all. A sense of shame 
was no more present in a native lodge than in a 
colony of seals. 

These timid savages lived in hutches built of straw. 
Herding in the woods like deer, they seldom washed, 


and never combed. A little paint was all the un 
guent they desired. A squaw tattooed her chin, 
her neck, her breast ; a buck put on his face a dab 
of paint. They fed on grubs and worms, on roots 
and berries, living from hand to mouth, not caring 
for the morrow s meal. All things were held by 
them in common, like the grass and water in a 
sheep-run, but the sweetest morsels and the warmest 
skins were taken by the seers and chiefs. They saved 
no roots, they dug no wells. Old legends told them 
of a time when their fathers lived in towns, and they 
had still a village system, with a show of ancient 
rule and right. They chose a chief and made him 
pope and king. This chief had a first choice of 
squaws ; and took as many as his hutch would hold. 
Catching them when he liked, he flung them from 
him when he liked. An Indian female had no rights. 
Poor souls, they knew no better in those pagan days, 
before San Carlos sent his message to their tribe ! 

Capitan Carlos saw a band of friars come over the 
ridge from Monterey, and plant a cross in ground 
belonging to his tribe. 

A cross appeared to be the White man s totem ; 
for beside a great cross borne aloft, each father wore 


a small cross at his belt ; which he raised and 
pressed to his lips whenever he either stopped to 
sing or knelt to pray. The fathers built an altar, 
spread a cloth, and, though the sun was burning, 
lit some candles. They unfurled the banner of a 
beautiful white squaw, whom they described as the 
mother of a mighty prince ; a prince, who, in a 
land beyond the sea, had suffered on the cross and 
thereby saved the souls of men. They sang a psalm 
which sounded to these children of the forest like a 
strain of music from the spirit land. 

At first the Indians held aloof. These strangers 
came across the sea, like birds, no one knew whence. 
Why had they come, unless to steal the squaws, to 
cut the grass, and take away the elk and antelope ? 
Yet, when the fathers raised the image of that 
lovely squaw, and sang that music from the spirit 
land, the Eed men crept beneath the fence of sun- 
dried bricks, in order to behold that face and hear 
that psalm. In time their fears were calmed. By 
offering food to the hungry, clothes to the naked, 
and potions to the sick, the good fathers won their 
way into these savage and suspicious hearts. They 
told the natives they had brought to them a message 


from beyond the clouds. The Great Spirit, opening 
a new and nearer path into the land of souls, had 
given them San Carlos, one of the princes sitting in 
Ins presence, as their guide and saint. 

Who could repel such teachers ? The Franciscan 
fathers were smooth of speech and grave of life. No 
lie escaped their lips. No theft was traced to them. 
They took no squaw by force, and drove no native 
from his hutch. In all their actions they appeared 
to be the Indian s friends. 

These strangers gave new names to things. 
They called the river Eio Carmelo, and the range 
Monte Carmelo. That lovely squaw was named the 
Lady of Carmelo. Savage, yet soft and curious, the 
natives watched those friars. All secrets of the land 
and sea were known to them. If roots were scarce, 
these fathers walked into a copse and dug up more. 
If fish ran short, they threw nets into the bay and 
filled their creels. They knew all qualities of bark 
and leaf, of herb and grass. They called the stars 
by name, and understood the winds and tides. 

By bit and bit they taught the Indian how to 
till his soil, to net his stream, to snare his wood. 
Instead of grubs and worms, the Indian soon began 


to feed on hare and snipe, on duck and trout. The 
fathers taught him how to cook his food ; so that in 
place of gobbling up his roots and reptiles, like a 
beast, he learnt to dry his seed on stones and bake 
his water-fowl in stoves. 

The fathers built a church where they had fixed 
the cross, and in this church they hung their image 
of Our Lady of Carmelo. Fields were cleared and 
sown with corn. Adobe bricks were dried, and 
cedar trees were felled. Between the church and 
glen a slope was trimmed for vines. Pears, apples, 
nuts were planted in an orchard; and an olive 
ground was laid out, in memory of the Syrian Mount. 

What said the Indians? While the bucks 
looked on, their squaws, more sensitive, brought 
children to the friars, who gave them lessons in 
the White man s creed, and marked their foreheads 
with the White man s sign. A convert died ; the 
music of the spirit land was sung above his grave. 
What buck had ever seen and heard such funeral 
rites ? The bucks came in, and asked to be baptised. 

Fray Jose Maria lost no time in teaching creeds 
and articles. An Indian crept into the church, and 
asked to be adopted by the White man s saint. 


c Kneel down,* replied the smiling friar ; now, 
listen to my words, and say them after me : . 



Hardly another word was spoken by the priest. 
Crossing his convert, the father gave him a saintly 
name, and sent him home a new man ; a member 
of the Catholic Church, a subject of the King of 

Year after year the fathers ploughed and 
garnered in this virgin soil. A street arose outside 
the fence, in which the converts dwelt : poor bucks in 
dug-outs roofed with logs ; chiefs and seers in cabins 
of poles, roofed and clothed with mats. They lived 
in peace. No hostile bands came on them in the 
night ; their hutches were no longer burnt in war. 
Even in their private feuds, no squaws were stolen, 
no papooses killed. Their neighbours, the Tula- 
renos, were converted like themselves, and owned a 
patron saint. Snug in their huts, they learned to 
wash their skins, and put on shirt and shawl. In 
time they picked up various arts, learning how to 


tan hides, to press grapes, to boil soap, to shell 
and pot peas. In terror of San Carlos, some of 
these converts sold their extra squaws. 

So things remained on the Carmelo for thirty 
years. Fed, clothed, and taught, the natives lodged 
beside the Mission-house ; neither increasing much, 
nor mending fast ; yet clinging to the soil, and shed 
ding bit by bit their savage ways. The friars were 
tender towards Indian customs, especially in regard 
to land and squaws. Yet, doing their best, accord 
ing to the field in which they worked, these fathers 
were content to rake and sow, and leave the 
vintage for a distant time. 

At length two parties rose among the Whites, a 
clerical party and a secular party, who differed as to 
what was best for these poor bucks and squaws. 
The clerical party said the Indians were savages, 
and should be governed by pastors and masters, 
monks and priests. The secular party said the 
natives were members of a free commonwealth, and 
should be left to rule themselves. These parties 
came to blows, and after cutting each other s throats 
for several years, the secular party got the upper 
hand. The fathers were expelled, the converts 

VOL. I. C 


liberated from their rule. To the surprise of Alva- 
redo and his secular friends, the Indians began to 
perish from the soil the moment they were free. 

So long as Fray Jose Maria lingered at San 
Carlos, his converts clung to him ; when he was 
gone, they scattered to the woods. All efforts to 
recall them fail. Yet these poor converts have not 
lost all traces of a better time. San Carlos is their 
patron saint. Once a year they come to see the 
Lady of Carmelo, and to celebrate their patron s 
day. Poor things ! They roast an ox a stolen ox 
by choice. They gorge all day, and dance all night. 
Mixing up old and new, they keep the vigil of San 
Carlos, not with fast and prayer, but feast and revel ; 
ending in such orgies as might better suit an Indian 
circle than a Christian church. 

These rituals will not long survive. Each 
season the converts drop in number. Long before 
these sun-dried bricks have sunk into the earth, all 
those who helped to build them will have passed 
into the land of souls. 



THE ground is almost cleared ; cleared of the 
original and the second growths. What crops will 
occupy the soil ? 

On strolling to the orchard, we find a Portu 
guese squatter living in a mud hut, under a fruit 
wall, and in the midst of apple trees. 

Fine apples, Senor/ smirks the Portuguese. 
* Just try the flavour of our fruit. 

Though thin and cold, the acid has a grateful 
taste ; but these Spanish apples cannot be compared 
with the American variety, a fruit which is at once 
meat and drink, food and medicine ; one of the 
most gracious products of American soil and sun 

These trees seern old ? 

Hundreds of years, 7 rejoins the squatter, with 



Iberian fondness for antiquity and Indian ignorance 
of dates. Yet they are old enough ; having out 
lived the friars who planted them, and the natives 
for whose benefit they were trained. 

You have a lovely country here about ; why is 
Carmelo left a desert P 

Ah ! the squatter laughs, you see the good 
fathers have been driven away, and these poor 
devils, whether Eedskins or Half-breeds, have now 
no friends to tell them what to do/ 

Tell them what to do ! The soil has not been 
sent away, nor have the sunshine and the rain been 
sent away. They have the wood, the river, and the 
sea. Yon hills are full of ore, yon waters full of 
fish. 7 

* Yes, Seiior, that is true ; but who will find that 
ore and catch that fish ? 

All those who want to eat, Cannot the Bed- 
skin scale these heights, cannot the Half-breed 
plough those seas ? 

No Senor/ sneers the Portuguese ; no Indian 
ever wrought a mine, no mixed-blood ever speared 
a whale. Strangers may hunt for coal and gold, 
and bring in whale and seal. You ll find some 


English miners in that range, some Portuguese 
whalers in that bay ; but you will see no Mexicans, 
either red or mixed, engaged in hardy work and 
daring deed. 

Bad roads down here ? we ask, on gathering 
up the reins. 

c Bad roads ! Ah, never mind, Seiior. Go on 
you ll find them worse good bye ! 

Tearing through scrub and grass, we rattle 
down the slope in search of a ford ; now startling 
a hawk-owl from his perch, anon drawing up to 
bang at snipe or teal. We reach the stream that 
ought to be the Kishon, here a broad and shallow 
river, rippling over beds of sand, and whispering to 
an angler of abundant trout. When Capitan Carlos 
was a buck of sixty, Eio Carmelo fed the mission 
and the tribe ; but now no line is dropped into the 
flood for trout, no snare is drawn across the ford 
for duck. All nature at Carmelo runs to waste. 

Crossing the ford and climbing up the slopes 
towards Monte Carmelo, we crash our way through 
trough and tangle, swarm up ridge and rock, each 
moment getting deeper in the wood and higher on 
the range, until we catch, some height above our 


heads, an opening in the mountain side. There lie 
the lodes ; there run the seams of coal. Yon cleft, 
to which no native climbs, conceals a future town, 
just as this acorn hides a future oak. 

Two foreign artists come into these parts. For 
what? To grow their beards, to bronze their 
cheeks, to shake the dust of Paris from their feet. 
A gay Bohemian circle welcomes them to San 
Francisco ; where a man may smoke and laugh, sit 
ting over his cakes and ale, into those mystic hours 
which brush away the bloom from youthful cheeks. 
This circle gives them Mont Parnasse ; but they are 
born for higher flights than Mont Parnasse. Don 
ning their Indian pants and jackets, Monsieur Taver- 
nier grasps his sketch-book, Signor Franzeny loads 
his gun. Each has an eye for nature, and observes 
her moods with care ; noting how sunlight plays 
with colour in the sea, and how metallic veins add 
lustre to the earth. Seeking for beauty, they find a 
seam of coal. 

These young adventurers are tapping at the 
mountain side, assisted by some friends from San 
Francisco, trusting that the seams will float into 
their trucks and sheds. If so, a street will 


ramble down this slope, with city-halls, hotels, 
and banks. A school may occupy that copse, a 
jail adorn this rising ground. New coiners will 
be welcome to the Carmelo mountains, and the 
White family will have gained another stronghold 
on the Slope. 

A steep and winding track leads down from 
the ridges of Mount Carmelo to Carmelo Bay. 

On crossing San Jose Creek, we catch the cry of 
birds and seals, now and then broken by the bark of 
sea-lions. A cove with curious port lies in our 
front. No ships are in the road; no docks, no 
piers, no landing stairs are visible; yet the place 
must be a port. Five or six boats are bobbing on 
the tide; strong six-oared boats, not built for 
gliding over lakes and pools. Still larger craft are 
beached in crevices of sand and rock. Half-naked 
men are toiling on the shore. Some sheds lie in the 
shadow of a granite wall, with piles of casks, as in 
a brewer s yard. In several places jets of flame lap 
out, and burning smoke is vomited on the air. 
Cormorants fight among the rocks; and here the 
carcase of a whale, his fat peeled off, is floating on 
the tide. 


Pushing into this tiny port, we come to these 
half-naked men, and hear the story of Carmelo Bay. 

Some Portuguese sailors found the deserted 
quarries, where the monks had taught the Indians 
how to cut stone, and fancying they could work 
them for their profit, squatted on the spot. They 
failed. A quarry man requires a builder, and the 
men who built in stone were gone. Our mariners 
had fallen on an age of logs. Unable to live by 
stone, they thought of fish. There flowed the sea, 
alive with smelts and seals. Below the headland 
they could see the whales go sweeping by. Why 
not put off in chase ? It was a dangerous trade ; 
but when they plied it eagerly, they found it pay. 

Six or eight men, they say, go out in each boat, 
according to the number of oars. Two watch ; the 
others pull. On darting his harpoon into a whale, 
the leader pays out rope, and lets his victim writhe 
and plunge. The fight is often long, and sometimes 
fatal to the men. When hooked, the whale is 
towed to port, where he is sliced and boiled. 

You have no natives living in your port ? 

No, Senor, the natives are no good in a 
whaling craft. 


Noticing some foreign faces in the boats and 
near the fires, Chinese and even Sandwich Islanders, 
we ask the leading man whether he can employ 
such fellows in his trade. 

4 Not the Chinese, he answers ; they are only 
good for catching cuttle-fish and drying aballones. 
Like the natives, they are skunks and cowards. 
The Sandwich Islanders are a better lot ; but they 
are hard to teach, and scarcely worth their salt. 
We should be better off if we were left alone. 

* Have you Portuguese wives and families with 
you ? 

No, Senor ; we have to take such squaws as we 
can get. Our lasses live at home, in Cascaes Bay 
and other ports near Lisbon ; but we cannot fetch 
them over half the globe. Santa Maria ! what are 
men to do? We have to. buy our wives. 

To buy their wives ! Yes, buy their wives. It 
is a custom of the country. The habit of buying 
and selling young women has existed on this spot 
time out of mind. If young women are not bought 
they are always stolen, and the man is thought a 
decent wooer who comes with money in his pocket 
to an Indian lodge. No Eumsen or Tularenos ever 


gave away his squaw for love. He sold her as he 
sold a buffalo hide or catamount skin. 

Fray Junipero tried to stop this sale of girls, but 
his successors winked at customs which they had no 
means of putting down. Castro and Alvaredo hoped 
to crush this traffic, but their secular energies were 
worsted in the vain attempt. Neither Liberal 
Mexico nor Independent California was equal to 
the task of wrestling with this evil. Indians sold 
their children to Spanish dons and Mexican cabal- 
leros, just as Georgians and Circassians sold their 
girls to Greek skippers and Turkish pashas. 

Even under the Stars and Stripes, and in a region 
governed by American law, the trade goes on ; less 
openly and briskly than in olden times ; but still the 
Eed man s daughters are bought and sold, even in 
the neighbourhood of American courts. It is a 
custom of the country, which, like other maladies, 
attacks the stranger when he lands. You catch a 
local custom very much as you catch a local disease. 
There is a fight between your constitution and the 
malady. If you can compromise you live ; if not 
you die. 

c Yes, Seiior ! says the Portuguese sailor, we 


buy our wives for money, and are punished for the 
sin. Our boys are only girls. They cannot lift a 
weight or turn a wheel. When we drop off, the 
whaling at Carmelo Bay will go into the hands of 
bolder men. 




LAPPING round Pinos Point, nine or ten miles from 
the Old Quarries, the water races on a pale and 
sandy beach, of bow-like form, ending in two 
green and picturesque bluffs. One bluff is Santa 
Cruz, the other Monterey. The arc is twenty miles 
across ; a sweep of sunny water, over which flocks of 
gulls and pelicans dart and flash. A slip of sand, 
dotted along the line with ribs and tusks of whales, 
so many that they look like drifts of snow, divides 
the dark blue sea from amber dimes and light green 
woods. A plain rolls inward into mounds and 
ridges, covered to the top by oak and pine ; beyond 
which forests rise the peaks and shoulders of the 
Galivano range. 

Not thirty minutes since, the sun laughed out in 
front of us, peeping over Monte Toro with a face of 
burning gold ; yet early in the day as it may seem, 


we are already bathed in summer heat. Our craft 
heaves idly on the waters, waiting for a sign to land. 
Some boats, with men asleep, are swaying to and fro, 
stirred only by the long and lazy swell of a Pacific 
tide. Who cares to hoist a flag? Who cares to 
move ? Senoras twist their cigarettes ; tall, thin, 
serpentine brunettes, with eyes as dark as night, 
and cheeks as brown as walnut juice, their rich red 
colour blushing through the skin. Lolling on deck, 
these giddy and coquettish damsels fan their cheeks, 
and puff their curls of smoke, and let their eyelids 
droop in languor. 

Ah di me Albania ! 

Light of heart and glib of tongue, the dons and 
caballeros match their female folk. 

Let me propose to you a task, lisps Juan, ad 
dressing two picturesque coquettes : Pepita, you 
shall twist me a cigarette, and you, Josepha, smoke 
it fpr me ! 

Leaning on the vessel s side, we watch a shoal of 
smelts at play. A pelican settles on our mast. The 
air is still ; the silence broken only by the snapping 
of an unseen dog. A line of surf breaks white and 


fresh along the rocks of Santa Cruz, but on this 
stretch of amber sands the waters lap and lie, 
gently as the fancies float about the eyelids of a 
sleeping child. Like waiting in a Syrian road, is 
waiting at a Mexican port. Who cares for time ? 
Beyond the rickety old Mexican pier, a tiny creek 
winds in between two grassy banks, with uplands 
clothed in oak and cypress. In the hollow you 
can see a wooden cross : 


JUNE 3, 1770. 

That cross is Fray Junipero s cross ; that ancient 
oak beside it, is the tree under which Don Jose 
Eivera massed his troops. Eight of the gully, 
on a bare hill-top, stand the ruins of Eivera s 
castle ; left of it, under a fringe of pines, and in 
the midst of fig-trees and peach gardens, rise the 
sheds and water-wheels of Monterey. 


We land the town is won. Eeceived by Don 
Mariano de Vallejo, one of the great men in the Lost 
Capital, we are guests in every house. Priests 
salute us in their walks ; barbers and bakers doff 
their caps ; and billiard-players offer us their cues. 
Senoras beg for visiting cards. The dogs which 
doze in every gutter seem to know that we are 
persons not to be annoyed by snap and snarl. 

Monterey, a town all gables, walls, and balus 
trades in which everyone owns a corner lot- 
is peopled by folk as quaint and singular as the 
streets and sheds. A native builds his house to 
please himself. Why not? Is he not don and 
caballero? Who shall thwart his whim? No mayor 
insults a Montereyano with rules and plans. No 
level lines of road offend your eyes. Main street, 
if such a passage can be called a street, winds in 
and out among a group of villas, dancing-booths, 
barbers shops and billiard rooms. No side walk 
interferes with man and horse. An open sewer runs 
through the town, a cesspool poisons every yard. 
Two nieces of Don Mariano live in a villa with an 
open drain in front. Nobody dreams of covering up 
that drain. The plaza is as shapeless as the street ; 


a scatter of white houses, built of earth and plank, 
mostly one story high ; these people living in a con 
stant fear of earthquakes happening in the night. 
Here juts a gable-end, there turns a water-fan. Be 
yond them runs a length of front, all wash and 
paint, the residence of a don ; then come a forge, 
a whisky shop, a Chinese laundry, and an open pit. 
A pretty house stands here and there among the 
cypresses and limes, with balconies, giving on an 
inner court, and jalousies from which a dame, her 
self unseen, may note who passes in the street 
below. This lady s game of hide and peep, which 
in Monterey takes the place of work and thought, is 
highly popular. One public pile adorns the plaza ; 
that Calaboose (prison, court, and whipping post) 
in which the caide used to sit, and sentence mixed 
blood rascals to a tale of stripes. New times bring 
in new men. M. Simoneau, a merry French cook, 
now keeps his chickens in the prisoners yard, and 
serves up soup and fish in the justice-room. A 
group of bearded fellows smoke within the shadow 
of a wall. A priest creeps timidly across the square. 
Girls in black veils and scarlet skirts are hurrying 
home from noontide mass. A child is playing with 


a goat. Some geese are wabbling in the drain, some 
curs sleeping in the sun. Are we not idling through 
an unknown city in the south of Spain ? 

In Monterey, folks affect high pedigrees, and give 
themselves Castilian airs. Here birth and blood are 
choicer things than house and land. Is not the 
country overrun by Hybrids, sons of savages, 
daughters of nobody, yet holding up their heads 
and putting in their claims ? 

The lower ranks of people admit some taint of 
blood; but in the church, the plaza, and the 
barber s shop, no man is less than don and cabal- 
lero, with a pedigree long enough to amaze a Gael 
and satisfy a Basque. 

No house in Monterey is fifty years old. Fifty- 
six years ago, the city built by Don Jose Eivera 
and the Spanish friars, was levelled to the earth.. 
Captain Buchard, a French pirate or privateer, ran 
into the port with two small frigates, flying the flag 
of Spain. Governor Sola, acting for his royal 
roaster, masked a battery near the water s edge, and 
having placed this battery in charge of Don Jesus 
de Yallejo, waited the piratical attack. Next day,, 
on Buchard laying one of his ships athwart the 

VOL. I. D 


castle, Don Jesus opened fire and forced him to 
withdraw. Enraged by this repulse, Buchard 
lowered his boats, and sent his men ashore. Don 
Jesus left his guns, and bolted for the woods, firing 
a powder train, which blew the castle into dust. 
Buchard gave the town to pillage, and his crews, a 
riff-raff of all nations, Spanish, French, and Algeririe, 
spared neither age nor sex. Fire swept the lanes 
and alleys, so that nothing but the church, an 
edifice of stone, remained to mark the site of royal 

Five years elapsed before a soul returned. A 
Scot, named David Spence, a man dealing in skins 
and hides, came first. Then don and caballero 
ventured back, and raised their shanties from the 
dust. Poorer than ever, they built of sand and 
logs, but gave their sheds poetic names. A hut was 
called a house, a shed a hall. No house in Mon 
terey is bigger than an English cottage, and the 
public rooms are often low and mean. Entering 
one of the pretentious villas, you find the gate un 
hinged, the balcony rotten, the garden heaped and 
messed. Nature does something to redeem the 
waste. What laurels glitter in the sun! This 


cypress sets you thinking of Seraglio Point, this 
cactus of the upper Nile, this prickly pear of 
Eamleh in the Sands. What artist would not like 
to sketch this mouldering wall and overhanging 
fruit ? But while you make your sketch, the owner 
smokes and smirks, convinced that you admire his 
wall and fruit trees, not because they make a picture, 
but because they are his wall and fruit trees. 

c A saintly and a regal city, says Don Mariano 
with a flush of pride ; San Carlos is our patron 
saint, Don Carlos is our founder king. A regal 
name is Monterey ; rey de los montes king of 
the mountains. 

Dons and caballeros sneer at San Francisco as an 
upstart city, built by nobody, not even by a viceroy, 
and peopled by the scum of New York, Sydney, and 
Hong-Kong. At Monterey they have a line of 
governors, and a second line of bishops, with the 
ruins of a castle and a gaudy Mexican church, as 
visible evidence of their temporal and spiritual sway. 
At Monterey, too, a gentleman has rights ; not only 
those of a Spanish knight, but those of an Indian 
chief. He may be sharp of tongue and light of 
love. Nobody thinks of counting the number of his 

D 2 


squaws, or asking him whether those dames are red 
or white. Living near savages, he has caught, as 
stronger men might catch, no little of their savage 

Yet the Mexican don is no longer safe in his 
retreat at Monterey. Strangers poke their noses 
through his gates, enquire about his harem, and 
insist on showing him how to develop his estate. 
How he dislikes their chatter about making roads 
and opening schools ! His fathers neither paved a 
road, nor built a school. They kept a priest, who- 
ruled their squaws and took their girls to mass. 
That good old system suits him. What has he to 
do with roads and schools ? A rider, he prefers a 
grassy trail ; a gentleman, what need has he for the 
accomplishments of a clerk ? Will science help him 
to throw sixes, and will letters kindle fire for him in 
female eyes ? 



No one can say whether the Vallejo family of 
which Don Mariano is the head derive their line 
from Hercules or only from Caesar. Nothing in the 
way of long descent would be surprising in Don 
Mariano ; even though his race ran up to Adam, 
like the pedigree made out by heralds for his 
countryman Charles the Fifth. ; You ask about the 
history of California, he remarks ; my biography is 
the history of California. 

In one sense he is right. Don Mariano s story is 
that of nearly every Mexican of rank. In olden 
times (now thirty years ago!) he was the largest 
holder of land in California. Besides his place 
at Monterey, the family-seat, he owned a sheep-run 
on San Benito Kiver, an estate sixty miles long in 
San Joaquin Valley, a whole county on San Pablo 
Bay, and many smaller tracts in other parts. High 


mountain ranges stood within the boundaries of his 
estate. With an exception here and there, these 
tracts have passed into the stranger s hands. 

Springing from an ancient root, claiming an 
ancestry all knights and nobles, Mariano took to 
arms as soon as he could ride a horse and wield a 
sword. Joining a troop of rangers, he was soon a 
man of note. Like all his neighbours who have 
lived near Indian wigwams, he was light of love, 
and hardly cared whether his divinity was dark or 
fair ; but he was made for better things than 
dawdling after squaws and senoritas. Fond of 
work, he spent the time in study which his brethren 
spent in gaming-booths and tavern dens. He grew 
to be a famous rider and a still more famous shot. 
At twenty he has won his captain s grade, from 
which time he has his part in every row, and got 
a grade by every change. One year he helped the 
radicals to harass Spain ; next year he helped the 
Jesuits to upset those radicals. When the bishop of 
Monterey denounced the new republic, Mariano, 
Catholic first, Mexican afterwards, followed his 
pastor into civil war. Captured by the enemy, who 
put him into handcuffs, he was so indignant that he 


shaved his "beard, renounced his title of a Spanish 
don, and swore that in future he would shave his 
face like an English marquis. 

Acting with Alvaredo in founding a new govern 
ment, he found the hour of his success the most 
critical of his life. What should he do with Cali 
fornia ? She could not stand alone. Four countries 
had some claim to her Spain, England, Eussia, the 
United States. Spain had been her nominal owner 
for a hundred years. England had the right of 
Drake s discovery, when the coast was called New 
Albion, and annexed to the domain of Queen Eliza 
beth. Eussia had long possessed some points on the 
coast, notably the hills commanding the Golden 
Gate. America had the claims of neighbourhood, 
and a cession from the government of Mexico. 
What part was he to play ? His bishops were in 
favour of submitting to the Spanish crown, Spain 
being their country and the bulwark of their Church. 
The other powers are all heretical. A Catholic 
seemed to have no choice; but Don Mariano, 
though a Catholic before he is a Mexican, is a 
Vallejo even before he is a Catholic. An active 
man, he kept his eyes open while his pastors were 


asleep. Learning a little English, he read the 
journals of London and New York with a forecast 
ing eye. Spain had no ships at sea. An English 
fleet was off the coast, an American army on the 
land. To one or other of these powers he saw that 
his young republic must incline. To which ? Don 
Mariano, shaving like an English marquis, turned 
his friendly face towards London, though he took 
good care not to offend his neighbours of New 
York. A secret memoir, laid before President 
Polk, describes him as a man of high family, of 
good education (for a Mexican), who seems to be 
retiring from his military charge, though keeping a 
squad of soldiers at his country-house. In old days 
proud and stiff, he is now smooth and sweet, yet 
with the lordly air of a man stooping from a height. 
His gates are always open to the stranger, but he 
keeps an eye on every guest, and only yields his 
heart to men of character and rank. His power is 
felt in every part of California, and Solano county, 
where he chiefly lives, is safer both for property and 
life than any other part of the Pacific slope. He 
asks for nothing. Money will not tempt him. No 
one knows his mind ; perhaps he would like a title 


or an office. Such, in substance, is the picture 
of Don Mariano, presented thirty years ago, to 
President Polk. 

Unable to make him a marquis, Polk made him a 
general ; then, in spite of his priests and bishops, 
Don Mariano staked his fortunes on the Stars and 

In punishment for his sin, he has been badly 
used by the United States. Wishing to see the 
capital of California built on his estate, he founded a 
new city on San Pablo Bay, which he called Vallejo, 
and offered not only to give the State his finest 
sites, but to defray the cost of building a court-house 
and laying out a public square. These offers were 
accepted by the State ; yet after he had spent three 
hundred thousand dollars on public works in Vallejo, 
the capital was removed to Sacramento, and Don 
Mariano was left a ruined man. 

Since then he has been swimming up a stream, 
in which the floods are high and swift. No 
Mexican of note, he says to me in one of our drives, 
has been able to keep his lands. My case is hard, 
but not so hard as that of others; twenty years hence 
no Spanish don will be a citizen of the United States. 


You mean the Spaniards will retire ? 

4 They will remove to Mexico, where they may 
hope to keep their own. 

Don Mariano s lands have slipped from him by 
many avenues of escape. His daughter chose an 
English mate ; his sister chose an English mate. 
Much of his land is fenced and planted for the 
benefit of children with such English names as 
Frisby and Leese, who in the coming years will smile 
in their solid prosperity at the empty show and pre 
tentious poverty of their Mexican ancestors. 

You will attend our ball to-night ? asks Don 

Ball! What ball? 

6 Our cascarone ball. 


What is a cascarone ball ? 

Ah, yes ; you are non-Catholic, and have 
another legend in your Church. A cascarone ball 
is an eggshell ball cascaron, eggshell, you see. 
It is a festival of our people, kept by all good 
Catholics and Mexicans. 

Don Mariano shows me a printed notice of this 
festival ; a grand affair, to be given in a noble hall, 
with a fine orchestra, and a splendid supper. We 
accept his invitation to the egg-shell dance. 


On going to our rooms, we hear the carpenters 
at work, and see the florists bringing in their wares. 
The dancing-room being next to my apartment, I can 
see the finery from my door. A wooden shed, about 
the length of a country barn, with bare benches 
set against white-washed walls, is brightened here 
and there by a bunch of ribbon, a wreath of paper 
flowers, and something like a score of lights. One 
fiddle and one concertina make the orchestra. On 
the other side, there are girls in brilliant colours, in 
the ripple of whose laughter you catch the music 
which a young man prefers to any sight or sound 
below the spheres. 

As I am passing down the room, conducting two 
senoras to their seats, a young girl, slipping behind 
me, smashes an eggshell on my pate ; an eggshell 
from which the meat has been drawn, and the inside 
filled with tinsel and coloured paper, cut so fine as 
to fall like snow. A peal of laughter greets the 
girl s success. It is a challenge. When a shell is 
broken on your head, you have the right to claim 
a dance, during which you may crush your cascaron 
among the damsel s curls. A romp ensues. If 
senorita slips away, senor follows in pursuit. A 


game of hide and seek is played, and shells get 
broken on balconies. As night comes on, the ladies 
press the fun, not only for the laughter, but because 
the tinsel adds a beauty to their dull black curls 
and lustrous eyes. By supper-time the riot runs so 
high that dons and caballeros can hardly keep their 
pride of port. 

The supper is a thing to match the ball. We 
march in grandly, to a feast of thin soup, stale 
cakes, pork sandwiches, and cold tea. Yet caballeros 
and senoras drink and smile, and try to make believe 
that all this shabby finery is a grand affair. Tor is 
it not their cascarone ball ? 

Let no man jest at these bare walls, these paper 
flowers, these guttering candles, and this banquet of 
cakes and nuts, washed down with tea ; for after 
supper, the dons and caballeros steal away to whisky 
bars, where three or four doses of their fire-water 
serve to wake the demons that sleep in every 
Mexican eye. Each don and caballero wears a 
poignard in his vest. 

1 Good Catholics, true caballeros, whispers Don 
Mariano, as he bows adieu ; you see we keep 
the festivals of our faith ! 


Good Catholic first, true caballero second, cli 
Don Mariano ? 

Yes, Senor ; a mixed blood may be Mexican 
first, Catholic afterwards ; a Spanish gentleman will 
always put his religion first. You know our say 
ing : la religion es la creencia, la creencia pertenece 
al espiritu, y al espiritu nadie lo manda. 

Living like a big chief, in the fashion of his 
country, Don Mariano has squandered not a little of 
his vast estate on what are called his pleasures. He 
has a lust for building towns. Besides his city of 
Yallejo, he has built the port and city of Benecia, 
named in honour of a lovely and neglected wife. 
His ranches sink in piles, his sheep-runs melt into 
public squares ; but more than all, his property 
slips away from him in courts of law. A stranger 
challenges his title, and a judge reviews his grant. 
All Mexicans are fond of law, and Don Mariano 
never goes into some court except to lose some 
part of his estate. Don Mariano is a type, not only 
of the Lost Capital, but the Eetiring Eace. 




GUESS you ll say here s a place, whispers Colonel 
Brown, a settler in these parts. If this valley had 
a little more rain, a little more soil, and a little less 
sun and wind, it would be a place ! You bet ? 

Leaving the open sewers and pretty balconies of 
Monterey behind, we cross the amber dunes, and 
twenty miles from the sea we strike the Eio Salinas, 
near the base of Monte Toro, and a few>teps farther, 
on a creek called Sanjon del Alisal, we find a new 
city, called Salinas, rising from the earth. 

Nine years ago the Eio Salinas flowed through 
a desert, over which wild deer and yet wilder 
herdsmen roved in search of grass and pools. The 
soil was dry, the herbage scant. Bears, foxes, and 
coyotes disputed every ravine with the hunters. 
Ducks and widgeons covered the lagunes and creeks. 
A trapper s gun was rarely heard among these hills, 


and save the ruins of an old Mission-house at 
Soledad, no trace of civil life was found between 
the heights of Monte Toro and the summits of 
Gavilano range. 

To-day, a pretty English town, with banks, 
hotels, and churches, greets you on the bridge of 
Sanjon del Alisal. A main street, broad, well-paved 
and neatly built, runs out for nearly half a mile. 
Unlike the timber-sheds of Monterey, the stores and 
banks of this new town are built of brick, striking, 
as one may say, their roots into the earth. A fine 
hotel adorns the principal street, every shop in which 
is stocked with new and useful things, just like a 
shop in Broadway or the Strand. You buy the latest 
patterns in hats and coats, in steam-ploughs and 
grass- rollers, in pump-handles and waterwheels. 
Salinas has her journals, her lending-libraries, her 
public schools. A jail has just been opened, for the 
herdsmen of the district are unruly, and the prison 
of San Jose is a long way off. Pigeons flutter in the 
roadways, lending to the town an air of poetry and 
peace. Some offshoots flow from Main Street into 
open fields, in which Swiss-like chalets nestle in the 
midst of peaches, grapes, and figs. One church 


stands on the left, a second on the right of Main 
Street, and folks step in and out of these churches as 
neatly dressed as visitors at Shanklin and Torquay. 

4 Now here s a place to open your eyes like a 
cocktail, eh, Colonel ? cries the settler. 

I am not a colonel. So far as I have anything 
to do with arms, I serve Queen Victoria as a private 
in the Inns of Court Volunteers/ 

Then you are equal to a colonel ! Sir, a man 
must have a title if he wishes to escape notice, as a 
gentleman in this country would like to do. Once 
I was crossing Firebaugh ferry, on San Joaquin 
Eiver over here, beyond the range, when the old 
boatman stopped in the middle of his passage, and 
enquired my name. "Mister Brown," said I. 
"Mister Brown?" said he, resting on his oars, 
evidently puzzled in his head. " What name, 
stranger?" he inquired once more. "Mister 
Brown." He looked distressed, but said no more 
until I stepped on shore and offered him his fare. 
"Excuse me, sir," he cut in quickly, "I cannot 
take your money. Keep it in memory of this re 
markable day. Boy and man, I have kept this 
ferry on the San Joaquin Eiver for twenty-two 


years, and you are positively the first person named 
Mister, whom I have had the pleasure to put 
across." On that date I commissioned myself as 
Colonel Brown. Come, Colonel, bet you don t beat 
this place in the old country, nohow ? 

Yet Salinas is an English town. 

Captain Sherwood, an officer in the English 
army, who had served in the Crimea, came to Cali 
fornia with a sum of money to be spent in buying 
real estate. He bought a cattle-run in Salinas 
Valley, getting the title from one of the unthrifty 
natives for a song. Major Buckriall, tempted by a 
chance of shooting bear and snaring snipe and duck, 
came down to see his comrade. Sport being good, 
the Major stayed. One day, while musing at the 
water-side, a notion flashed into the sportsman s 
brain. Wanting a hut, in which to keep his gun 
and cook his bird, the Major said to himself: Why 
not myself build a house ? A few logs, a hammer, 
a bag of nails, and the thing is done. Nothing 
easier. But let me see. A house why not a town ? 
At night he spoke to Sherwood Let us build a city 
on the lake. Thinking of his cattle-run, the Captain 
smiled. A city for whom? What wretch would 

VOL. I. E 


live in such a desert as Salinas Valley, except a 
wretch who wanted to herd cattle and shoot 
widgeon ? 

All the drovers and herdsmen who then strayed 
into Salinas Valley were of Bedouin type, half-naked 
savages, tawny of skin and black of eye, with curly 
beards and golden earrings ; nomads as wild and 
reckless as the bulls they chased and slew. Pitching 
their cabins in the hills, or dropping to the river 
beds, according to the time of year, these herdsmen 
lead a lonely and nomadic life ; faring from day to 
day, feeding from hand to mouth, much as their 
cattle fared and fed. The country being unfenced, 
they were free to wander at their will. Untouched 
by human arts, these herdsmen had no pleasures, save 
in dancing the fandango, gambling for their last 
dollar, drinking away their senses, and ripping at 
each other s sides. If they had any other passion, it 
was the love of roaming as they pleased, driving their 
herds afield, unchecked by any fence, unscared by 
any gun. Such fellows seemed to Sherwood far 
from pleasant neighbours, and by no means likely 
settlers in a town. 

Yet Major Bucknall meant to try his luck 


Come, let us build a city. He believed White men 
would come in, and occupy the Salinas pastures. 
Sherwood gave him a scrap of ground, on which he 
reared a log shanty. Six weeks after he began to 
build his hut, a fellow with an eye for coming cus 
tomers, opened a grog shop. Then the drovers and 
herdsmen came this way for drams. A third man, 
seeing these drovers hang about, threw up a booth 
for dancing. Only six months after Bucknall had 
first thought of building a shanty in which he might 
keep his gun and cook his game, twenty-five houses 
were clustered round his hearth. Twenty-five houses 
means a hundred persons, more or less ; a force of 
forty or fifty guns in case of need. All fear of a 
surprise by savages was laid aside. 

English settlers came into the valley, looking out 
for sheep-runs, followed by Americans with a scent 
for corner lots. In less than seven years, the 
Major s cabin on the lake has grown into a city of 
three thousand souls ! Already Salinas is a more 
important place than Monterey. 

A White colonist has three main ways of taking 
possession of Californian soil. 

The first plan is to marry an estate, like David 

E 2 


Spence. Dark women like fair men, and if a half- 
breed girl is taken from her people young, she may 
be trained in English ways, until she learns to be a 
decent wife. If there are brothers in the house, 
the fields and runs must be divided ; but the lads 
will go to the dogs in time ; the faster for a little 
help ; and then the lots may all come back. An 
English hunter after an estate is seldom foiled by 
an inferior race. 

The second plan is for a thrifty stranger, having 
ready money in his purse, to lend small sums to any 
reckless native, known to have good sheep-runs 
and extensive water-rights. Your mixed breed, 
whether brown or sallow, has an empty pocket and 
a dozen wants. He wants to buy a horse, to give a 
dance, to bribe a sheriff, or to play seven-up. 
Tempted by the sight of gold, he borrows where he 
has no hope of paying back. Loan follows loan, 
each spent as fast as got, until the lender closes the 
account, and presses for his debt. The hybrid has 
no coin. What will the lender take instead of gold ? 
A league or so of pasture land a ranch with mill 
and water-wheel a bit of hill-side like an English 
park? His debt being paid, the stranger has a 


footing on the soil, which in a few years more will 
be his own. 

The third plan is for three or four squatters, 
strong in thews and sinews, handy with bowie knives 
and rifles, to form a league or club (a White league, 
an Anglo-Saxon club), of which the members swear 
to stand by each other, shoulder to shoulder, rifle to 
rifle, in their march to fortune. Having sworn their 
oaths, they drive their herds afield, not caring on 
whose land they stray, if grass and water suit them. 
Throwing up a fence and cabin, they challenge any 
one who chooses to dispute their claim. The owner 
has a choice of evils. He may try to drive them oft 
by either force or law. If force is used, blood will 
be shed ; his blood or that of others ; and the native, 
though alert and reckless, has a wholesome dread of 
English guns. If he appeals to law, his title must 
be proved, and hardly any Mexican deed will bear 
the scrutiny of an American judge. The owner 
yields, and his submission to one act of violence 
brings a swarrn of squatters on his land. 

In one of the big ranches lives a young Scotch 
settler, the story of whose life, as told me by him 
self, might stand for that of many a neighbour. 


I was rather wild, lie says, in my young days, 
and my father, a Scotch minister, with a large family 
and a small stipend, w r as bothered what to do with 
me. I liked to tear about on ponies, and we had 
no ponies at the grange. Ha ! ha ! the dear old 
dad ! He put me on board a ship for Sydney,. paid 
my passage in the steerage, and sent me with a six 
pence out into the world. Landing in Australia 
without a penny in my pouch, I had to take service, 
anything that offered. A sheep farmer hired me, 
and I went up country to the runs. A wild life 
suited me, and after a spell at the diggings, I re 
turned to the runs as partner with my late master, 
and remained with him three or four years. A man 
from California gave me the notion of settling here, 
and I came over with some money and more ex 
perience. I stayed in San Francisco five or six 
weeks, looking round, and feeling for an opening, 
but the sharpers of that city would have peeled and 
picked me to the bone. I came down south, and 
finding two or three ranches in this valley built by 
English fellows, I thought the place would suit me, 
and I stayed. 

How long ago? 


Five or six years or so ; just when Salinas was 
a sprinkle of log huts. 

And you have now a good run ? 

c My run extends from the Salinas Eiver right 
across the Galivano range, to San Benito Eiver. 

Why, that is an estate as big as a Scotch 

county ? 

Yes, the dear old dad will stare when I go 
home some day, and tell him what his scapegrace 
son has been doing for the last twelve years. Ha ! 
ha ! the dear old dad will stare when I tell him he 
sent me out with sixpence, and I ask him to come 
and see what I have bought with his sixpence a 
little place in California, about the size of County 
Linlithgow ! 

The lands all round Salinas are in English and 
American hands. Jackson, one of the first arrivals 
in San Francisco; Hebbron, lately a detective, 
practising his art in London ; Beasley, one of three 
brothers living in the place; Spence, the first 
English colonist in Monterey; Johnson, a sheep- 
herder, who has given his name to a high peak ; 
Leese. the gentleman who wedded Vallejo s sister ; 
Beveridge, a young and thriving Scot ; these are the 


chief owners of land around Salinas. They are 
all of British birth. 

On taking possession of the land, such strangers 
fence the fields, and drive intruders from the cattle - 
runs. Worse still, they go into the female market 
and raise the price of squaws. By offering more 
money than a Mestizo can afford to give, they have 
their choice of helps, and pay in honest money 
where a native is disposed to steal. In every ranch 
we see these Indian girls ; at every agency we hear 
of loud complaints. Young men, not of full blood but 
only mixed, assert that these English and American 
strangers take their prettiest damsels, leaving them 
only the old women and the cast-off squaws. 

You seem to like my girls, laughs one of the 
English settlers ; well, you look at them a good 
deal. Ha, ha ! you think me a monstrous wicked 
fellow : Lovelace, Lothario, Don Juan all in one ! 
Bless you, it s a fearful bore. Don t pray for a 
country in which there are no White women, that s 
my advice ! Do you suppose I prefer a dirty squaw 
who only speaks ten words of English, to a rosy 
lassie out of Kent? All fiddlesticks. Our proper 
helps are parted from us by an ocean and a conti- 


nent. What can a fellow do ? This country yields 
us squaws, just as it gives us fruit and herbs ; and 
till you send me that rosy lassie out of Kent, I must 
put up with squaws from San Pascual. 

Seeing his fields invaded, and his women carried 
off, the herdsman s blood boils up. Are not these 
woods and fields his feeding-ground? Are not 
these girls his natural mates ? No one can deny 
that these pastures were the properties of his 
mother s tribe. Is he not the proper heir of 
these hunting-grounds, the natural husband of 
these Indian squaws? 




WE cannot now undo what has been clone, Don 
Mariano sighs, when we are talking of the bad blood 
in his province. The Franciscan fathers tried to 
check this evil by keeping White men and Eed 
women apart. They failed; the customs of the 
country were too strong for them. No one has yet 
succeeded in arresting an evil which baffled the 
Franciscan fathers. Too well we know the mischief, 
for this mixture of White with savage blood is giving 
us a vicious and unstable race. 

White female faces are not often seen in 
the southern parts of California ; thirty years since 
they were never seen outside a military post. The 
Spaniards are not planters of Free States. They 
came to take possession of the country for their 
king, the people for their Church. To find new 


homes for men desirous of a wider field and freer 
atmosphere, was not an object of their voyage. Sail 
ing in search of gold and spices, they left the coast 
when they had found these articles and filled their 
ships. A company of friars remained to teach the 
natives, and a company of soldiers to secure the 
soil. The rest returned to Spain. No women, as a 
rule, came out. The men were either soldiers, 
friars, or trappers, and in every case were single 
men. The soldiers and the friars were not allowed 
to marry. A trapper was of course at liberty to 
woo and wed ; but in a land with no White women 
he could only woo a squaw. If the stranger made 
a home, he took such females as an Indian lodge 

A governor of Monterey might bring his family 
from Mexico, but such a luxury as the companion 
ship of wife and children was reserved for persons of 
exalted family and official rank. 

When I first came into these parts, says David 
Spence, the only White people near Monterey were 
the fathers at San Carlos, and the soldiers in the 
citadel. No other White men had a right to dwell 
in Monterey. We bought our licences to live and 


trade, but after paying our money, we held these 
licences at the governor s will. On any whimsey, 
he could put us on board the fleet, or drive us into 
the mountains. No civil rights were known. At 
gunshot, soldiers drove us into camp, and when the 
curfew tolled these soldiers compelled us to put 
out light and fire. The life we led was not a thing 
for women of our kin to share. 

; You were encamped, not settled in the 
country ? 

You are right. No man among us thought of 
staying over nine or ten years ; just long enough 
to make a pot of money out of hides and skins. 
Nobody cared to get the land ; nobody thought of 
Monterey as home. Home ! There was not one 
English woman, and not a dozen Spanish women in 
the province. Fair faces were as rare as gold ; and 
never to be seen, except in some great officer s 
ranch. Not one man in fifty, even among the 
rich, could hope to get a European wife. 

You were a lucky one ? 

Ha, yes ! My wife, a dona and sefiora, was the 
daughter of an officer. She fell in love with my 
blue eye and yellow locks. Most of my rivals in that 


day took up with squaws, and left a progeny of half- 
breeds in their homesteads. 

Custom of the country P 

c Yes, an Indian custom ; but the Whites fell into 
it very soon, and keep it up with an amazing spirit. 

Still keep it up ? 

Yes, keep it up. The practice of selling young 
Indian girls to White men is still so common, that in 
some adjoining counties a Eed man cannot get a 

From Santa Barbara to San Juan, from Santa 
Clara to San Francisco, things were much the same 
as in the mountains ; like causes producing every 
where like effects. 

Living in a savage waste, surrounded by native 
tribes, the Franciscan fathers were obliged to lodge 
some soldiers at each Mission-house, as a protection 
to their persons and properties. These men were 
fair of face and strong of limb. The squaws looked 
kindly on them ; and the lax moralities of an Indian 
lodge, where wedlock is unknown, permitted free 
doms and alliances which ended in a new race of 
Hybrids being brought into the world. This cross 


between White blood and Eed was called Mestizo, 
and the females of this family, called Mestizas, are 
often very handsome. The men are savage, the 
women licentious ; inheriting the worst vices of their 
parent stocks. 

]STo power on earth could stop this intercourse, 
or check this growth of Hybrid offspring. If a 
native growled, the soldiers kicked him from their 
post. If he presumed to strike, they broke his 
bones and set his thatch on fire. What holy men 
could do to stay such outrages was done, but the 
Franciscans had to deal, not only with an Indian 
custom, but with officers as lax in morals as their 
men. No legal injury was done. A native never 
urged that his daughter was disgraced by being 
carried to a White man s hut. He only grumbled 
that he was not paid her price. Generals and 
captains all kept squaws. As chiefs, these officers 
had rights which they were quick enough to seize, 
laughing away reproof of their confessors with the 
old campaigner s answer, Holy Father, soldiers are 
not monks. How could the Franciscan fathers get 
such captains to restrain their men ? 

By taking Indian mates, and rearing offspring 


round the camps, these Spanish soldiers struck their 
roots into the soil ; so deep, that when their time of 
service came to an end, they were unable to remove. 
Their families could not be carried into Spain, 
or even into Mexico. A viceroy had a puzzling 
question to resolve. The policy of his Church had 
been to exclude White settlers from the soil : a policy 
of prudence if the natives were to be converted and 
preserved. Except the friars, no man had a right to 
hold land in California. Except the soldiers, sent to 
guard these friars and execute their orders, no man 
had a right of domicile in California. Civil laws 
and civil magistrates were unknown. California was 
treated as a Holy State, a paradise of monks, a 
patrimony of the Church. This clerical policy had 
always been supported by the king and council in 
Madrid. A pope had given California to Spain, and 
Spain was eager to restore it to the church. Yet how 
were veterans, grown grey in service on a distant 
shore, to leave their children, dear though dusky, to 
the chances of a savage life ? Fear, as well as pity, 
held the clerical policy in check. If left behind, 
they must remain a progeny of shame, an evidence 
of moral failure, in the neighbourhood of every 


mission in the land. Holding no place in any 
Indian tribe, these Hybrids would have to live as 
outcasts. Every hand would be against them. 
Rapine and murder might become their trade. 

Taking a middle course, which seemed to him 
the lesser of two evils, the viceroy formed three 
camps of refuge, which he called Free Towns ; a 
first camp at Los Angeles in the South, a second 
camp near Santa Cruz in the Centre, and a third 
camp at San Jose in the North. These camps were 
ruled by martial law, and wholly separated from 
the great Franciscan Commonwealth. About Los 
Angeles he gathered in the refuse from San Diego 
and Santa Barbara ; about Santa Cruz he gathered 
in the refuse of San Carlos, San Juan, and Soledad ; 
about San Jose he gathered in the refuse of Santa 
Clara and San Francisco. Within these camps the 
veterans and their savage progeny were to dwell, 
but they were not to wander from their limits, under 
penalty of stripes, imprisonment and death. 

Some strangers joined the settlers in these Free 
Town ; few, and of an evil sort ; quacks, gamblers, 
girl-buyers, whiskey sellers; all the abominable 


riffraff of a Spanish camp. From these vile sources, 
nearly all the present Hybrids of the country spring. 

In time, these mixed breeds grew too strong for 
either priest or captain to control. From Los 
Angeles they have roamed into the plains of San 
Fernando ; from Santa Cruz they have crept up the 
Pajaro and Salinas ; from San Jose they have 
spread along both shores of San Francisco Bay. 
Not many of this mongrel crew can read and write. 
Not one in ten is born in wedlock, for the custom 
of their country fills the hut with squaws, whom 
the sons of White men disdain to marry. Gross 
and sickening superstitions cloud such brains as 
they possess. Aware that they are neither red nor 
white, and have no place among the Indian tribes, 
they loath their mother s kith as fiercely as they 
hate their father s kin. The vices of two hostile 
breeds are mixed in them ; the pride and cruelty of 
their Spanish sires, the laziness and licentiousness of 
their Indian dams. 

The land, they say, is theirs. They are not 
strangers, like the foreign troops, nor savages, like 
the native tribes. In Mexican days, they fought 
the soldiers, robbed the friars, and helped them- 

VOL. I. F 


selves to squaws. In every riot they are first and 
last ; the first in outrage, and the last to be subdued. 
When Mexico threw off the yoke, they fought 
against the crown of Spain, and when that fight was 
done they turned against their comrades in the 
camp. Unstable as water, they rallied to the 
Single Star, and after causing the young republic 
of California much annoyance, they rallied to the 
Stars and Stripes. 

This treachery brought men into these plains, 
compared to whom the Mexicans are boys, the 
Indians girls. Alert and strong, these strangers 
push the native to the wall. While the Hybrid 
stock-man is playing at cards or capering through a 
dance, his fields are fenced, his cattle driven away, 
his streamlets dammed, by these intruding and un 
sleeping Whites. What can the Hybrid do? 
American courts are in these strangers hands. 
He cannot meet them in the field. What then? 
Must he lie down and sprawl at their feet ? 

Jesu Maria no ! He may take to the woods, 
become a bandit, and avenge the wrongs he is too 
feeble to resent in open strife. 



Ix California, as in Greece and Italy, brigands 
are the privateers of public wrongs, or what the 
peasants call their public wrongs. A brigand is a 
malcontent, who waits his chance to rise in a more 
threatening shape. 

Los Angeles and San Jose, the Free Towns 
peopled by disbanded soldiers, squaws, and camp 
followers, are two great nests of rogues and thieves, 
gamblers and cut- throats. From these Free Towns, 
a line of brigand chiefs have drawn their scouts and 
helps. A mixed blood hates the agents of all rule 
and order. Years ago his teeth were clenched 
against the Spanish friars ; at present his knife is 
whetted against the American police. Much of his 
passion is political, and the conflict in the jungle 
and on the mountain side is one of race with race. 

High reputations have been made by these 

F 2 


California!! brigands. What hybrid peasant has 
not envied Capitan Soto, and his bold companion, 
Capitan Procopio? What lonely ranch and noisy 
drinking ken has not heard of Capitan Senati s deeds, 
and Capitan Moreno s treachery ? What sefiorita 
has not sighed over the romantic love and tragic fate 
of Capitan Vasquez, the Mexican hero? Each of 
these brigands has excited and disturbed the country, 
roaming through the valleys, plundering the lonely 
farms, stopping the public mails, and carrying girls 
into the woods ; each hero, as the hybrids think, 
combining the best qualities of Eobin Hood, Dick 
Turpin, and Claude du Yal. 

Soto was the captain of a band of horse-stealers. 
Driving horses from the herd is ranked by Mexi 
cans as the most lucrative and gallant branch of a 
brigand s trade. To steal horses, a man must be 
brave, cool, and hardy ; he must know the country 
like a guide each hidden jungle, nameless cave, 
and rocky pass and he must sit his saddle as he 
sits a chair. All Mexicans ride well, but even for a 
Mexican ranger, Capitan Soto was a dasher ; going 
like a gale of wind ; yet able, in his rapid flight, 
to twist himself round his horse s belly, and to 


cling unseen about his horse s neck. The charms 
of an adventurous life drew many riders, not less 
daring than himself, to Soto s camp. One. day they 
were rioting with senoritas at Los Angeles ; another, 
they were flying for their necks before such hunters 
as Sheriff Eowland and Sheriff Morse. Los Angeles, 
San Bernardino, and San Diego are the favourite 
scenes of brigand warfare, as the frontier offers 
them a ready market and a safe retreat. From 
Soto to Vasquez, every brigand in California has 
found his base of operations in Mexico. 

Los Angeles county is a mountain region, 
with a dozen trackless canons, opening into fertile 
plains. The soil was owned by half-breeds, children 
of the disbanded soldiers and their stolen squaws; 
but from the moment when the first British settlers 
fastened on the land, a fight for the estate began. 
The first Britons who came to Los Angeles were 
the Mormon soldiers serving under Colonel Cooke. 
These troops remained at Los Angeles a year, and 
were disbanded in the town. Some of these 
Mormons settled in the place ; others rode up into 
the hills ; and many more squatted on the plains. 
A reign of order and prosperity set in. The Eed 


skins liked these Mormons, regarding them as honest 
men, who wanted squaws and paid for them in skins 
and cows. A lovely climate, a prolific soil, drew 
other settlers from the North. 

If California is the garden of America, Los 
Angeles county is the paradise of California. Woods- 
and pastures have been sold by the unthrifty natives ; 
woods uncut, pastures ungrazed ; and the purchase 
money of these woods and pastures has been spent 
on cards and drink. The district is becoming white. 
Banks, stores, hotels are being opened in the town,, 
while round the suburbs, in and out of glen and 
water-way, white farms and villas are beginning to 
dot the country side. All sorts of wealth abounds, so 
that the robber s greed is tempted by variety of 
spoil. All hands are ready to help him in carrying 
on his trade. A brigand is always welcome to the 
people in an old Free Town. 

Capitan Soto led a rattling life. One day he 
fled to Mexico, where the customers for his stolen 
horses lived ; another day he smoked his cigarette 
in San Quentin, the Newgate of California, Once he 
broke that prison ; a daring and successful feat, one 
of the many legends of that place of demons. But 


the White man s justice followed him to his lair. 
Morse rode him down and shot him in the road. 

After killing the chief brigand, Sheriff Morse 
made tracks for San Francisco, where he hoped to 
seize the minor criminal, Capitan Procopio. When 
Soto s band was scattered by the rangers, Procopio, 
with a younger member of the company, named 
Yasquez, sought an asylum in Mexico, but after 
staying in that republic some days the two brigands 
ventured to take ship for San Francisco, where 
they meant to hide in the Mexican quarter. Morse 
got news of them, and made his dash. Young 
Yasquez slipped the lasso, but Procopio was taken 
in a den and sentenced to imprisonment for life. 

Capitan Senati was the leader of a company 
carrying on the trade of robbing shanties and 
stealing girls. Moreno was his first lieutenant ; Los 
Angeles the scene of his exploits. 

One day, hearing that a ball was to be given 
in Los Angeles by some ladies from San Francisco, 
Capitan Senati s company swooped into the streets, 
surrounded the house, and pillaged every one in 
the dancing rooms. After eating the supper, and 
drinking the wine, each brigand took a partner by 


the waist, and whirled her round and round till he 
was tired. Then, at a signal from their chief, they 
filed out of the saloon, pointing their poignards at 
the men, and kissing their fingers to the women, 
as they bowed adieu. 

Later in the night they broke into a ranch 
outside the town, where Capitan Senati outraged a 
female, and his lieutenant, Moreno, stole a gentle 
man s watch. A cry was raised in the streets, some 
rangers of the city mounted their horses, and a city 
marshal, riding in front of these rangers, followed 
the retreating brigands to their haunts. Senati shot 
the marshal dead ; and as a challenge to the town, 
rode back with his company into Los Angeles, where 
he plundered several houses, and carried off a bevy 
of Mexican girls. 

Fifteen hundred dollars were offered for the 
person of Capitan Senati, to be paid by the jailer of 
Los Angeles for his body, whether alive or dead. 
This money tempted Moreno, a man who had been 
in trade, and learnt to set more store on gold than 
others of his gang. With fifteen hundred dollars 
he might buy the finest horse and give the biggest 
dance in Los Angeles. That money should be his ! 


The camp was fixed near Greek George s ranch, ten 
miles only from the city ; and one night, when the 
scouts were at their posts, and no one but Senati 
and himself were in the tent, Moreno crept behind 
his chief and shot him through the head. But they 
were not so far from listeners as he thought. Before 
the snap of his pistol died out, he heard a footstep 
near the tent, on which he hid his weapon and 
threw a blanket over Senati s face. 

Who fired that shot ? asked Bui via, one of the 
brigands, striding in. 

Senati s pistol ; gone off by accident/ grumbled 
Moreno. His companion showed distrust. 

Where is Senati ? 

The enquiry could not be evaded, nor the deed 
concealed. It was a fight for life, and one of them 
must fall. Moreno was prepared for blood. 

Asleep there, in the corner ! 

Bulvia stooped to lift the rug, and as he bent 
forward, Moreno plunged a knife into his heart. 

Lifting the two bodies into a cart, Moreno drove 
into Los Angeles, and going straight to the jail, 
woke up the warder, told his story, showed the two 
dead bodies, and claimed his price. How had he 


captured them ? It was a short and brilliant tale 
he had to tell. Taken by Senati s band, he had 
been kept a prisoner in their camp, but he had 
waited for his chance, and last night when all the 
gang were out, except the Capitan and one of his 
fellows, he had fought and killed the thieves. No 
doubt arose ; a hundred persons in the city knew 
Senati s face. For several days Moreno was a hero, 
living on the spoil of war ; till he was fool enough 
to walk into a shop, and offer the stolen watch for 

The jeweller, who knew that watch, sent secretly 
for the rangers, a dozen of whom were quickly on 
the spot. Moreno had no chance of an escape. On 
being convicted of the burglary, he told the truth 
about his murder of the two brigands near Greek 
George s ranch. He got fourteen years in San 
Quentin for stealing the watch, but no notice has 
yet been taken of his more atrocious crimes. 

Yet none of these brigands have acquired the 
fame of Capitan Vasquez, the young companion of 
Procopio in his flight to Mexico. 

Vasquez is a greater idol in his country than 
Yallejo. Poets write sonnets to Vasquez, women 


swear by Vasquez, lads aspire to rival Vasquez. 
Every hybrid in California would be Vasquez if he 
had the talent and the mettle. Lives of Vasquez, 
Adventures of Vasquez, Captures of Vasquez, are 
written for the lowest grade of Mexican and Cali- 
fornian readers. Vallejo is but half a hero in the 
eyes of his countrymen. No one is sure of Vallejo ; 
every one is sure of Vasquez. The general may 
live to make more treaties, and acquire fresh honours 
from the stranger ; but the brigand s work on earth 
is done, and he is lying at San Jose in a patriot s 
cell, waiting for the sentence that will lay him in a 
patriot s grave. 

In Mexican eyes, a brigand is a finer figure than 
a soldier. Vasquez, moreover, is no common bandit. 
He began his acts of violence in the name of an in 
vaded country, and committed theft and murder in 
the cause of an outraged race. He robbed White 
men, and stripped the government mails. Some 
people think his schemes as vast in scope as they 
were bold in plan. By daring much, he sought to 
win the confidence of all the half-breed drovers, 
miners, and stockmen. It is said, his bands were 
companies which might have swollen to regiments. 


Some persons think he might have raised an army, 
and become the Alvaredo of. his epoch, had he not 
been ruined, like so many heroes, by the beauty of 
a woman and the jealousy of a friend. 




THE story of Tiburcio Vasquez is the legend of hi& 
race in light and shade. 

Born in Monterey county, thirty-nine years ago,. 
Vasquez is by birth a Mexican, and owes no fealty 
to the United States. His father, a mixed blood, 
like his neighbours, lived on a small farm called 
Los Felix, not far from Monterey. A poor school, 
kept by a drowsy priest, in Sleepy Hollow, offered 
him the only teaching he ever got. He learned to 
read a little, to recite his creed, and curse the here 
tics who came into his port for trade. Though 
ignorant of arts and men, he grew apace in animal 
strength and animal appetite. Like his Indian 
mothers, he was fleet of foot ; like his Mexican 
fathers, he could catch a wild horse. Early in life, 
he learned to use the knife, and not one damsel in 


a score could tire him in bolero and fandango. The 
fandango was his favourite dance. 

The produce of Los Felix satisfied his father s 
wants ; but the unhappy boy was fretting from a 
fever in his blood. White men came into Monterey, 
who took to building jetties, making roads, and 
opening schools. Such men were devils in his sight ; 
intruders on his soil, and enemies of his Church. A 
rough and ready lot, with brawny arms and saucy 
tongues, these strangers pushed and shoved, and put 
on airs which drove the young hybrid mad with rage 
and hate. What right had they to come into his 
town, and edge their way into his drinking bars ? 
A fretful spirit led him into strife ; and when he 
flew at the white devils these white devils cuffed 
and kicked and hustled him to the wall. 

As I grew up, he says of himself, I went to 
balls and parties, given by natives, to which Ameri 
cans came, shoving our men about, and trying to 
get our women from us. A desire for vengeance 
seized me like a demon. The patriot, so jealous 
of his women, was fifteen years of age ! 

Next year, being now sixteen, he opened a 
saloon and killed his first White man. White men 


came into . his den, who quaffed his liquor, won his 
coin, and pattered with his girls. Speaking of these 
days, he says, The white men cuffed and kicked 
me. They took my sweethearts by the waist and 
kissed them to my face. I fought them in defence 
of what I felt to be my rights, and those of my 
companions, natives of the soil. I fled and hid my 
self. The officers of justice followed me. For 
what? For wanting to enjoy my own. 

His passion grew with age ; a dark and sullen 
jealousy taking full possession of his soul. For 
some time I went on doggedly, shoving those who 
shoved me, keeping my sweethearts at my side, and 
drinking where I liked and as I liked. One night 
there was a row, and then I left the town. 

A man was killed. Seeing a fight going on, an 
officer interfered, when Yasquez plunged a knife 
into his heart. The murderer fled from Monterey. 

Getting a herd of kine, he says, I went to 
Mendocino county, in the north, three hundred miles 
from Monterey ; but even in the north I was not 
left alone in peace. White men pursued me to my 
ranch ; but I escaped unhurt and fled into the 
woods. Then I resolved to change my course. It 


was their fault, not mine. They would not let me 
work in future I would steal. 

A good Catholic, Vasquez set out for Los Felix, 
where his mother lived, to tell her of his purpose 
and invoke her blessing on his plan. fc My mother 
loves me much, and will not fail me now, he whis 
pered as he pushed along. Arriving at the ranch, 
he slipped into her room, and falling on his knees 
told her his tale. I am about to go into the world, 
and take my chance a Mexican way of saying 
he was going on the roads to rob mails and shoot 
passengers. His mother, Guadalupe Cantua, was a 
half-breed woman from the San Benito hills, above 
Los Angeles. She understood her son. He meant 
to live on other people, taking what he wanted 
from them, and she feared her boy might suffer at 
their hands. Like a true Mexican she blessed him 
to his task, and placed him under the protection of 
her saints. 

I got my mother s blessing/ says the brigand 
c and from that day I began to rove and rob. 

Going into the hills of San Benito, where his 1 
kindred lived, he first fell in with Capitan Soto, 
and engaged to serve him in stealing mustangs. He- 

O D O O 


was soon a master of his craft, a favourite of his 
chief. With Capitan Soto, he was taken prisoner, 
and got five years in San Quentin. With Capitan 
Soto, he broke prison, but in three weeks he was 
again in jail. Six years of San Quentin failed to 
cool his blood. When he came out of jail, his 
cousin Leiva, and some other lads about Los Felix, 
preferring theft to labour, gathered at his heels arid 
made him captain of their gang. Hating the whites 
as only the sons of white men and dark women do, 
these youngsters called themselves patriots, and 
talked of making California too hot for such pale 
devils to endure. They stopped a mail and stripped 
the passengers of watches, rings, and coin. A 
something new to the settlers in the method of this 
robbery made the name of Vasquez known in every 
ranch and mine in California. Dashing at the stage, 
he bade the passengers alight, sit down in a row 
some feet apart, and cross their feet and wrists. 
One fellow made a noise. I shot him in the leg/ 
says Vasquez, ; not to hurt him, but to keep up dis 
cipline. Taking from his belts some leather thongs, 
Vasquez tied each pair of feet and wrists, and having 
VOL. i. G 


robbed his captives, rolled them on their backs and 
put blankets on their faces while he rifled the 
stage. He then galloped to the hills, leaving his 
prisoners tied and writhing on the ground. 

It was a new and daring act, more grateful to 
the Half-breed natives, as they heard that the loss of 
money was forgotten in the burning sense of shame. 

With seven inside the stage, and two outside, 
the driver and the guard, how came you to sit down 
in the mire and let three robbers tie you up ? I 
ask a man who happened to have been riding with 
the mail that day. 

The cause is simple, he explains, so simple 
that it never fails. You know, we English and 
Americans are strangers in the land. No traveller 
can trust his fellow. Each of the seven persons 
inside the coach that day, believed the other six 
passengers were members of the band. Before we 
knew the truth, their thongs were on our wrists, 
their rifles at our heads. 

At twenty-eight, Capitan Vasquez was already 
the talk of every dancing-room from Santa Clara to 
Los Angeles. I did it all myself, by my own valour ; 
I, the bravest of the brave ! he says. Dark eyes 


looked up to him, and dusky arms were clasped 
about his neck. 

Leiva, Ms cousin, followed him like a dog. 
Soto implored him to rejoin the band, horse-lifting 
for the Mexican markets being a profitable trade. 
By turns he played each game ; now stealing horses 
from the herd, now robbing store and stage ; but 
always squandering his ill-gotten gains on dice and 
drink. No scruple as to shedding blood arrested 
him. If any one stood out, he shot him through 
the heart. Among his deeds of blood was the 
murder of a poor Italian, whom he robbed and slew 
at the Enriquita mines. 

For four years this brigand kept his country in 
alarm. As fleet of foot as other men are in the 
saddle, and as much at home in the saddle as other 
men are in easy chairs, he mocked at city rangers 
and defied the hue and cry. At length he fell 
into a snare ; the charge was stealing horses ; 
a third time he was sentenced to four years im 
prisonment in San Quentin. At the end of three 
years, a legislature, not too hard on robbers, passed 
an act of clemency which set him free once more. 
When he came out, more like a savage than ever, 



a band was gathered about him and reduced to 
order. Vasquez took the chief command, with 
Leiva as his first lieutenant. Chavez was his 
second lieutenant, Castro and Morena were his 
principal scouts. Leiva had a young and pretty 
wife, Eosalia, who rode with them into the woods, 
and shared the pleasures and privations of their 

Sefiora Eosalia was a niece by marriage of Senora 
Cantua, and a gossip of the whole Vasquez family at 
Los Felix. Love led her into sin and crime. 
Fidelity to wedded vows is not a virtue of her 
race, and Yasquez was a hero in all female eyes. 
A fearless rider, an untiring dancer, a deadly shot, 
and a successful brigand, her cousin had nearly 
all the qualities most admired by Mexicans, whether 
male or female. Everybody talked of him, every 
body feared him. Living by plunder, he had 
always men, and nearly always money, at his 
command. What Half-breed female could resist a 
aian so gifted and so great ? 

Capitan Yasquez never sighed in vain, he 
says, to either senora or senorita. A story, 
current since his capture, implies that he was 


driven into his evil courses through the seduction of 
his young wife by a White man. This story is 
untrue. Though boasting of as long a list of 
amours as Don Juan, the Capitan smiles with 
scorn and pity when you ask him about his wife and 

A child, but not a wife, he says ; I love 
my girls like a man ; but never could be tied to 
any one female skirt. 

Then it is false that your wife was taken from 
you by an English settler ? 

False ; yes, false. I never had a wife. 

His scorn of married love is said to be one great 
element in his success with women. 

Eosalia loved him as a brigand chief, and her 
attachment helped to keep him in the field. He 
wished to please her eye and gratify her pride. On 
leaving San Quentin with a pardon, given to him 
on a promise of good behaviour, his jailers believed 
that he intended to redeem his pledge. By staying 
at home, he might have put Los Felix into order ; 
but the presence of his mistress in the neighbour 
hood unstrung his mind. Eosalia loved him for 
his daring deeds ; and how, whilst drudging on a 


farm, could he approve himself a hero in Eosalia s 
sight ? To hold her, he must fly into the hills. 

Choice led him to the heights . above Los 
Angeles, in the vicinity of that San Benito peak 
from which his mother sprang, among the ins and 
outs of which Leiva and Eosalia were at home. 

Some rival bands were in the district, led by 
Capitan Soto. On hearing that the rangers of Los 
Angeles were out, Vasquez joined his old leader, 
when a brush took place,* in which the banditti 
were severely mauled. Vasquez fled across the 
frontier into Mexico, leaving Eosalia to her hus 
band s care. On his return, after the death of Soto 
and the capture ofProcopio, Vasquez rejoined Eosalia 
at Eock Creek, the caves and woods of which 
became his camp, proposing to avenge his 
slaughtered chief and captured friend. His plan 
was to announce his presence in the district by 
a sudden blow ; a blow that should be echoed 
through the land. He had to rouse his people, 
and to show them they had still a leader in their 
front. A great crime, swiftly planned and promptly 
done, would tell his race what kind of man he 


was, and raise up friends for him in every wayside 
hut and every mountain pass. 

Eosalia and her husband w ere consulted on his 
scheme of robbery and murder, and they both 
assented to the deed which made the name of Tres 
Pinos roll and echo through the land. 




TRES PINOS, a white hamlet on the Eio San 
Benito, was selected for the scene of his revenge. 
A mail passes through Tres Pinos every night. 
The place consists of a post office, a tavern, a 
stable, a drinking bar, a smithy, and a barn. 
Leandro Davidson kept the hotel, Andrew Snyder 
owned a store. Snyder was rich. If all went well 
with him, Vasquez could reckon on adding the 
profit of money and horses, to the pleasure of 

Starting from Eock Creek, but leaving Eosalia at 
San Embro, the brigands rode down the San Benito 
Valley till they came within easy distance of Tres 
Pinos. Here they changed hats and cloaks, and 
gave a last look at their arms. Leiva and Gonzalez 
went up to the hamlet, with orders to lounge into 
the bar-room one by one, to call for drink, to count 


how many men were near, to note how many of 
those men would fight, and learn where Snyder 
kept his gold. Moreno followed them. Yasquezand 
Chavez lay out of sight. On coming to Tres 
Finos, Leiva saluted Snyder, asking him to have a 
drink. Snyder complied. A dozen loafers hung 
about the store. Two of these men were pals of 
Leiva, ready to assist him with their knives. 
Gonzalez hitched his horse, and took his post. A 
team belonging to a man named Haley drove up, 
on which Snyder left his store, and most of his 
neighbours followed him out into the road. Five 
or six loafers stayed behind. Moreno entered by a 
side-door with his pistol cocked. Lie down ! he 
hissed between his teeth. Down, down ! repeated 
Leiva. As the loafers dropped, Leiva held Mo 
reno s weapon, while that brigand rolled them over, 
tied their hands and feet, and turned their faces to the 
wall. A rag was thrown on each, so that he could 
see nothing; and Leiva told them, with a string 
of oaths, that any one who either moved a limb or 
raised a murmur should be blown to pieces. Snyder 
was still chatting with Haley in the road, when 
Chavez came up, and asked him to go in, and find 


a letter in the post bag. On entering he was 
seized. Lie down ! roared Leiva. Snyder glanced 
around, but five or six revolvers met his gaze. 
4 Lie down, exclaimed Moreno, or we ll blow the 
top of your poll off! Snyder was tied and covered 
like the rest. The rifling then began. Goods, 
clothes, and even meats, were put into sacks and 
tied up, ready to be flung across the mules. Gon 
zalez attended to the stable and the barn. 

A shot was heard, and then a cry of pain, but 
no one knew on whom the bolt had fallen. No 
man dared to rise. A second shot was heard, 
followed by a piteous wail, and every one knew that 
blood was being shed. A moan came through the 
door ; but not a soul could lift the cover from his 

Vasquez had shot one man named Hill, a second 
man named Eadford. They were strangers, but 
the colour of their skin was an offence. Davidson 
was trying to close the door of his hotel, when 
Vasquez, noticing his movement, raised his gun, 
and brought the poor innkeeper to the ground. 
Davidson never spoke again. Then turning to the 
teamster Haley, Vasquez said to him, 4 Lie down ! 


What for ? asked Haley. Yasquez kicked 
him in the ribs, and knocked him on the skull. 
Lie still, he snarled, while tying him in a rope, 
emptying his pockets, and pitching him under the 
horses feet. 

4 All done there ? the Capitan now cried to those 
inside. Yes : all was done ; a stock of goods and 
clothes, eight horses, and two gold watches were 
secured. But they had found no money in the till. 
No money ! Jesu Maria, all this blood, and not a 
dollar for our pains ! Striding into the room, 
Vasquez took hold of Snyder, and with pistol pointed 
at his temples, pulled him to the porch. I want 
your money ; if you bring it out I spare your life, 
if not you are a dead man. Snyder led him to the 
door of his wife s apartment. 

Any one with arms in there ? asked Yasquez, 
pausing at the door. A woman came out. c They 
want my money, dear, said Snyder. They shall 
have it if they do no harm, she answered, and she 
brought out all her coin. Snyder was taken back, 
and tied once more; after which the brigands 
packed their spoil, mounted their horses, and de 


On quitting Tres Pinos. the band separated ; 
Leiva s pals going off at once, Moreno and Gon 
zalez afterwards. Pursuit was certain to be hot ; 
and Vasquez thought that for a few weeks to come 
every man had better look to himself. Leiva 
and Chavez rode all night with their Capitan, 
hardly slackening speed until they reached San 
Embro, where Rosalia waited for her hero, and 
received him with the raptures due to his great 

Eosalia s rapture was the ruin of his gang. 

Tipsy with love and joy, the brigand s mistress 
was so indiscreet in her caresses that her husband s 
eyes were opened. Leiva began to watch his 
cousin and his wife. In going from San Embro 
to Eock Creek, he saw enough to satisfy him that 
his wife was false. He spake no word, but, like 
a hybrid cur, skulked about Eock Creek, living 
with his false wife and false friend, until he heard 
that Adams, sheriff of Santa Clara, and Eowland, 
sheriff of Los Angeles, were in the field, scouring 
the country in pursuit of the assassins. Then he 
slipped away unseen, riding from point to point, 
ready to give himself up, and, on a promise of 


blood-money, to lead the rangers straight into the 
robber s lair. 

On finding his lieutenant gone, Vasquez. put 
Eosalia on a mule, and bore her to a place of safety 
near Elizabeth Lake. Thence he rode back to Eock 
Creek, the camp where he had stalled his horses and 
concealed his goods. One day the rangers ran him 
down, but after some sharp fighting he escaped 
into the copse. At El Monte he had a second 
scrimmage with the rangers, and the chase became 
so hot that he feared Eosalia might be stolen from 
his arms. Eiding down to the lake, and lifting her to 
his crupper, he set out for Eock Creek, as being the 
safest place he knew. No ranger had as yet been 
near the creek, for Leiva had not fallen in with Eow- 
land ; and even after his flight, the brigand hardly 
thought his lieutenant would betray him for a 
woman s sake. They watched and waited ; hoping the 
hue and cry would turn some other way. Before 
Eosalia had been many days in her lover s camp, 
scouts brought in news that the rangers of Los 
Angeles were coming up the creek, riding in 
fiery haste and overpowering strength, 

Vasquez and Eosalia were alone: I hear their 


hoofs, said Vasquez, stepping out of his cave into 
the road. His mistress followed at his heels. 
We may as well go on and meet them, he said 
jauntily, but when the rangers came in sight, Vasquez 
beckoned to Eosalia, who slipped after him silently 
into the wood and let them pass. His cave was found, 
his camp captured ; thirty-six horses being retaken 
and restored to their several owners, as well as much 
of the property stolen from Tres Pinos. 

Leiva, who was still lurking in the neighbourhood 
watching the White rangers, now came in, and 
Eowland, after listening to his tale, engaged his 
services as scout and guide. At length the Sheriff 
saw a chance of hunting the assassin down. 

Aware of what was now going on, Vasquez took 
Eosalia to a shepherd s ranch, where she lay in 
hiding three or four months, her lover going to 
see her now and then by stealth. Here they began to 
flout and quarrel. Vasquez had a dozen favourites 
whom he liked to see, and when Eosalia moped at 
being left so long, he told her he was weary, and 
must send her home. Not to let her go empty, he 
rode over the ridge to that Firebaugh ferry, on the 
San Joaquin river, where the passengers are all 


Judges and Colonels, and having tied and robbed ten 
White men and one Yellow man, he brought their 
clothes and money to Eosalia, put her on a mule, 
and sent her under escort to her father s house. 

Believing he had now done everything that a 
lover should do for a woman who has ceased to please 
him, Vasquez put Eosalia from his mind, except so 
far as his lieutenant Leiva was concerned in her 
affairs. Wanting to see no more of Leiva s wife, he 
hoped his cousin would take her back, forget his 
fit of jealousy, and rejoin the band. But Leiva s 
savage blood was stirred. The perfidy of his friend 
and the desertion of his wife had driven him mad. 
Instead of coming to the camp, he hung on Vasquez s 
footsteps like a Cuban bloodhound on the scent, not 
daring to attack him face to face, but hiding in his 
path, spying out his comings and goings, and crying 
to the bolder hunters, till he found his opportunity 
of dragging him to a felon s cell. 

Guided by Leiva s messages, Eowland was often 
in his track and always on his trail. Not once but 
many times, the brigand had to crouch in the bush, 
and let the fierce pursuit sweep on. Nimble as a 
cantamount, Vasquez could climb into a tree or creep 


into a hole. One day, while he was flying up a hill 
near San Gabriel, followed by Rowland and a^dozen 
rangers, he met John Osborne, Charley Miles, and 
two other citizens of Los Angeles driving in a stylish 
team. Halt there ! cried Vasquez. Osborne, not 
knowing who the man was, began to laugh, and 
shaking his rein, drove his horses on three of the 
gang who happened to be riding behind their 
chief. Vasquez put up his rifle, 

Out with your money ; quick ! A dozen men 
are coming up. 

Osborne declared that he had no money. 

1 Then I 11 take a watch, said the impatient 
Vasquez. Miles and Osborne eyed each other. 
Miles had a hunting lever, Osborne a gold repeater. 
Come, come, cried the robber, looking down the 
road, and seeing the cloud of mounted men not 
more than a thousand yards behind, I ll take them 
both. Good-bye ! 

Unable to ride the brigand down, Rowland, 
acting on Leiva s hints, affected to renounce the chase. 
Vasquez believed the storm gone by. His scouts were 
near the sheriff of Los Angeles day and night, and 
finding that he sat in his office, carelessly smoking his 


cigar, and chatting lazily with anyone who called, 
the scouts imagined that Sheriff Rowland had given 
up the game, and that the mystery of Tres Pinos, 
like so many other mysteries of crime in California, 
was a thing of the past. 

Ten miles from Los Angeles, at the foot of a 
ridge of hills, stands the lonely ranch belonging to 
Greek George Jorge el Griego which Vasquez 
made his lair. Windows command the two ap 
proaches to his house. A look-out sweeps his line 
of road. A dozen trails, unknown to strangers, 
lead into the hills, in which are many clumps and 
caves. It is a station to defy surprise. Greek 
George was in Los Angeles, watching the Sheriff s 
movements, and reporting to his chief that every 
thing looked well. 

One night a little after twelve o clock, Under- 
sheriff Johnson rode out of Los Angeles, with 
seven companions at his side. At dawn they drew 
up, under cover of a knoll, and held a long palaver. 
Some members of the party clomb a height, from 
which a field glass showed them every part of 
Greek George s house and grounds. A horse, often 
ridden by the brigand chief, was hitched to a tree ; 



and Vasquez himself was observed standing near the 
house. A white horse belonging to Chavez was 
bolting, and a mounted man was giving chase. 

No doubt the under-sheriff and his rangers had 
their game in front, but how were they to seize it 
in the snare ? The battery was masked, the garri 
son unknown. If any one were at the look-out in 
the hills, Vasquez would be warned of their 
approach, and with a start of ten minutes he could 
defy them to run him down. Even from his win 
dow, their approach would be observed a mile off, 
giving the murderers time to run for shelter to the 

Chance brought assistance to the rangers, 
for a Mexican team drove up from the direction 
of Greek George s ranch. Johnson seized this 
waggon, bade his men picket their steeds, crawl 
into the wagon, and lie flat down. Each ranger 
had his rifle ready for the fray. Putting a pistol 
to the driver s ear, Johnson told him to shut his 
mouth, and drive back towards Greek George s ranch. 
In a few minutes they were at the fence. The team 
stopped, the rangers leaped out. Two of the party 
ran to the west side, four made for the front. A 


female, opening the door, and seeing so many armed 
men, raised a scream, and tried to close the door 
in their faces ; but the rangers were too quick for 
her, and, tearing in, some of them caught sight of 
Vasquez leaping through a slit in the adobe wall. 
A bullet grazed him as he sprang. There he goes 
through the window, cried the ranger who had 
fired. Lighting on his feet in the garden, Vasquez 
looked around, as if in doubt. There stood his 
horse, if he had only time to mount. There grew 
the copse, if he had only time to hide. A second 
bullet struck him, and he reeled and fell. Bounding 
to his feet, like a wild cat, he glared from ranch to 
road,, from horse to copse. A third shot smote him. 
Blood was flowing from his face and from his side. 
The game was over ; he threw up his hands. 

Senor, you have done well, he said to the under- 
sheriff, who arrested him ; I have been fooled, but 
it is all my fault. He spake no more. 

The rangers laid him on a pallet in the court 
yard, believing he was near his end. A tress of 
black hair and photographs of two children were 
found in his vest. The lock of hair was tied in a 
bit of blue ribbon. The photographs, he said, were 



pictures of his children. Of the tress he would say 
nothing ; but he gave the lock to Johnson, as a 
brave man ; a brave man like myself a brave 
man like myself, he added more than once ; begging 
the under-sheriff to preserve it with the care of a 
gentleman till he asked for it again. Then he lay 
down on his pallet, fainting from loss of blood. 
Adon Leiva was avenged. 




THOUGH Capitan Vasquez never sighed in vain to 
senorita, lie nursed a great contempt for women. 

4 Do you think a woman had to do with your 

No, surely not, replies the brigand with a 
sneer : I never trusted women in my life. 

6 Not with the secret of your hiding-places in 
the hills? 

4 No, Senor ; I never put myself in any woman s 
power, by telling her a secret that could do me 

Yet men may be betrayed who never give 
their trust, even to the women they profess to love. 
His wounds being dressed, the brigand has been 
brought to San Jose, where he is nearer to the white 
settlements, than at Los Angeles. At San Jose, he is 
overshadowed by the power of San Francisco. 


San Jose, one of the Free Towns, has, like Los 
Angeles, a lower class of moDgrel breed and vicious 
life ; one of the great sinks from which such chiefs 
as Soto and Vasquez draw their bands. But these 
bad elements in the town, though rough and noisy, 
quail before the steady courage of the upper class 
White men of British race, who having grown rich 
as advocates and physicians, bankers and merchants, 
have built their country houses on Coyote Creek ; 
converting a camp of troops and squaws, with their 
unruly progeny, into a paradise of villas, colleges, 
and schools. These new comers are enrolled as 
vigilants, and are masters of the town. 

While waiting trial, Vasquez is behaving like a 
true half-breed, lying in the faces of his friends, 
boasting of his noble deeds, and acting basely to 
wards the woman who has wrecked her soul for 
him. He tells all those who go to see him, that he 
never killed a man in his life not even Davidson. 
Leiva, he says, shot all the three men who were 
butchered at Tres Pinos. Having won Eosalia s 
love, in fair rivalry against her husband, he asserts 
that Leiva, like a jealous cur, betrayed him to the 
sheriffs out of envy at the preference of his wife. 


Sometimes he prattles of a second mistress, but 
lie never breathes her name, and does not mark this 
woman, as either the mother of his child or the 
female of his cherished lock. 

When ladies come to see him in his cell, he 
takes a tone of gallantry, yet with an air and distance 
flattering to their sex. 

I am distressed, a lady says, to see so brave a 
man as you in such a place/ 

Senora, smirks the brigand, if I were as 
brave as you believe me, I should never have been 
here at all. 

Well, sighs his visitor, touching his bandaged 
fingers, I am grieved to think they caught you in 
the ranch. He looks into her eyes, and lifting up 
his wounded hands, exclaims, Que las bendi- 
ciones cle Dias sean siempre contigo ! (may the 
blessings of God be showered on you for ever 

His cell is full of gifts food, clothes, and money; 
sent by his admiring countrymen and more admi 
ring countrywomen. A purse is being raised for his 
defence, and every one expects a stormy trial, a 
timid jury, and a doubtful sentence. 


No one dares convict Iiim, says a Mexican, 
who is sitting next to me at table. 

Not if he is guilty of three murders ? \ 

c Not if he is guilty of a hundred murders as 
they say he is. Whether right or wrong, our 
people think him an injured man, who loves his 
country and his religion, and is persecuted for the 
love which thousands share with him. They make 
his cause their own. No jury in San Jose will 
dare to find Tiburcio Vasquez guilty of a capital 

An English settler listens to this talk, and when 
the Mexican stops, he says quietly, In that case, 
Tiburcio Vasquez will be lynched. 

Lynched by a White mob ? 

Yes, if you like the word, by a White mob. I 
know the temper of our people well ; their blood is 
up this time ; and whether the jury find him guilty 
or not guilty, Vasquez will be hung at San Jose. 

This settler speaks the truth. The British race 
is master in these valleys ; and the British race de 
mands the brigand s blood. 



Capitan Vasquez lias been tried, found guilty, 
and executed. As all the twelve jurors on the panel 
are English in name, we need not wonder that they 
agreed to hang the murderer. Eosalia figures 
largely in the evidence ; the theory set up in favour 
of Vasquez being rather Indian than Spanish in 
character. Yasquez and Leiva were pictured to the 
jury as rivals in love with the same woman ; Vas 
quez having advantages of person, Leiva advantages 
of position. Any reference to Leiva s rights as 
Eosalia s husband was thought superfluous. Eosalia 
was represented as fair game for any lover to run 
clown and capture. Vasquez ran her down; on 
which his rival, stung by jealousy, sold his secret to 
the sheriff. Mexicans would side with the bold 
wooer and the false wife, not with the deceived and 
outraged husband. Leiva admitted he was jealous, 
and that his jealousy drove him to betray his chief; 
but he denied that any of the facts which he had 
stated under oath were false. 

Judge Belden told the jury that a man s oath is 
not to be rejected on the ground that his wife has 


violated her marriage vow. This rule of law, so 
simple to an English ear, is inconceivable to a 
Mexican. If a wife is false, the Mexican thinks her 
husband is sure to go, in his revenge, beyond all 
legal and moral bounds. He will do any deed, 
swear any lie. The fact that he is wronged in his 
honour makes him a criminal, not to be credited on 
his oath. An English jury, having no difficulty in 
accepting Leiva s evidence, found a verdict of guilty 
against the brigand. 

Belden deferred his sentence till an appeal for 
a new trial was Beard and dismissed. Then he 
addressed the bandit, in words which burn with all 
the passion of the White Conquest, when the White 
conquerors have been provoked by deeds of blood : 

c Tiburcio Vasquez Aided by the situation of 
the country, you eluded for a time the officers who 
were in your pursuit, and at last seemed to have 
fancied that your offences were forgotten and your 
safety assured. Unfortunate man! Vain delusion! 
The blood of your murdered victims cried unceas 
ingly for vengeance, and there could be for your 
crime no forgetfulness, for you no refuge. Justice 
might be for a time delayed she would not be 


baffled. The State whose laws you set at defiance, 
whose citizens you had ruthlessly murdered, aroused 
herself for retributive justice. The Commonwealth, 
with all her resources of men and treasure, was 
upon your track with tireless purpose and exhaust- 
less means. She followed you in all your wander 
ings, and made of your vicious associates her most 
efficient instruments. In every camp that gave 
you shelter, her officers bartered for your surrender. 
In the confederates you trusted, she found the man 
ready to betray you. From such a pursuit there 
could be no escape, and you are here here with 
the record of your lawless life well nigh ended, 
without one act of generosity or deed of even 
courage to relieve its utter depravity. The appeals 
you have made to your countrymen for aid in your 
present distress have met a response becoming them 
and befitting you. Shocked at your atrocities, they 
have neither aided you to escape the punishment 
merited nor pretended the sympathy you have 
sought to invoke. They have left you to answer 
alone at the bar of justice. With the memory of 
your many victims before you, and the dark shadow 
of an approaching gloom about you, indulge no 


illusive hope that the fate can be averted or long 
delayed. Every appeal that zeal could suggest or 
eloquence urge was pressed upon your jury in the 
hope that they might be persuaded to leave for you 
the pitiful boon of life ; but the jury heard the story 
of your crimes from yourself; they accepted the 
responsibility of adjudging the penalty merited ; and 
in their deliberations they determined and in their 
verdict declared you unworthy to live. Of that 
verdict there can be but one opinion that of un 
qualified approval. Upon this verdict the law de 
clares the judgment, and speaking through the 
Court, awards the doom a penalty commensurate 
with the crime of which you stand convicted, and 
therein merited by the threefold murder that stains 
your hands. The judgment is death. That you 
be taken hence and securely kept by the sheriff of 
Santa Clara cotmty until Friday, the 19th day of 
March, 1875. That upon that day, between the 
hours of nine o clock in the morning and four in the 
afternoon, you be by him hanged by the neck until 
you are dead. And may God have mercy on your 

He was taken out and hung accordingly. An 


attempt at rescue was expected ; but the White 
citizens were ready ; the lower classes saw that the 
case was desperate; and on Friday, March 19, 
Capitan Vasquez, the most famous brigand in Cali 
fornia, dangled from a tree in San Jose. 




4 WITH fifty thousand dollars, the bandit said at 
San Jose, I could have raised an army, driven out 
the English settlers, and cleared the southern 
counties of California from Santa Clara to San Diego. 

Men less heated than the prisoner think that if 
Vasquez had been cursed with as much genius for 
affairs as Castro and Alvaredo, he might have 
caused a civil war and cost the State much blood 
and coin. 

These persons judge by what is going on in Mexico, 
a country very much like California, being occupied 
by half-breeds, with a sprinkle here and there of 
such dons and caballeros as we find in the streets 
and billiard-rooms of Monterey. Over the border, 
nothing is easier than for a man like Vasquez to 
provoke a riot, desecrate a church, expel a governor ; 
but a rise of rustics, at the call of men devoid of 


character and position, is not easy in a land of 
settled farms, wedded by railway lines and telegraph 
wires to strong and populous towns. In California 
such rustics would be trampled in the dust and scat 
tered to the winds. A fire will lick up straw 
hutches that would hardly leave a mark on granite 

No rising of these Half-breeds, as they now begin 
to see, can shake the solid structure of American 
rule. If the Mexicans, either pure or mixed, are to 
keep alive their name and faith in presence of the 
British races, they must seek support in Catholic 
colleges like Santa Clara, not in brigand camps near 
San Benito Peak. 

Two miles north of San Jose peep out the 
capulas and spires of Santa Clara ; once a seat of 
the Franciscan friars, a centre of the Catholic mis 
sions ; now, according to the change of times, the 
site of a Jesuit college, and a source of Catholic 
teaching for the whole Pacific slope. 

Lying in the midst of oak and cedar, glancing 
over sparkling waves, sheltered in the arms of lofty 
hills, Santa Clara has a charm of scenery and situa 
tion to attract the eyes of any one who, having made 


his fortune, wants to build himself a poetic home. 
A hundred villas nestle in the woods, a hundred 
chalets climb the hills. A railway belts the town. 
Schools, churches, banks, hotels, and hospitals 
abound. Here stands a court-house, there a univer 
sity. Santa Clara is an English town, alive with- 
English fire and hope ; and yet, one turns from all 
these signs of a new order to the old Franciscan 
cloister, in the cells of which the city of Santa Clara 
had her birth. 

Slouching at the college gate, stands an old 
Indian, called Marcello, dressed in tags and beads, 
like a Mexican. He is waiting for his daily dole. 

Marcello is a double of the patriarch of Carmelo 
Bay. A child when Fray Tomas de la Pena built 
this cloister, and laid out these walks, the old chief 
has lived through many histories. Within his five 
score years the Spaniards have come and gone, the 
Mexicans have risen and fallen. Living under many 
flags, he has been a thrall of Spain, a citizen of 
Mexico, a vassal of California, an outcast of the 
United States. To him these changes have been 
like an evil dream, of which the sense escaped his 
mind, while the pang remained in his flesh. 


One day his neck was under foot of king and 
friar, next day under that of judge and general ; 
and of these four tyrants, he found the judge and 
general far less mindful of his rights than priest 
and king. As one of the converts of St. Francis, he 
was lodged and fed ; but since his year of freedom, 
he has been a beggar and an outcast in the land of 
which he was once a prince. 

At Santa Clara lay the camp and refuge of a 
band of brethren, who in pious zeal, without an eye 
to their own profit, lived among a herd of savages 
for more than sixty years, making the one great 
effort that has ever yet been made to save the 
natives of this coast. Ten or twelve missions 
were engaged in carrying on the work ; missions at 
San Diego and Santa Barbara, at San Luis Obisco 
and San Carlos, at Soledad and San Juan, at San 
Jose and San Francisco ; but the heart and brain, 
the rule and method, of this great Christian experi 
ment, were at Santa Clara. Here the provincial 
had his seat. Here strangers in the country were 
received. Hither came every one who wished to 
make a fortune, or to thrive at court. Eeports 
were sent from other missions to Santa Clara ; every 

VOL. I. I 


rescript and command was issued from Santa Clara. 
Santa Clara was the court and capital of this 
Franciscan Commonwealth. 

The brethren of St. Francis failed to establish 
a sacred Commonwealth in Upper California, and 
their work has passed into other and stronger hands. 
They failed, as the English church failed in Ireland, 
as the Sept-Insular Eepublic failed in Greece, from 
lack of nationality. Even at the best their rule was 
alien, and supported from without. They had no 
root in the soil. Yet who can say, with justice, of 
the Franciscan brethren, that they failed so signally 
as to deserve no record of their work, no pity in 
their fall. Some of the brethren may have been 
imperfect in their lives. Being flesh and blood, they 
must have caught some virus from the soil. They 
were not always meek. A bad friar may have loved 
strong waters, and indulged in pleasures contrary 
to his vows. Too many were puffed out with pride. 
At times their rule was so heavy as to lead a 
stranger, like Vancouver, to declare that he could 
see no difference between the treatment of a Fran 
ciscan s convert and a planter s slave. 

No doubt, again, their method laid them open to 


some censures of a general kind. They took pos 
session of the soil, and held their prize with an 
unyielding hand. They woke no sense of pro 
perty in the Indian mind. They were inclined to 
keep all tribal usages and customs. Caring little 
for freedom, they retained in thrall a people who 
had always lived in thrall. They seldom interfered 
with family life. They let the sale of girls go on ; 
and visited hutches where the bucks had several 
squaws. They left the ancient superstitions in the 
lodge, content with giving them new names. 

Yet, be their errors small or great, these brethren 
kept the tribes alive. A race of savages was drawn 
by them into a semblance of Christian order, and 
endowed with some slight knowledge of domestic 
arts. A prospect of improvement for the children 
yet unborn was opened out. Who says the fathers 
left no fruits ? Why, thirty years after landing on 
these coasts, they had cleared and settled the choicest 
spots from San Diego to San Francisco. They owned 
sixty-seven thousand horned cattle, a hundred and 
seven thousand sheep, three thousand horses and 
mules. When the Mexicans broke in, they had a 
colony of eighteen hundred converts in this valley of 


Santa Clara, living on the soil, more or less settled, 
earning their bread by labour, with tho males and 
females taking on themselves an equal share. They 
owned twelve hundred horses, thirteen thousand 
horned cattle, fifteen thousand sheep, hogs, and 
goats. The other missions were like Santa Clara ; 
each had her colony of converts, and her wealth 
of kine and sheep. 

Where are these converts now? Too many of 
them are scattered to the woods, or laid beneath 
the grass. 

What other order or society has ever put out 
hand to help these people ? Mexico dispersed their 
teachers, and divided the common lands. In five 
or six years those lands were gone. A free man, 
holding an estate, can sell it ; and the only use ever 
made by these Indians of their freedom was to sell 
their lands and purchase drink. 

When the United States came in, these tribes 
were overlooked, and down to this moment they 
are virtually overlooked. Within the districts 
covered by the old Catholic Missions, there is only 
one small agency ; a mere farm on Tule River. 
The Indians have neither lands nor cows ; the flocks 


and herds which they reared under the friars have 

In northern California, beyond the mission 
limits; there are two more agencies ; one agency in 
Hoopa Valley, a second in Bound Valley ; but from 
Trinidad to Carmelo, on a line three hundred miles 
in length, till lately peopled by a gentle though a 
savage race, the native tribes and families are 
abandoned to disease and death. Even in the two 
agencies, little has been done. Five years ago a 
trapper and a trooper were employed to rule and 
guard these savages. The trapper failed to mend 
their morals, the soldier to restrain their vaga 
bond ways. Neither trapper nor trooper could 
prevent them from perishing in a country full of 
wild game, and in a climate favourable to length of 

If the Franciscans failed, they only failed where 
everybody fails. At Eureka, in the Humboldt 
Valley, American soldiers are stationed, as Spanish 
soldiers used to be stationed at San Carlos and Santa 
Clara. What is the result ? American officers and 
soldiers take to Eed women, much as Spanish officers 
and soldiers took to Eed women. Knight, a Califor- 


nian advocate, was sent to Humboldt Valley to re 
port, and these are some of his unflattering words : 

There have been in this valley from one to two 
hundred soldiers, and I think at least half of their 
pay goes in that way. There have been a.bout ten 
employes, averaging sixty dollars per month each, 
and I believe half of this went the same way. The 
commissioned officers made large outlays in the 
same direction. This, taken altogether, more than 
doubled the government bounty. Its effect on the 
Indians has been terrible. Half breed children, 
disease, loss of self-respect, are only a part of the 
evils. It has dethroned the chief, set aside the 
influence of the father, husband, and head of family, 
and brought to the front, in all things, the good- 
looking and profligate young women. They flaunt 
round in gaudy finery, while their elders are naked 
or clothed in rags. 

No fiscal from Santa Clara ever told a truer and 
a darker story of what he found in Santa Barbara 
and Soledad. 

Aware how much had been done by the Francis 
cans under great and ever-growing difficulties, the 
Americans have lately paid those fathers the compli- 


ment of restoring their system so far as a Protestant 
people and a secular government can restore their 
system by placing these agencies under the control 
of religious bodies, chiefly Methodists and Quakers. 
But these purer agents have not stopped the progress 
of decline, and hardly raised, as yet, the tone of 
such few stragglers as survive. Old bucks go 
naked ; young bucks get drunk. Fathers still sell 
their daughters to the Whites. A slave trade more 
revolting and atrocious than the sale of Negroes is 
conducted under the eyes of Christian judges, as 
it used to be conducted under the eyes of Franciscan 
priors. No native either gives a vote or exercises 
public trust. The tribes are tied to certain spots, 
cooped in like kine, from which they may not stir. 
under penalty of being hunted down, tied up with 
thongs, and lashed to their old posts. Compelled 
to work for the White farmers, they are lucky if the 
master is kind enough to lend them a gun to kill 
their food. They can be sent from master to 
master, and removed from one agency to another 
against their wish. 

A man like Vancouver would find it hard to see 
in what respect their freedom under the Stars and 


Stripes differs from their slavery under the red and 
yellow flag. 

Yet the tribes and families which fell under the 
Franciscan Commonwealth are more advanced and 
better off than any other Eed tribes and families. 
An Indian commissioner, who has no clerical bear 
ings to betray his judgment, writes: The mission 
Indians, having been for the past century under the 
Catholic missions established on the California^, 
coast, are tolerably well advanced in agriculture, 
and compare favourably with the most highly civil 
ised tribes of the East. He adds, in detail, that- 
these civilised Indians support themselves by 
working for White settlers, or by hunting, fishing, 
begging, and stealing, except a few, who go to the 
military post for assistance in the way of food. 

These waifs in the agencies have some support ; 
the other waifs and strays have none. Since they 
lost the friars, these converts have been perishing in 
their tens, their fifties, nay their hundreds ; yet the 
State does nothing for them, and the sturdy settler, 
in his hurry to be safe, is brushing them from his 
path as roughly as he stamps out wolves and bears. 

What wonder, then, that old Marcello should re- 


gard each step of progress as a loss? Whatever 
flag is up, his people perish from the soil. The 
chief has lived too long, having lived to see his 
tribe converted, liberated, and destroyed. 

No government or society has known so well as 
the Franciscans how to rule this savage and pacific 




THEIR task is done, and they are gone, says Padre 
Varsi, Principal of the Jesuit College in Santa Clara, 
and an eminent member of his company. 

A tall, dark figure, with a face of antique mould, 
in which the natural force seems tamed by fasting, 
prayer, and self-control, the reverend Father has 
lived in many cloisters, travelled in many countries, 
and is well acquainted with the world. He seems 
to live in his retreat, taking no thought of the 
world beyond his college gates ; yet he is quick 
with news, and has a perfect knowledge of what is 
passing in the courts of London and Berlin, Paris and 

He need to have his eyes and ears alive. A 
great and arduous labour lies before him and the 
other Jesuits in California, for their Church has lost 
her ancient empire on the coast, and they are 


cnarged with a commission to restore that empire to 
the Papal chair. 

When I first came to Monterey, said Spence 
to me the other day, every man in this country was 
a Catholic, every woman a devout Catholic. The 
Eoman sentiment was in the air. You could no 
more avoid going to mass in the morning than you 
could escape sleeping in the fort at night. No other 
rites but those of Eome were tolerated in the place. 
Whether you liked or not, you were obliged to 
keep the customary rules, and call yourself a subject 
of the Pope. 

You were not a Catholic ? 

4 No, I was a Presbyterian, like my father, but a 
Presbyterian could not stay in Monterey, so I was 
forced to seem a Catholic, in order to stay and carry 
on my trade. 

When Spence proposed to marry, he had to go 
further still. Not for his blue eyes and yellow locks 
would his seiiorita wed a heretic. Her priest forbade 
such wickedness, and Spence, in order to secure his 
prize, was forced to ask admission to the Catholic 
fold. But things are changed. Though Catholic 
feeling still runs high, and some old ladies use big 


words, nobody dreams of asking an American suitor 
to renounce his creed in order to obtain a woman s 
hand. An upper class now reigns in Monterey 
county, over which the priests and Jesuits have no 
control. Young ladies look for English mates, aware 
that English husbands will draw them to another 
Church. In other counties, Borne is weaker than 
she is in Monterey. Stockton and Sacramento are 
as strictly Evangelical as Pittsburg and Cincinnati. 
Oakland and San Francisco rival Brooklyn and New 
York. Even Santa Clara has ceased to be a Catholic 
town. Where Borne was lately all in all, she shows 
to-day no more than a broken sceptre and a scattered 

At most the Boman Church retains a foothold in 
a section of the country here and there. These 
sections lie exposed, and she is still without a native 
army to repel attack. Her posts are garrisoned by 
foreign troops. Here is her weakness and her misery. 
Who drove her Orders into exile ? Not her enemies, 
but her sons ; the infants she had nursed, the pupils 
she had taught. Who gave her leave to bring these 
Orders back ? Her enemies, not her sons ; the very 
enemies who resent her policy, and resist her march. 


; You must be gone, scream her children, hating 
priestcraft more than they love liberty and justice. 
4 Our ports are open, even to you, proclaim her 
enemies, loving liberty and justice more than they 
fear priestcraft. How, with such poor allies, are 
the Jesuits to confront such strong adversaries ? 

They have everything to create and to apply. 
These hybrids cannot furnish them a decent priest, 
much less a learned professor. As a rule the priests 
are foreigners. The bishop of Monterey is a Gaul, 
the cure is a Swiss. At Santa Clara the professional 
chairs are held by English, Irish, French, and Italian 
scholars. Not a single Mexican holds a chair. It 
is a great misfortune for the fathers, since no people 
on earth are so touchy on the point of foreign rule as 
those of Spain. But Padre Varsi cannot help this 
state of things. A foreigner himself, he sees that 
foreigners must supply the lack of native learning, 
loyalty, and faith. 

The Church has much to do and much to undo. 
She has to train her officers to command, to teach 
her rank and file to obey. In front of her stands 
an enemy not only armed with physical power, but 
strong in law and logic, science and the liberal arts. 


Such tasks are not for sleepy hollows, and for 
teachers hardly taught. In such a fight as Eome is 
waging on this coast, the camp must be a college 
and the captains must be learned men. 

So far the Jesuit fathers see their way. In 
taking such a line, how far are they returning to 
the ground on which the brethren of St. Francis 
staked and lost their cause ? 

We pace the Franciscan garden, the old fountain 
still playing, the old olive trees bearing fruit. This 
garden is an idyl. Note how homely yet pictorial is 
that bit of wall on which the winter roses blush and 
burn, how daintily these screens and trellises bear 
the fruit, how grave and oriental rise yon cypresses 
and palms ! Is there not something in this hush 
and shade which carries you in fancy to yet holier 
spots of earth ? Glancing from the Spanish fountain 
to the Syrian palms, I ask the Jesuit father whether 
it is certain that their work is done. 

Yes ; that which they could do best is done. 

Your company will not try to carry on their 
work ? 

Not here and now. The time for such a course 
is past. Lessons in farming and in raising stock 


are not the things most wanted by people in these 
valleys. In Algiers and Paraguay, our Fathers 
taught the native how to till his soil and gather in 
his grain. At Santa Clara we have other things to 
do. The native race, for whom the brethren of St. 
Francis toiled, is all but gone. Our conflict lies in 
other fields. 

Varsi is right. His conflict lies in other fields 
than that in which Fray Tomas the Franciscan 
laboured. Pausing in the library, the theatre, and 
the playground, we note with curiosity his instru 
ments of war. 

6 Our business, says Padre Varsi, is to educate 
the young. Hoping to do our business well, we 
have enlarged the old fence, built a new front to the 
church, and added new halls and bath-rooms to the 

4 Pray tell me how you got the ground ? 

By bringing peace into the town, and proving 
that we came as friends. My predecessor, Padre 
Giovanni Nobili, came to Santa Clara shortly after 
the gates were opened to our exiles. There was 
some confusion in the place. The brethren of St. 
Francis, having just come back, were trying to 


oust the settlers from their farm and cattle-runs. 
Eight lay with the brethren, law with the settlers. 
Most of the intruders were English and Americans, 
who had bought their farms and cattle-runs from 
Mexicans, in free possession at the time of sale. 
The purchasers were armed with rifles, and the 
courts of law were on their side. What could 
the brethren do ? Nobili counselled peace. The 
brethren quitted Santa Clara, having lost their means 
of doing good. Seeking another field elsewhere, 
they left their church and garden to Padre Nobili, 
who organised a college, which he hoped to make a 
rival of Michigan, if not of Yale/ 

Padre Varsi has perfected what Nobili began. 
In Eome, a Jesuit may denounce the modern 
world, but Varsi has to make this modern world a 
servant of his Church. We pa} T attention to all 
improvements in physical science, he says, and 
his laboratories seem to prove that he is right. 
Books, tools, instruments, crucibles are of the newest 
style. These Jesuit fathers understand their age. 
At Santa Clara we find a printing-press, a photo 
graphic studio, a monthly magazine. The rooms 
are airy, bright, and clean, for the Jesuits strive 


not only to win their pupils but to keep them long ; 
time being required for building up those habits of 
thought which a Jesuit thinks essential to the Chris 
tian life. We have a brass band, a gymnasium, 
a fencing alley, a playground. We count an Owl 
Association, a base ball club, a dramatic society, 
and a junior dramatic society. Acting of plays is one 
of our great amusements, and our theatre is popular 
with the young men in our college, and with young 
and old men beyond our gates. We sing operettas, 
and trip through farces and conversation pieces. 
We are fond of picturesque dances, which Father 
Mallon, one of our French professors, puts on the 
stage with an artistic eye. Of course, we suffer from 
the lack of female help, but Father Mallon dresses up 
his boys in skirt and bodice, so that folks before the 
curtain think them rather pretty girls. He gets the 
freshest music from Paris, and we are very rich 
just now in that of Monsieur Lecocq. But we are 
capable of higher things than acting Furnished Apart 
ments; we have tried our luck at Hamlet, and have 
played Macbeth with some applause. Shakspeare is 
our poet, though we cannot put Othello on the stage 
so easily as we can Cherry Bounce. 

VOL. I. K 


The library is mixed, yet many of the books 
are new. c Unlike the Trappists, says Padre Varsi, 
smiling, we arm ourselves with books instead of 
relics. We believe in books. 

Twelve thousand volumes weight his shelves ; 
a library which has only three superiors in Cali 
fornia ; the Odd Fellows library, the Mercantile 
library, and the State library. Some of these books 
are rare old tomes, but many of them are lexicons, 
translations, and the customary cribs. At Santa 
Clara the path of learning is not paved with spikes. 

Two countrymen of yours, the Padre adds, 
are on our staff; Professor Dance of Oxford, and 
Professor Leonard of Cork. Dance professes English 
literature. Leonard, an Irish genius, professes 
mathematics, metallurgy, assaying, and other 
physical sciences. 

How many Fathers have you in the college ? 

Forty Jesuits, and nineteen lay brothers ; fifty- 
nine in all. But we have branches of the company in 
other towns ; one branch at San Jose, with five 
Jesuits, and a second branch at San Francisco, 
where Father Massenata superintends a school. 

The Fathers keep their college gay and winsome, 


catching their Hybrid pupils through the sense of 
sight. It is their wisdom to be popular. A Jesuit 
planted the first vine in Santa Clara, a Jesuit 
pressed the first grapes in California. Mission 
grapes bring high prices in the market, and Mission 
wine is still a favourite of the table. Jesuits are 
pleased to hear the merit of these feats ascribed to 
them in many a pleasant toast and jovial song. 

K 2 



YET gravely gay and soberly festive as the Jesuit 
College in Santa Clara looks to those who stroll 
about gardens and playgrounds, the rules of order 
and the methods of instruction are devised with an 
austerity that strikes an English eye as almost penal. 
With elaborate art these rules and methods are 
designed to bring about one great and uniform 
result ; a habit of deferring to the Church, to the 
abandonment of personal will and independent 

To give the college something of a liberal air, 
Santa Clara opens her door to lads of every race and 
creed. A Jew, a Buddhist, or an Anglican may 
send his son to Santa Clara. As in the case of 
Spence at Monterey, the lad must go to mass, but 
6 only for the sake of order and uniformity. Let him 
sit through mass and vespers daily, and a boy may 


keep his father s creed ; but every pupil of the college 
must attend religious worship, and the only exercises 
of religion at Santa Clara are those of Eome. 

Compared with Christ Church and Trinity, the 
college is a prison. The scholastic year consists 
of one session of ten months, lasting from the 
first week in August to the first week in June. 
During this long term a pupil hardly ever quits the 
place. No scholar is received for less than half a 
year. Ten days are given at Christmas to rest 
and absence, but the greatest care is taken lest the 
boy should stray in the wicked world. A lad 
whose parents live in Santa Clara has a slight 
advantage ; he may go to see those parents once a 
month ; but only for an hour or so in the afternoon, 
and on the strict condition of coming back before 
dusk. No pupil of the Jesuits can be trusted in 
the city after dark. 

Day is given up, in equal parts, to passive obedience 
and active work ; these acts being all designed to 
wean a pupil from the world, and bring him under 
true relations with his Church. From dawn to dusk, 
the youth is kept employed. Not only are his 
prayers, his meals, his exercises, all set down for 


him, but even such details as the hour when he may 
venture to wash his hands. His times for lying down 
and getting up are fixed. The modes in which he is 
to fold his coat and put away his socks are solemnly 
set forth. If he keeps his rules, a pupil has about 
fifty minutes in the twenty-four hours w T hich he can 
call his own and spend as he thinks fit. 

No student is allowed to pass the college gate 
unless attended by a prefect or a tutor. Even with 
a prefect or a tutor he must not be out at night. A 
student is not allowed to read a newspaper, nor to 
have a book in his possession, unless such book has 
been seen and stamped by Padre Varsi. Beading 
magazines and other publications is forbidden. A 
student may not correspond with other youths out 
side his college. Every letter brought in is read by 
Varsi, with the sole exception of such letters as Varsi 
knows to have been written by the student s mother. 
When Varsi has a doubt, he breaks the seal and 
reads. No other person even a father has the 
right of free communication with a youth at Santa 
Clara. Smoking is prohibited, in and out of col 
lege. No society or club can be formed without 
Padre Varsi s leave. Two faults are marked so high 


that they are punished by expulsion. These grave 
offences are first, absence from the college after sun 
set; second, disobedience to an officer, expressed 
in either word or act. A student is not allowed to 
have money in his purse. If he has coppers in his 
pocket, he must lodge them with the treasurer. 
The sum a parent may allow his son to spend is 
practically fixed, since parents are enjoined in no 
case to permit their sons to have more than 
twenty-five cents a week. Twenty-five cents make 
one shilling. Varsi is of opinion that sixpence is 

These rules apply to men of legal age ! 
How many pupils have you on the books? 
6 About two hundred names. The numbers vary 
with the seasons, but we usually have two hundred 
names on our list. 

Such numbers are not large. It may console the 
fathers to know that they have more volumes on their 
shelves than any other college in California. It may 
console them more to find that they have a longer 
list of students than the Methodist University in 
Santa Clara. But the Evangelical colleges are many, 
while the Jesuit college is only one. Catholics have 


one school at San Jose, a second school at San Fran 
cisco, but non-Catholics have fifty schools in these 
great towns. The Jesuits are training six hundred 
children in these schools ; the rival bodies are 
training more than twenty thousand children in these 
towns. Considering how lately the whole population 
was Catholic and Mexican, and more Catholic than 
Mexican, the numbers now remaining under Jesuit 
teaching are assuredly not large. 

A greater question still remains : how far have 
these Jesuits succeeded in their aim of fencing Santa 
Clara from the world, and raising up an army of their 
own within her gates ? 

Enough to lend them- hope, but not enough to 
make them proud. With lads of slow and timid 
parts, in whom the placid genius of a squaw prevails, 
they get their way, and hold their own ; but youths 
of quicker pulse and higher heat, in whom the 
temper of Castille prevails, tear off the withes that 
bind their weaker brethren, and regain their 
freedom at a bound. We see examples of the first 
kind loafing in the play-ground, and an illustration 
of the second kind in our host, an advocate at San 


Alexander Del mas is a son of Senor Delmas, a 
shrewd and wealthy Mexican, of better stock than 
the original denizens of San Jose. A Catholic, he 
sent his boy to Santa Clara, hoping the fathers 
would excite his wits, as he meant him to get his 
living at the Californian bar. Young Delmas stayed 
some years at Santa Clara, passing through all his 
stages with applause. At twenty, thinking his 
education done, he went to San Francisco, meaning 
to appear in court and enter into active life. A few 
days in that city opened his eyes. He found, to his 
alarm, that he knew nothing of men, hardly anything 
of books. Long lists of mediaeval popes, and the 
succession of Jesuits from Loyola to Beckx, were 
graven in his memory, but he barely knew the 
names of President Lincoln s cabinet, and the great 
lawyers who adorn the chairs of the Supreme Court 
were all unknown to him. 

Back to my books ! he said to himself. Being 
fond of Santa Clara, and a favourite of the Jesuits, 
he returned to his old rooms ; hoping the fathers 
would allow him to read with them, free from the 
restrictions under which he had lived so long and 
learnt so little. It was a necessity of his career that 


his raind should take a wider sweep and feed on 
stronger food. 

He had no time to carry out this plan. When 
Senor Delmas heard of his son s return to Santa 
Clara, he leaped, with all a Mexican s jealousy of 
priests, to the conclusion that Alexander was falling 
into a Jesuit snare. Driving to the college, he de 
manded leave to see his son : rules or no rules, he 
would see his son ; and pushing past the porters, he 
strode into Alexander s room. 
What are you doing here ? 
Doing here, father? Eeading for the bar. 
You are a scoundrel, sir! You are deceiving 
me ; deceiving me, your father ! You are entering 
into league with scoundrels. But I understand 
their game. You want to be a Jesuit ; yes, my son 
desires to be a Jesuit ! Give me no answer, Sir. 
I won t believe one word you speak. 

No, father, no ; a hundred times no ! 
Ugh ! They have ensnared you, and cor 
rupted you. Kino ! They have made you think it 
good to be a Jesuit. Look you, boy ! A Jesuit I 
would rather see you dead here at my feet dead 
in your shroud than see you in a Jesuit s frock ! 


My father, you are wrong ! 

You will not be a Jesuit ? Give me your hand. 
Let us get out of this hole. My horse is at the 
door. Hang your books and clothes ; let them be 
sent on after us. Come ! 

Pulling his son away, the peppery old gentle 
man drove him home, and then locking his door, 
put the case before him briefly and hotly : 

Take your choice, Alexander ; go into an at 
torney s office at San Jose and learn your trade like 
a clerk ; or go to Yale and study it like a gentleman. 
To which will you go? Speak, Sir; San Jose or 

To Yale, cried Alexander; and to Yale he 


It was a new world to me, he says ; each man 
in that great university was free to go his own way, 
to labour as he pleased, to form a character of his 
own. At first I was a little timid, feeling the 
want of guides. In time I learned to trust my 
powers and be a law to myself; and now that I 
have tried both systems, I can see that man for 
man advocates brought up at Santa Clara will not 
be strong enough to hold their own in American 


courts, against lawyers trained in such a school 
as Yale. 

Such is the little history of a life, as told me in 
a cMlet of Penitp.ntia Creek, where we rest our 
horses for an hour, and eat some excellent Cali- 
fornian trout. 

According to my friend, life is too ardent in these 
settlements for lads in Padre Varsi s school to have 
a chance. In Mexico the fathers might do better 
with their scholars, but the radicals of Mexico will 
not let them open schools . 

Do many pupils at Santa Clara act as you have 

Yes, more than you would think ; though few 
have gone my length. Some slip the noose go 
wild and turn their freedom to a curse ; while 
others, after tasting liberty awhile, slink back into 
their chains. A few remain outside, wearing their 
gifts like men. A good example lends us strength, 
and we have always good examples in our sight. If 
I am ever tempted, out of weakness, to fall back, I 
fix my thoughts on some such point as Yale in New 
Haven, or the Inner Temple in London. Then my 
fainting of the heart goes by. 


1 Of course the Jesuits have cut you off? 
Not openly. By entering Yale, I gave them 
much offence. I suffered too, for I was fond of 
Santa Clara, and a sort of favourite in the place. 
What could I do ? My father bade me go ; my 
studies were essential to success. My leaving Santa 
Clara was an act of self-defence : but all the same, 
my old teachers speak of me as lost. 
4 Lost to them ? 

Yes, lost to them. I am a runaway slave, 
escaped into the freedom of the world. The past 
is past. The chain is snapped, the pitcher broken at 
the well. No magic can restore the state of mind in 
which my youth was spent. I cannot now seek advice, 
or yield my opinion to a priest because he is a 
priest. In a republic every one has a right to think 
and act for himself. For my part, having learnt 
this lesson, I shall stick by the republic so long as 
the republic sticks by me. 

No fear of this republic sticking by her 
citizens ? 

No, no, he answers, pulling up his horses on 
a mountain spur, and gazing on the scene below our 
eyes with rapture. No, he cries ; no fear while 


Santa Clara stands on such a shore, and while the 
Jesuit fathers have such rivals as the lay men plant 
ing these busy towns along the bay. Defended 
by the stars and stripes, we shall not fear about 
our liberty of thought. 



A LONG and narrow inland sea, about the size and 
volume of Lake Leman, open to the ocean by an 
avenue called the Golden Gate ; a stretch of water 
locked within the arms of picturesque and sunny 
hills, with islets sprinkled up and down, as Angel 
Island, Alcatraz, and Yerba Buena, round the cliffs 
of which skim flocks of gulls and pelicans ; the inner 
shores all marsh and meadow, falling backward to 
the feet of mountain chains ; shores not only rich in 
woods, in springs, in pastures, but adorned at every 
jutting point by villages of saintly name ; a group of 
white frame houses, partly hidden by a fringe of 
cypresses and gum trees, such is the Bay of San 
Francisco, as her lines are swept from Belmont 

The lordship of this inland sea is written on her 
face, as plainly as the legend on a map. The 


villages of saintly names, San Eafael, Santa Clara, 
San Leandro, and the rest, all nestle near the water s 
edge, while on the higher grounds, among the creeks 
and canons, nearly all the settlements have English 
names. Searsville, Crystal Springs, and School 
House Station, cover Santa Clara, San Mateo, and 
San Bruno on these western heights, while Dublin, 
Danville, and Lafayette cover San Lorenzo, San An 
tonio, and San Pablo on those eastern heights. 
White settlers seize the water edges in all places 
where a pier is wanted or a factory can be built. 
They clasp the Bay in railway lines, adorn the 
tide with sailing ships, pollute the shore with 
smoking chimneys, bridge the narrows with ferry 
boats. Where water pays, they hug the shore, 
defying chills and fevers for the sake of gain ; but 
these White settlers never linger in the swamps, 
like Mexicans and Half-breeds, merely because the 
gourds grow quickly and the fish is cheap. 

Driven by a stronger spirit than any native 
knows, they search the hills and ravines, fastening on 
soils which no Mexican ever dreamt of bringing 
under rake and plough. They search the passes 
through and through ; here tapping at the rock for 


ore, there burrowing in the earth for coal. Unscared 
by sullen soil and nipping air, the Yankee Boys 
and Sydney Ducks ascend the loftiest peaks and 
crown them with their English names. Such 
names are records. Each peak in front of us 
Master s Hill, Mount Hamilton, Mount Day, Mount 
Lewis, Mount Wallace tells a story of ascent 
and ownership. Eed Mountain is a British height, 
Cedar Mountain is a British height. Behind us 
tower Mine Hill, Mount Bache, and Black Moun 
tain. Nearly all the passes in these alplets have the 
same great legend written in their names. Between 
us and the San Joaquin river, three passes cut the 
range, and these three clefts are known as Corral 
Hollow Pass, Patterson s Pass, and Livermore Pass. 
The pass from Clayton down to Black Diamond is 
called Kirker s Pass. 

These citadels and avenues of nature are in 
Anglo-Saxon hands. 

At Belmont we are lodged with William C. 
Ealston, one of the magnates of this bay ; once a car 
penter planing deals, then a cook on board a steamer, 
afterwards a digger at the mines, now the president 
of a bank, and one of the princes of finance. 

VOL. i. L 


Come to Belmont ; give you a rest, and do you 
good, cries the magnate. We accept, for not to see 
Belmont is not to see the Bay of San Francisco. 

Ten years since, Belmont was a rocky canon, 
cleaving a mountain side, so choked with spectral 
oaks and cedars that the mixed bloods called it 
the Devil s Glen. Coyotes and foxes hung about the 
woods, and Indian hunters, following elk and ante 
lope, lit their fires around the springs. No track led 
up the ravine, for no civilised man yet dreamt of 
making it bis home. To-day Belmont is like a 
valley on Lake Zurich. A road sweeps up the glen 
as smooth as any road in Kent. The forests have 
been tamed to parks. A pretty chalet peeps out 
here and there, with lawns and gardens trimmed 
in English taste. Five or six villas crown the knolls 
and nestle in the tress. Geraniums are in flower, 
and roses bloom on arch and wall. Sheep dot the 
sward, and cattle w r ander to the creeks. A chapel 
and a school arrest the eye. On every side there is 
a sense of home. 

Our villa is a frame house, built in showy Cali- 
fornian style ; a new order of architecture, with a 
touch of Moorish taste, and not a little Chinese 


fantasy. A portico, too big for the villa, opens into 
sunny rooms, with inlaid floors and gaily decorated 
walls. Much wicker-work is used in chairs and 
ottomans. Bright curtains hang from gilded poles. 
Pianos, tables, shelves are all of yellow satin wood, 
veined with crimson streaks, a wood of Calif ornian 
growth. An open gallery, lighted from above, serves 
for a public room. A glazed arcade runs round the 
villa, flooding it with sunshine, which is teased and 
petted through Venetian blinds. The wealth of colour 
is enhanced by Eoman photographs in broad black 
frames. Nothing could be lighter than our chambers, 
nothing could be sweeter than the gardens on which 
they give. Vineries and conservatories lie in rear, 
and run on either flank below the limbs of ancient 
oaks. The lawns and shrubberies are perfect, and 
the country round the villa wears the aspect of a 

Our host has made himself an earthly paradise 
at Belmont, but an earthly paradise in which calmer 
mortals than himself will bask. I like the man and 
hope the best for him ; yet noticing his restless 
eye and paling brow, I cannot help feeling that 
with all his jollity and briskness William C. Ealston 



is the victim of. his enterprise, the slave of his- 

All round this inland sea, the life is rich and 
strong : rich as the native fruit, strong as the native 

A Californian, fat and rosy as John Bull, his 
English ancestor, holds forth a grasp of welcome to- 
his thin and bilious Yankee brother ; pointing to a 
palm tree, heavy with the dates that are to round 
that stranger out with flesh. If he had only time to 
eat and sleep, a Californian would be always fat, but 
where is the Californian who has time to either 
eat or sleep ? 

The people living on this sunny sea, are seldom in 
a state that country curates would describe as whole 
some. Too much sun is in the sky, too much wind 
is on the hill. Warm air expands the lungs and 
frets the nerves. Men eat too fast, and drink too 
deep, and work too long. How loud they speak, 
how hard they drive ! At every turn you catch 
high words and mark the passage of swift feet. 
Under the shadow of Lone Mountain lies a race 
course, where bankers and judges hold trotting 
matches, and wiry little ponies are excited by 


voice and lash into the pace that kills. That race 
course lying in the shadow of a grave-yard is a 
type of California in her ordinary mood. 

The towns and villages on this bay not only 
teem with life, but life in a most strained and febrile 
state. No one is calm. No man sits down to smoke 
the pipe of peace ; no day seems long enough for the 
labour to be wrought. All men and women aim at 
emphasis. An actor rants, a preacher roars, a 
singer screams. Such talk as suits a London dining- 
room sounds tame, such colours as beseem a London 
dancing room look dull. The pulses of society beat 
too high for ordinary men and ordinary times. A 
storm seems beating overhead, a battle raging in our 
front. If we would live, we need to be alert and 
prompt. A citizen bolts his dinner, gulps his whisky, 
puffs his cigarettes, and hurries off. as though he heard 
n bugle call. He sits at table with a loaded pistol in 
his pocket ; he fingers his bowie-knife while asking 
a friend to drink. Suspicion is a habit of his mind. 
If quick to see offence, he is no less quick to bury 
the offence in blood. A man will shoot his brother 
for a jest. Here is a case not many days old. A 
luckless wit described his neighbour in one of the 


papers as dining at What Cheer House and picking 
his tooth at the Grand Hotel ; about the same thing 
as saying of a man in London that he boards in 
Leicester Square and hangs, about the door at Long s. 
The wit was shot next morning in a public road. 

A writer has no easy time ; his reader craves 
excitement, and he has to feed this passion for 
dramatic scenes. Each line he writes must tell a 
tale. Each wood must be in capitals. If a writer 
has no news, he must invent a lie. One journal is 
advertised as bold and spicy, and is true to the 
device. It deals with all, spares none. Editors are 
always armed; reporters must be steady shots. A 
man who cannot shoot and stab had better not 
indulge himself with pen and ink. A sufferer burns 
a pinch of powder in the nostrils of these editors now 
and then, but such a fact is thought too trivial for 
report, unless, as in a recent case, a journalist shoots 
some passer-by instead of winging his brother to the 
land of souls. One afternoon a gentleman was 
standing near me on a terrace, looking at some birds 
and seals. Knowing the gentleman by repute, I 
asked my neighbour : 

Is not that Mr ? 


. Yes. 

Then introduce me. 

Hum ! says my friend, an Oxford man, it is a 
little awkward. We have not seen each other 
lately ; not that we have quarrelled ; but the last 
time we met he fired in my face. 

Fired in your face ? 

Well, we exchanged shots. ISTo harm was 
done. So long as we avoid each other, things are 
smooth ; but if we spoke, blood might be shed. 

Men and women in California are hearty and 
open in the highest sense. You are at home in 
every house, in every club, in every public place. 
Your face is an introduction, your colour a cre 
dential. California is a land of treats and drives, of 
drinks and dinners. What a host of clubs we have 
in every town, and what excellent suppers they 
provide! Here hospitality is king. Shall we forget our 
forenoons at a country house, our afternoons on a 
race-course, our evenings at a club ? Never, till we 
have ceased to claim our share in the untameable 
vitality of our common race. 

These jovial denizens must have their moral as 
they have their physical stimulants. One day they 


go wild about a vein of silver ore ; next day they 
forget their silver in the details of a robbery on the 
Pacific train. JSTow they expand their hearts on a 
trotting match between two famous colts ; anon they 
give up their emotion to a murder in the street. 
Excitement they must have. 

A special man, like Ealston, our host at 
Belmont, tries to guard himself by a denial of such 
pleasures as his fortune brings within his reach. 
He dares not drink a glass of wine. At dinner, a 
servant puts a pint of milk before him with his fish, 
and pours some drops of lime-water into his mug. A 
glass of wine may leave a headache, and a headache 
means some loss of time. Time is a talent that he 
dares not waste. His billiard-hall is spacious, but he 
must not venture on a game. He brings tobacco 
from Havana, but he fears to soothe his brain with a 
cigar. His house and park are but an hour s ride 
from his office, yet he only comes to see them once a 
week. Dining quickly, and tossing off three pints of 
milk, he rises early, leaves his guests, and goes to 
bed. Next morning he is up at four, consulting 
grooms, trotting through woods, and visiting farms 
and water-works. At ten we see him for a moment, 


as we break our fast ; at one lie puts us in a drag 
and sends us out ; at three we meet him on a hill 
above San Mateo, where he is damming a creek and 
building a town; at iive, he jumps into the train, his 
holiday spent, and hastens to his office in San 
Francisco, having done a full week s work in four- 
and-twenty hours a type of the White conquerors 
who expend their lives in carrying on the light ! 




CLOSING the passage by the Golden Gate, a city of 
white houses, spires, and pinnacles rises from the 
water-line, and rolling backward over flat and sand 
rift, strikes a headland on the right, and surging up 
two hills, creams round their sides, and runs in foam 
towards yet more distant heights. This city is San 
Francisco, seen from the ferry-boat ; a port and town 
with ships and steamers, wharves and docks, in which 
the flags of every nation under heaven, from England 
to China, flutter on the breeze; a town of banks, 
hotels, and magazines, of stock exchanges, mining 
companies, and agricultural shows ; a town of learned 
professors, eminent physicians, able editors, and dis 
tinguished advocates ; a town of gamblers, harlots, 
rowdies, thieves ; a refuge for all tongues and 
peoples, from the Saxon to the Dyak, from the Tartar 
to the Celt. 


Lovely the city is ; striking in site, brilliant in 
colour, picturesque in form. The rolling ground 
throws up a hundred shafts and spires against the 
sky. A joss-house here, a synagogue there, suggest 
an oriental town. The houses, mostly white, have 
balconies adorned with semi-tropical plants, among 
which flit the witching female shapes. A stream of 
sunshine lies on painted wall and metalled roof. 
But one has hardly time to note the details of this 
outward beauty. You would scarcely have an eye 
for nice effects in Venice, if you chanced to enter 
that city while the doge s palace and cathedral were 
on fire. 

This city is in one of her high fevers ; her disease 
a great development in the Comstock lode. 

Most persons in San Francisco are votaries of 
chance. Luck is their god. Credulous as an Indian, 
reckless as a Mexican, the lower order of San Fran 
ciscans puts his trust in men unknown and builds 
his hope on things unseen. Thousands of persons in 
this city, otherwise passing for sane, believe in this 
development, and are sinking all that they have 
saved by years of thrift in the several Comstock mines. 

The Comstock lode lies on Mount Davidson, 


in Nevada ; though the mines are chiefly owned by 
San Franciscans. Some of these mines, such as the 
Ophir and the Mexican, have been worked for twenty 
years. The silver veins are long ; four or five miles 
in length ; but as no one has yet traced them out, 
their value i s an unknown figure. From the stores of 
Virginia, built around the openings of these mines, the 
silver veins run up a gulch to Gold Hill, where they 
strike on beds of still more precious ore. Owned 
by rival companies, the mines arc wrought on 
different plans. Much ore is found, and till a year 
ago owners of Ophir, Mexican, and Consolidated 
Virginia, had every reason to be satisfied with their 
gains. Of late, the yield of Mount Davidson has 
fallen off. The veins run deeper in the rock, need 
ing more costly engines and more skilful labour. 
Prices have been depressed, and thrifty persons have 
been laying up their dollars in savings banks, instead 
of sinking them in Comstock mines. 

Sharp as a shot has come a change. 

I ll tell you how it came about, says a banker, 
sitting next to me at dinner. Five or six of our 
worthy citizens, owning shares in Consolidated Vir 
ginia, met in a drinking-bar of Montgomery Street one 


afternoon. Eeports were in the papers, showing the 
amount of money in the savings-banks ; no less a 
sum than fifty millions of dollars. Tossing off his 
whisky, one of our worthy citizens said to another, 
" Guess we ought to have that money out ! " They 
all agreed with him ; and having formed a ring, 
they are now engaged in operations for getting that 
money out of the savings-banks. 

These citizens understand the farmers, stockmen, 
and petty dealers whom they mean to fleece. In 
San Francisco every one is used to changes in the 
price of shares, and most of all in that of mining 
shares. With all the coolness of a Eedskin, the White 
Californian will stake his fortune on a street report, 
begun by any person, spread abroad for any pur 
pose, hardly caring whether the report be true or 
false. Like brandy in his veins, he feels the devilry 
that comes with sudden gain and loss. Here is no 
old and steady middle class, with decent habits, born 
in the bone and nurtured on the hearth ; people- 
who pay their debts, walk soberly to church, and- 
keep the ten commandments, for the sake of order, 
if no higher rule prevails. In San Francisco, a 
few rich men, consisting of the various rings, are: 


very rich. Lick, Latham, Hayward, Sharon, are 
marked five million dollars each. Eeese, Ealston, 
Baldwin, Jones, and Lux are marked still more 
seven millions, ten millions, twelve millions each. 
Flood and Fair, Mackey and O Brien are said to be 
richer still. The poor are very poor ; not in the 
.sense of Seven Dials and Five Points ; yet poor 
in having little and craving much. A pauper wants 
to get money, and to get this money in the quickest 
time. Cards, dice, and share-lists serve him, each 
in turn. He yearns to be Lick or Ealston owner 
of a big hotel, conductor of a prosperous bank ; but 
he neither courts the labour nor endures the self- 
denial which have crowned these speculators with 
wealth. He thinks all life a game of chance ; he 
looks for dollars in the sink and sewer ; and stakes 
his savings, when he has them, on a rise in stocks. 

These worthy citizens, tossing their whisky in 
Montgomery Street, know the lighter and lower 
portion of their countrymen ; and in that knowledge 
they proceed to form a ring. 

A rumour spreads along the streets, and finds an 
echo in the evening papers, that a great and wonder 
ful discovery has been made in the Virginia mine. 


* What is it ? gasps an eager crowd. With shrugs 
and smiles, of deep and hidden meaning, the pro 
prietors of that mine affect surprise : What is it ? 
What is what ? Pooh, pooh, beware of club gossip 
and newspaper lies ! Some sales take place : a 
rise is scored. Outsiders sniff a secret, which the 
ring (ha, ha ! you see !) are trying to conceal. 

J^ext day inquiry quickens. Hints are dropped 
that the great secret, so far kept by three or four 
mining firms, is the discovery of a new vein of silver 
in the Virginia mine ; a vein of pure and solid ore, so 
fine and solid that it may be minted on the spot, 
exactly as it leaves the mine. Bonanza ! cry the 
listeners to this tale ; a big bonanza ! 

6 What is a bonanza ? 

Bonanza is a sailor s term, the banker tells me, 
meaning a fair wind, a bright day, a prosperous 
voyage. Our miners use the word for luck, a nappy 
hit, a stroke of fortune. A bonanza is the Calif or- 
nian god, and you will find his temple in California 

In California Street stands the Stock Exchange. 

One grain of truth there may be in this rumour 
of a vein of silver having been found ; but in a 


week this grain has grown into a mound. A rush 
for shares takes place, and prices rise from day to 
day. The betting men come in, and stakes are 
laid in many of the drinking bars, that shares now 
selling for seventy or eighty dollars each will sell for 
five hundred in a month. The journals note these 
bets, as showing what the knowing ones think of the 
silver vein. Now every one begins to bet, and every 
one who bets believes and buys. Who can resist 
the golden chance? 

Mines only bordering on the big bonanza feel 
the charm of a good neigbourhood. No one pretends 
that new discoveries have been made in Ophir, 
Crown Point, and Yellow Jacket, but who can 
swear that veins of pure and solid silver do not run 
through all the Comstock mines ? A miner of expe- 
*rience has been heard to say that every part of 
Mount Davidson is equally rich. Then up go 
Mexican, Ophir, Crown Point, Yellow Jacket. 
Mines still further off take fire, as one may say, 
and blaze like burning stars around these central 
suns. In six w r eeks everybody in San Francisco is 
rich and mad. 

Eager for money, still more eager for excitement, 


people feel a keen enjoyment in a rapid rise, a lurid 
passion in a rapid fall. Their mouths are full of 
wondrous tales. Paupers of yesterday are rich 
men this evening; millionaires of last week are 
to be sold up on Monday next. Such passages of 
fortune make the drama of their lives. 

Four times within a dozen years, a craze has 
come on San Francisco, like the phrenzy which con 
sumes her now. Fortunes have been won and lost 
almost as rapidly as though they had been staked on 
a throw of dice. A man may have a hundred shares 
in the Belcher Mine, his only wealth. One day they 
sell at a dollar each, the man is worth twenty 
pounds; another day they sell at five hundred 
dollars each the man is worth ten thousand 
pounds. This record of an actual fact is but a 
sample of the thousand stories told you at the Union 
and Pacific Clubs. Two years ago, when prices shot 
up suddenly, shares in Crown Point advanced in a 
few weeks from ten shillings a share to ninety-two 
pounds. A man of my acquaintance in this city 
held a thousand of these shares. In March they 
would have brought him five hundred pounds, in 
October they were sold for ninety-two thousand 

VOL. i. M 


pounds. Iii seven months the poor man had become 
a man of means ; enriched by one of those strokes of 
fortune that a gambler loves even more than he 
loves minted gold. 

Such cases are not rare, yet, as a whole, the 
gainers by these great financial fevers are the citizens 
who own mines. Five or six magnates of finance 
in San Francisco are said to have got one-third of 
those fifty million dollars under lock and key. 

Our fortunes kill us, says a sage at the Pacific 
Club. A slower rate of growth would suit us 
better ; giving us more time to strike our roots. 
Not that our progress is what people think a wonder 
of the earth. Considering what advantages we boast 
of soil and climate, mines and harbours, our advance 
is slow. Yes, slow. We are not overtaking Chicago 
and St. Louis, still less Philadelphia and New York. 
Still we have shot ahead beyond our strength, and 
suffer from the fevers and languors of a youth who 
grows too fast. Our railroad gave us fits. You 
smile ! The fact is so. No sooner were the first 
cars seen in Oakland, than a rage of speculation broke 
along the Bay. The world, we thought, was coming 
to our coasts. Where would the people live P Why 


not provide them tenements and make a profit by 
the enterprise ? We bought estates, we cut down 
forests, and we laid out cities, for the millions who 
were coming to our coasts. At every opening on 
the Bay, you see these visionary towns, with phantom 
streets and squares, chapels and theatres, schools and 
prisons. But the millions never came, and for the last 
five years each man in San Francisco has been carry 
ing a dead city on his back. This great bonanza is 
another of our fits. There is a true discovery 
in the Comstock lode. The world is richer than it 
was three months ago, but we are poorer than we 
were five years ago. No Eedman ever staked his dog, 
his lodge, his squaw in a more reckless spirit than 
that in which the White men of San Francisco are 
gambling with their wealth. 




NOT even his squaw ! White men have learned 
a good deal from the Indian, but they have not learned 
to stake their wives, like Utes and Bannocks, on the 
chances of a throw. White females are still too rare 
and precious on this coast ; some cynics say too 
rare and precious for their own well-being, not to 
mention the well-being of the Commonwealth. 
Nature puts the sexes on the earth in pairs, and 
man destroys that balance at the cost of his moral 

In California there are five White men to two 
White women ; in Oregon there are four White men 
to three White women ; in Nevada there are three 
White men to one White woman ; in Washington 
there are two White men to each White woman. 
Under social arrangements so abnormal, a White 


woman is treated everywhere on the Pacific slopes, 
not as a man s equal and companion, justly and 
kindly like a human being, but as a strange and costly 
creature, which by virtue of its rarity is freed from 
the restraints and penalties of ordinary law. A man 
must be sharply pressed by famine ere he eats his 
bird of paradise. 

As with the trappers and traders of Monterey, so 
with the miners and settlers round San Francisco. 
There is a brisk demand for wives ; a call beyond 
the markets to supply. A glut of men is everywhere 
felt, and the domestic relation is everywhere dis 
turbed. Marriage is a career; marriage, divorce, 
re-marriage, times without end, and changes without 

A thousand quips and jokes turn on the relation 
of man to woman in these provinces, and every quip 
and jest gives the last word to the lady as mistress 
of the situation. A young fellow, nerved by a wild 
impulse, snatches a kiss from a pretty girl, and asks 
her pardon, on the ground of his being subject to fits 
of temporary insanity. The damsel puts out her 
hand in pity, saying, c Poor boy ! whenever you feel 
one of these fits coming on again, run right away 


over here, where your infirmity is known, and we ll 
take care of you there ! 

A girl goes into a shop in Montgomery Street to 
buy gloves. c What size ? asks the young fellow. 
My real size is sixes, the damsel smiles, but you 
see my hand will bear squeezing, and the bashful 
fellow fetches her a pair of five and a half. 

A damsel of San Francisco reads in one of Helen 
M. Coke s rhapsodies that kisses on the brow make 
the richest diadem for a woman. Guess that sort 
of kisses is rather thin, sneers the girl, and I doubt 
whether Nellie Coke herself likes them very much. 

So runs the moral to an end. c Guess my hus 
band s got to look after me, and make himself 
agreeable to me, if he can, says a pretty young 
woman, in a tone of banter, but a tone that carries 
much meaning, if he don t, there s plenty will. 

Divorce is cheap and easily obtained. Some 
legal firms are known for their alacrity in getting 
through such troubles. Eesidence not required, 
is one of the hints thrown out in circulars and 
advertisements to parties about to be divorced. The 
application mostly comes from the woman s side, 
and any allegation is enough to satisfy her judge. 


A husband going into court is generally regarded as 
a fool. The other day a poor Irishman tried his 
best to show that he was ill-used, and ought to be 
divorced. The magistrate frowned. Well, then, I 
won t say anything agin the woman, judge, but I wish 
you would jist live with her a little while. The 
judge relaxed, and gave him his release. 

Observers notice on this slope a tendency to 
hanker after female crime. The motives for this 
hankering may be various, but the facts are scarcely 
matters of dispute. Few jokes are more successful 
in society than such as hint at domestic murder 
at the wife of your bosom making you a cup of 
hemlock tea, or blowing your brains out as you lie 
asleep. A young Californian lady, just divorced, 
complains to her friend, a widow of twenty-five, 
that her late husband tells such cruel things of her. 

4 And not a word of it true ? 

My dear, how can you ask ? 

Only for form s sake. Now, my dear child, I 
have had three husbands, no better and no worse 
than other men, but they are all gone. My dear, 
dead husbands tell no tales. 

With some persons, the motive of this curiosity 


may be nothing but a tribute to the rarity of female 
crime, compared with male. Male acts of violence are 
in truth so common, that they fail to stir the general 
pulse. Nobody cares to hear about a man being 
killed. Last night an Irish labourer was shot in Broad 
way, near the county jail. Dick Owen challenged his 
chum, Jim Burke, to fight. The two men had been 
drinking with their sluts ; the two couples hug 
ging and mugging in the imbecile friendships caused 
by gin ; until the two sluts fell out and scratched each 
other s eyes. Owen and Burke took part in the 
affair. Come out and fight, cried Owen, hectoring 
under his chum s window. Coining down, ye skunk ! 
shouts Burke, pulling out his pistol, arid jumping 
down the stairs. Owen snapped at him twice, and 
Burke returned the fire. Owen fell dead, a bullet 
in his heart. This tale is in the morning papers, told 
in two inches of type. 

But female crime, especially when a lady takes to 
shooting her friends and lovers in the streets, or on 
the ferries, pays a journal to report the incident at 
greater length. 

A pistoler like Laura Fair is worth a thousand 
copies to an evening paper. Having a secret 


with a married man, and finding that false love run 
no smoother than true, Laura loaded her revol 
ver, and in presence of his wife and children, pistoled 
her paramour, coolly and in open day. Laura is a 
heroine. Tried for murder, and acquitted on the 
ground of emotional insanity, she lives in style, gives 
balls, and speculates in stock. Few ladies are so often 
named at dinner-tables, and the public journals note 
her doings as the movements of a duchess might be 

o o 

noted in May fair. 

Laura s torch has lighted many a fair sister on the 
way to murder ; yet, in spite of this increase in 
female crime, no woman s life has yet been given in 
California to public justice. 

No, we cannot hang a woman in this country, 
says a judge of the Supreme Court ; it is not 
easy to hang a man, and when we send a 
murderer to the gallows, he complains that he is 
made the victim of his judge, and not his jury. A 
judge will never get twelve men to find a female 
guilty of wilful murder in San Francisco ; nor in 
any other city west of the Eocky Mountains. An 
excuse is always found by the jury ; a petticoat being 
too much for bar and bench ! 


One day last week, General Cobb, a lawyer of 
repute, was shot down in Washington Street by 
Hannah Smythe. In London, the story of Hannah 
Smythe would be curious, in San Francisco it is 

Twelve years ngo, according to her story, Hannah 
came to San Francisco, where she met a sailor named 
Smythe, and married him on her side in a match 
of love. Hannah had saved some money, and the 
couple went down to Crescent City, in Del Norte 
county, where she bought a tract of land with her 
savings, and sent her husband to the Land Office, 
with instructions to register the purchase in her name. 
He registered his own. Living in Crescent City, 
having neither sheep nor cattle, the sailor s wife 
could turn the land to no account. At length a 
squatter, one Judge Mason, led his herds into her 
fields and challenged her to drive them off. She 
went to law, and lost her cause. Her enemy, she 
says, was rich, and bribed the local magistrates. 
When she had lost her savings, Smythe deserted 
her and the children, leaving her without a cent and 
with five or six little mouths to feed. On getting 
a divorce an easy thing in Crescent City she left 


that place, and brought her family to San Francisco, 
where she put her younger ones under care of the 
Ladies Belief Society, and set about to earn a poor 
living for herself and baby, by washing for such 
persons as preferred helping a deserted woman, 
to having their work done better and cheaper 
by Chang Hi and Hop Lee, Chinese launderers 
in Jackson Street. 

Mrs. Cobb, one of the relieving ladies, heard her 
story from the little folk, and being a tender 
hearted lady, with a family of her own, she begged 
her husband, General Cobb, to look into the case. 
Cobb thought he saw his way, but lawyers like to 
touch their fees, and Hannah Smythe was poor. 
Having no choice of means, she made over to Cobb 
her bit of land in trust, understanding that lie was 
to pay all expenses for her, and to hold the pro 
perty till she had paid his bill. Five years her suit 
dragged on ; Mason fighting her over every point 
of law ; until the woman s heart, made sore by long 
delays and hopes destroyed, conceived the notion 
that her advocate was betraying her to the enemy 
for lucre. 

He was going to his office to sign my property 


away, and I hope I have killed him, were her first 
words on being arrested in the street and carried to 
the city prison. Bail was found for her at once. 

Her crime has raised the poor washerwoman into 
the grade of heroine. Whether Cobb will live or 
die is not yet known. Kind-hearted Mrs. Cobb may 
be a widow, and her children fatherless ; but 
whether Cobb survives the deed or not, his client 
runs no risk. Hannah Smyth e is a woman, and a 
San Francisco jury will not take a woman s life. 




MORE than the White women gain, their Bed sisters 
lose by this unnatural disparity of the male and 
female sexes. In the Indian lodges, there are more 
females than males, and in these lodges the females 
are bought and sold like cows and slaves. 

Bounding Cape Horn and passing the summit 
near Truckee, three or four miles from Donner Lake, 
the scene of a wild winter legend, we dip into the 
valley of Humboldt Biver, a valley rising higher 
than the top of Snowdon ; and are now among the 
savage mountain tribes Utes and Shoshones horse 
Indians, they are called, in contrast with the tamer 
savages of the Pacific Slope. 

At Winnemucca, called after a stout Pah-Ute 
war chief, we observe an Indian of another branch 
of the Ute family, wrapped in a thick blanket, lean- 


ing on a brand, and guarding two crouching squaws. 
The air is sharp, the time being mid-winter, and 
the plateau higher than Ben Nevis ; yet the two 
young women crouching on the ground are 
clothed in nothing but cotton rags. 

Pai-Ute ? I ask, having lately met some 
members of his tribe in Salt Lake City, where the 
new developments of doctrine are seducing many of 
his people into joining the church of Latter Day 

Pai-Ute, he says. 

4 Your name ? 

Eed Dog. 

Smoke a cigar ? 

Eed Dog unslips a corner of his blanket, draws 
the wool about his throat, and lights the Indian weed ; 
a luxury more tempting to his savage tastes than 
anything on earth except a drink of fire-water. His 
squaws look up and smile, though with a shrinking 
air ; an elder and a younger woman ; each with fiat 
broad face and dark Mongolian eyes ; one eighteen or 
nineteen, the other hardly fifteen, years of age. 

Your squaws ? we ask, the man, through one 
of the scouts, who hang about these Indian trails. 


Yes, mine. Old squaw, young squaw big 
one, old squaw ; little one, young squaw. 

Are they both your wives? 

Yes, both ; this is old wife, that is young wife ; 
two squaws me ! and the Ked rascal grins with a 
triumphant air, through all his daubs of paint. 

6 Are you a Mormon, eli P 

4 Plenty of Pai-Utes are Mormon chiefs ; Pai- 
Utes very fond of Enoch, says Eed Dog, evading a 
direct reply to my enquiry. 

Encouraged by the sound of friendly voices, the 
younger wife, a pretty Indian girl, peeps through her 
lashes, while the elder wife stares boldly up into your 
face, and begs. Both women have a strange resem 
blance to the nomads seen about a Tartar steppe ; 
just as their sisters on Tule Eiver bear a strange re 
semblance to the Chinese females in San Francisco. 
But these savage damsels bring their owner a lower 
price than their sisters from Hong Kong. Two 
hundred dollars are supposed to be the value of a 
comely Chinese girl. This Pai-Ute bought his squaw 
for twenty dollars. Her friends, it seems, were out 
of luck; the snow is getting deep; elk and 
antelope are scarce ; and they have sold her to a 


stranger, as they might have sold him a pony or a 
dog. The money paid for her will be spent in drink. 
By law, no whisky can be sold to Indians ; but up in 
these snow-deserts, where is the magistrate to 
enforce the law ? 

6 Are you taking her home to your own country ? 

Ugh ! he hisses through his teeth, c the Pai-Utes 
of our family have no country left. The Whites 
have taken all our lands and springs. Some Pai- 
Utes have lands ; not many. One day the Great 
Father will give us back our lands. 

How do you live ? 

4 We wait and go about ; kill game not much ; 
sow seed not much. Pai-Utes very poor. One more 

cigar ? 

Tell me, Eed Dog, about your two squaws. If 
you are very poor, why have you bought another 
wife ? 

4 To work for me. No squaw, much work; 
plenty squaw, no work. I get more dollar, buy 
more squaw. 

You make them work for you ? 

The rascal grins, and clutches at his brand. 
Poor creatures, he will make them grind and toil ; 


perhaps lend them out as road-menders, possibly 
drive them to the Humboldt Eiver camps. Among 
the Mission Indians, who are broken more or less to 
gentle ways, a buck may beat his squaw, in passion, 
but he seldom forces her to work. His women, as 
a rule, are willing slaves, eager to sweat for their 
ungrateful lord; but if they leave the roots 
undug, the patch of corn unsown, he only laughs 
and yawns. He would have done the same, and 
therefore thinks the negligence a venial sin. An 
Indian of these mountains snarls at such a buck 
with scorn, saying, 6 he is not brave enough to 
thrash his squaws ! 

Compared with Apaches, Kickapoos, and 
Kiowas, the Utes are but a sorry lot root diggers, 
rat catchers ; yet the sorriest Ute alive a dog not 
brave enough to scalp a sleeping foe, or to avenge a 
blood feud is brave enough to kick and club a girl. 
Yet he prefers to set his women at each other, 
trusting that their jealousies will make them tear 
and scratch enough to save him trouble in his lodge. 

Why have you brought the old squaw with 
you ? we enquire of the Pai-Ute bridegroom. 

4 Ugh ! he grunts, to break the little one. All 

VOL. I. N 


girls are wild. You pinch, and slap them for a 
month or more. When they are taken from the 
lodge, they mope and cry; you beat them till 
they stop, then they are good. When you fetch 
a young squaw, old one likes to come. She 
makes the young one stumble on stones, and sleep 
with two eyes open. That ties her tongue. 

Eed Dog is not worse than others of his pagan 
tribe. To him a squaw is nothing but a drudge and 
beast. He keeps her like a cow, and treats her like 
a dog. He buys her, sells her, as he likes. Nobody 
interferes. American law knows nothing of a Eed 
man s lodge. If Eed Dog were to beat his bride, 
while all these White men were about, he would be 
lynched. But if he kills her in the night, when no 
White men are near, no sheriff will pursue him for 
the crime. 

While she remains a member of her tribe, a 
woman has some natural defender, in her father, 
in her brother, in her son. When drafted into 
another tribe, her only hope is in the favour 
and compassion of her lord. In other days such 
sales of women into other tribes were rare, but as 
the tribes fall off in numbers, the women pass more 


frequently from lodge to lodge. Eed Dogs, with 
money in their belts, are now scouring the land in 
search of squaws. 

6 Have you not girls enough in your own camp, 
without coming up to Winnemucca when you 
want a wife ? 

No ; not enough. White men have taken 
nearly all our squaws. 

It is a fact ; for them, a sad and bitter fact. 
Some Indian tribelets are so poor in squaws, that 
many of the hunters have no partners ; and the 
chiefs and medicine men can hardly stock their 
tents. This is the case on every frontier where the 
Eed men live in contact with the White. A Hybrid 
steals, a Pale-face buys. Once she has passed into a 
stranger s ranch, the Indian girl is lost to her 
tribe for ever. 

An Indian convert knows that selling girls is not 
the White man s custom, but no pagan Indian ever 
heard a voice against this ancient rule and habit of 
his tribe. When he obtained his squaw, he paid 
her price. His mother was bought, her mother 
bought. A girl, he says, is worth so many skins, so 
many dollars. If he loses her, he loses so much 

3T 2 


wealth. She helps to dig his roots, to groom his 
horse, to bear his tent ; and if the hunter is to sell 
his child, why may he not accept a White man s 
gold as quickly as a Eed man s skins ? The White 
man, he perceives, is strong. Once she is taken to 
the settler s ranch, his child will be better off than 
she would be in the biggest Indian wigwam. If 
he asks the girl, he will be told that she prefers 
to be a White man s squaw. 

A train rolls in, and Eed Dog kicks his wives, 
who shake their rags, and huddle to their feet. 
The railway company allows the Utes and Shoshones 
in these high wastes to fancy that the road is built 
for them, and lies under their protecting power. All 
Utes and Shoshones ride on the trains without pay 
ment, on the easy condition that they squat outside 
the carriage door. A winter night is coming on. 
At six o clock the cold is thirty-seven degrees below 
freezing, and the wind is rising to a gale. These 
women have to squat all night, clinging in their 
sleep to rail and chain. Poor little bride ! Beyond 
the cuffs and kisses of her savage purchaser, she will 
have to bear the vials of a rival being emptied on 
her head. To-morrow, when she quits the train, 


she will commence a march of ninety or a hundred 
miles, through drift and ice, and when she joins 
her husband s band, she will assume the duties of 
a slave. When Eed Dog grows tired of her, he will 
sell her to some other Dog. 




FROM Winnemucca, an Indian camp in Nevada, to 
Brigham, a prosperous Mormon town in Salt Lake 
Valley, we race and wriggle through a mountain 
district, not more striking in physical aspect than 
in human interest. Eolling on the level of Ben 
Nevis, with a score of snowy peaks in front and 
flank, we climb through woods of stunted pine, 
ascending by the Pallisades to Pequop, at the height 
of Mont d Or, from which we slide by way of 
Humboldt Wells and the American Desert direct to 
Brigham in the land of Zion. Ten years ago, this 
line of country, four hundred miles by road, be 
longed to independent tribes of Utes and Shoshones, 
whose pagan ancestors had hunted buffalo, made 
peace and war, and carried on vendetta, from the 
frozen sierras to the neighbourhood of Snake Eiver 


and Shoshone Falls. To-day these tribes have not 
a single acre of their ancient hunting grounds. 

Many of these Indians are Ked Mormons. Every 
Indian tribe, among whose tents the Mormon 
preachers have come, are more or less inclined to 
favour them, but many of these Utes and Shoshones 
have been actually baptized into the Mormon 
Church. Eed bishops have been consecrated for 
the government of these mountain tribes. 

Nine years ago, while staying in Salt Lake City, 
studying the system introduced among men of Euro 
pean stock by Joseph Smith and Brigham Youns;, I 
wrote these words : 

What have these saints achieved? In the 
midst of a free people, they have founded a despotic 
power. In a land which repudiates State religions, 
they have placed their Church above human laws. 
Among a society of Anglo-Saxons they have intro 
duced some of the ideas, many of the practices of 
Utes, Shoshones, or Snakes. 

A wider view of Indian life confirms my first 
belief that some of the ideas and many of the 
practices, found among the Mormons living at Salt 
Lake city, are a growth of the soil, older than the 


advent of Brigliam Young, older than the revela 
tion of Joseph Smith. 

Apart from the devotional spirit, the sense of 
order, and the love of work, which are the virtues 
of New England and of Old England, never yet 
divorced from men of Anglo-Saxon breed, the 
Mormons seem to have derived their chief ideas, 
and adopted their chief practices from the Indian 
lodge. Glance, for a moment, at the main ideas on 
which Eed men differ from White from all White 
men except Latter-day Saints. 

1. Eed men have a physical god, who can 
be seen and heard, not only in the cloud and wind, 
but with the form and voice of man. 

2. They have a class of seers and chiefs, en 
dowed with a supernal faculty of seeing this god, of 
listening to his counsels, and of learning his will. 

3. When they meet in counsel, every Eed man 
is supposed to be possessed by the Great Spirit, 
and divinely guided in his choice of seer and chief. 

4. A chief thus chosen by the common inspira 
tion of his people, rules them in the name of heaven, 
by a divine and patriarchal right, and exercises his 
authority on body and on soul alike. 


5. They exist in orders, divine in origin, which 
keep them in one nation, and divide them from the 
outer world by barriers never to be passed excepting 
through adoption by the tribe. 

6. The land, and everything on the land, be 
long to the Great Spirit, and to the tribe as his 
children, and the titles vest in the big chief as trustee 
of the Great Spirit and his tribe. No private 
member of the tribe has any power to hold and 
own the land, and what is on the land. 

7. An injury to any member of the nation is 
regarded by the Eed man an injury to all, so that this 
wrong must be atoned before the tribe can rest a 
blood atonement being required of the offending 

All these ideas, strange to White men, hardly 
known in London and Berlin, Paris and New York, 
have been adopted by the Saints, not only by 
Brigham Young and Daniel Wells, illiterate presi 
dents of the Church, but by their learned bishops, 
compeers, and defenders, Delegate George Q. 
Cannon, and Professor Orson Pratt. 

In the camp of Eed Cloud, a chief of the Teton 
Sioux, you hear the same talk of divine help, and 


of standing face to face with God, as you hear in the 
Lion House and Tabernacle at Salt Lake. I will 
consult the Great Spirit, says Bed Cloud, when the 
Indian Commissioners press a point. In speaking 
to the Whites, Bed Cloud never drops this tone of 
priest and seer. c Whatever the Great Spirit tells me 
to do, that I will do. 

Bed Cloud can hardly count the lodges of his 
tribe. Six years ago he owned the plains and 
mountains from the Upper Missouri Biver to the 
Setting Sun. White men came into his hunting- 
grounds ; trappers, dealers, herdsmen, whom he 
received with kindness and supplied with squaws. 
Bed Cloud was glad to see men come into his 
country who could show his young hunters how to 
work ! But he reserved his princely rights. When 
White men came to make a road, they wanted 
soldiers to protect their plant ; but Bed Cloud 
would not have these armed hands about his lodges. 
No, he answered the Commissioner, in the tone of 
a prophet ; you shall not send a soldier across the 
North Platte. Conferences were held, and Bed 
Cloud went to Washington and New York. A pact 
was signed by him, giving the White men certain 


rights ; but many of his tribe were vexed by his 
concessions, and asserted that their chief had been 
made drunk. A new palaver was arranged at 
Laramie, when Eed Cloud stood on his ancient right, 
not only as a prince, but priest and seer. Commis 
sioner Brandt asked him to receive a White agent in his 
country. He refused. I have consulted the Great 
Spirit, and do not want a strange man for agent. 

When pressed to yield the right of garrisoning 
his hunting-grounds, he rose and spoke : 

c I am Eed Cloud. The Great Spirit made the 
Eed man and the White. I think he made the Eed 
man first. He raised me in this land, and it is 
mine. He raised the White men beyond the sea ; 
their land is over there. Since they crossed the sea, 
I have given them room, and there are pale faces all 
about me. I have but a small spot of land left. 
The Great Spirit tells me to keep it. 

Brigham Young might use these words. The 
Lord has given Salt Lake Valley to Brigham and the 
Saints, just as the Great Spirit has given Nebraska 
to Eed Cloud and the Sioux. The Lord has told 
Brigham to keep that valley, and Brigham will hold 
it so long as the Lord gives him strength to keep the 


Gentiles out. Whatever I do, says Eed Cloud, in 
the tone so often heard at Salt Lake City,^ my 
people will do the same. Whether asking or re 
fusing, Eed Cloud is but carrying out the wishes of 
his people and the will of God. 

Brigham Young has done something to appease 
the feuds between Utes and Shoshones ; but, as 
some persons allege, he has done so only to turn 
their wrath against the Whites. Not far from the 
station called Pai-Ute, a fight took place between 
some emigrants and natives, which gives the name 
of Battle Mountain to a ridge with many mounds 
and spires ; and here, as at Mountain Meadow, and 
in other places, the Mormons are suspected of 
inspiring, if not conducting the attack. The emi 
grants were driving stock. Stronger in numbers and 
in knowledge of the country, the Indians dashed 
into their corral, overpowered their watch, and drove 
away their herds. At dawn, the emigrants rallied, 
armed in haste, and sought the trail. At noon they 
caught the raiders in a glen, fell on them front and 
flank, broke, drove, and scattered them from 
rock to cave. The Indians fought like wolves 
at bay ; but numbers and courage were of no 


avail against White strength and discipline. Shot, 
brained, cut down, they fell on every rock, round 
every tree. Nothing less than their destruction 
could appease the White man s rage. The sun went 
down on a victorious field ; a hundred braves lying 
dead, and all the stolen stock brought back to camp. 
Nobody ever learned the Indian loss that day. 
Indians use much care in carrying off their dead, in 
order to reduce the enemy s tale of scalps ; but in 
the following summer, emigrants found the bones of 
many warriors who had evidently been sped by White 
men s bullets to the land of souls. That skirmish 
cleared the track, and helped to break the Shoshonc 

Smitten by this sudden loss, the tribe reeled to 
and fro, unable to decide on any course. One 
party was opposed to fighting any more ; a second 
party was for instant war. They fought eacli 
other, and while they were fighting in their camps, 
the White man built his ranch and made his road. 
Prom time to time a ranch is robbed, a woman stolen, 
a settler scalped ; but in an Indian country no one 
makes a fuss for trifles, and the desolated ranch gets 
tenanted again. A bolder crime provokes a chase, 


and when the White man mounts, his chase is eager 
and his vengeance black. 

We pass a homestead which has lately been the 

scene of one of these mountain episodes. A daring 

fellow brought his wife and two daughters up to the 

great plateau, where by thrift and labour he was 

making for them a prosperous home. The girls were 

pretty, and the wifeless miners and shepherds thought 

them angels. A band of Shoshones scalped the whole 

family. If the White man s tale is true, these savages 

not only outraged the women, but slit their noses, 

broke their joints, and gouged their eyes. If so, 

the warriors were attended by their dusky wives ; 

such acts of torture being reserved by Indians as a 

luxury for their squaws, who snatch a fearful 

pleasure, in their bondage, from the sight of a 

White woman s shame and death. 

Before the Whites could rally in pursuit, the 
Shoshones made off, retiring to the trackless wastes 
where White men s feet have never trod. The trail 
was lost, the chase seemed vain ; but frontier men are 
not* easily turned aside, and female blood was crying 
from* the earth for vengeance ! A Pai-Ute scout 


came in, who offered to find the trail, arid guide 
them to the Shoshone camp. At once they 
marched ; armed, braced, and eager for their work. 
They caught the trail ; they reached the camp ; 
but only to find the braves and warriors flown, 
the squaws and children left. The White men 
sulked and swore ; their prey was gone, their ven 
geance baffled. To pursue the flying bands seemed 
useless ; for a Eedskin, riding for his life, with no 
thing but his arms to carry, must leave a Pale-face 
with his stores and tents behind. A council was 
convened. What could they do? 

Do? exclaimed the Pai-Ute scout, why, fire 
on the squaws. 

Fire on the squaws ! To hurt a woman is 
revolting to a White man s sense of honour. Fire on 
the squaws ! 

What is the use in firing on a lot of squaws ? 
asked one of the number. 

Ugh ! sneered the scout, with Indian scorn for 
what he calls this Pale-face craze about the value of 
a woman s life ; you fire into the camp ; you shoot a 
score of squaws and papooses ; then you see the braves 


and warriors come to their defence. They are not 
far away. 

A volley was discharged into the Indian camp. 
A wild and piercing yell rose up from wounded 
squaws and children. Soon the paint and feathers 
showed themselves among stones and trees. Each 
Indian rushed to the defence of his own lodge, and 
now the Whites poured in among them, and the hug 
of hate began. Arms, drill, and science fought for 
the Whites, and when the firing slackened, a rush 
was made with knife and bayonet. The camp was 
carried, and every man, woman, and child still left 
was sought and killed. 

On crossing Bear Eiver, we arrive at Brigham, a 
city of adobe houses, nestling in the midst of fruit 
trees. Here we find a body of Eed Mormons, led by 
a Eed bishop, on their road to Zion. Finding no 
comfort in their Gentile neighbours, the Horse 
Indians arc turning more and more towards their 
pale-faced brethren of the Mormon church. 




BEFORE the Mormons came into these mountains, 
they were known as friends of the Eed men, and 
were called in mockery the White Indians. They 
professed to have solved the mystery, so puzzling to 
linguists and ethnologists, of the origin of the 
Indian tribes. On evidence supplied to them by 
angels, they asserted that the Eed men are sons of 
Laman, remnants of the lost tribes of Israel, and 
objects of God s pecular care. Giving the Indians a 
great place in history, the Mormons stamped them 
as a people who will rise again and make a glorious 
figure in the world. They professed to have copies 
of ancient Indian books. A history of these In 
dians was their holy scripture, and they preached 
a religion racy of the Indian soil, in which 
Eedskin chiefs and prophets were to play a part. 

Missions had been sent out to these lost tribes 

VOL. i. o 


and families ; missions of the First Witness and of 
the First Apostle. A revelation had been published, 
announcing that Zion would be built in the land of 
the Lamanites. To seal this family compact 
with the Indians, another revelation declared 
that in the great day of the Lord, the Laman 
ites were to blossom as the rose, Zion to flourish 
on the hills, and both the ancient tribes and 
the modern saints were to assemble in an 
appointed place. What marvel, then, that ever 
since the Mormons crossed into Big Elk s country, 
they have been received as friends, that the Potta- 
wattamies gave them the free use of their soil, that 
the Sioux allowed them to pass the Platte Eiver, that 
the Shoshones let them cut down timber, that the 
Utes assisted them to bring water from the moun 
tain creeks ? 

For good arid ill, the hunters and the saints live 
as neighbours and brethren ; leaning on each other 
for support against a common foe. Utes and Sho 
shones have been baptised. Others are content 
with living on Mormon principles. Not a few 
Mormon missionaries have taken squaws into their 
tents. In certain deeds of violence, such as the 


Mountain Meadow massacre, and the alleged 
murders by Eockwell and his Danite band, the Eed 
and White Indians have been very closely mixed. 
Four or five commissions have sat on the Mountain 
Meadow massacre, yet no one can say whether 
Kanosh, the Ute chief, or Colonel Dame, the Mormon 
bishop, was the man most to blame. All witnesses 
in the case describe the slayers as Indians, or as 
painted like Indians, or as dressed like Indians. 
Kanosh was a Mormon elder ; and there is some 
thing of the Ute in Colonel Dame. 

Nine years ago I wrote of these saints : 
Hints for their system of government may have 
been found nearer home than Hauran, in less 
respectable quarters than the Bible ; the Shoshone 
wigwam could have supplied the Saints with a 
nearer model of a plural household than the 
patriarch s tent. . . . The saints go much be 
yond Abram ; and I for one am inclined to think 
that they have found their type of domestic life in 
the Indian wigwam rather than in the patriarch s 
tent. Like the Ute, a Mormon may have as many 
wives as he can feed, like the Mandan he may marry 

o 2 


three or four sisters, an aunt and her niece, a mother 
and her child. 

Big Elk and Pied Eiche saw in Brigham Young, 
what Bed Cloud and Black Hawk still see a White 
brother, whose big chief and medicine man, Joseph 
Smith, was shot in Illinois for asserting that the 
Eed-skins are of sacred race, no less than for 
preaching the Eed doctrines of common property and 
plurality of wives. Brigham Young, on the other 
side, regards the Eed-skins, like his leader Joseph 
Smith, as a peculiar people, chosen though chas 
tised, and holding in their custody, not knowing 
what they hold, ancient and celestial traditions. 
Some of these old and sacred traditions existed 
among the Indians of Vermont and New York, in 
which countries Joseph Smith resided in his youth, 
as well as in the prairies of Illinois, where his system 
put on its final shape. These Indians held their 
lands in common, kept as many squaws as they could 
house, and sought for blood atonements in their 
feuds. Smith tried to introduce these principles of 
the sacred race, as well as to diffuse a knowledge of 
their personal god, their government by seers, their 
cure of maladies by spells and charms. He failed 


on the domestic side. Even in his house, a Gentile 
feeling burned against the introduction of second 
wives ; and sisters who pretend to have been the 
sealed spouses of Joseph, own that they had to 
undergo the rite in secret, and accept their wifehood 
in a mystic sense. But when the saints arrived in 
Utah, where, surrounded by the Indian wigwams, 
they were free to carry out their principles, they 
proclaimed the Indian doctrine of plurality of wives. 
Were they not gathered into Zion ? Were not the 
sons of Laman living in the Valley, each with 
his two or three squaws, according to the ancient 
and celestial rule ? 

That day, I wrote in New America, the Eed 
men and the White men made with each other an 
unwritten covenant, for the Shoshone had at length 
found a brother in the Pale-face, and the Pawnee saw 
the morals of his wigwam carried into the Saxon s 

Ute incest came to the Saints with Ute polygamy. 
An Indian likes to buy two or three sisters, finding 
they work well and hold their tongues, where 
strangers to each other might shirk their tasks and 
wrangle in his tent. A Mormon does the same. A 


man who dares to marry three or four wives, is not 
likely to feel scruples about affinities of blood. 
Sealing to sisters soon became a habit of the Saints, 
not introduced by revelation like celestial marriage, 
but adopted here and there by mere contagion from 
the Indian lodges, till the cases grew in number and 
the facts became a law. To legalise this system of 
plurality and incest strains the utmost power of 
Brigham Young. 

Are plural families increasing in your Church ? 
I ask Apostle Taylor, as we wander in and out among 
the Temple shafts and passages, noting how slow and 
solid is the growth of that edifice which is to be 
completed, in the strength of prophecy, when the 
Lamanites shall have come to blossom as a rose ! 
Increasing surely, though not fast. 
My evidence of eye and ear is out of harmony 
with that of the Apostle. Things are changed in 
Zion ; changed in many ways, from dress and manner 
upwards into modes of thought. In other times, the 
Church was all in all. Brigham was king and pope ; 
the Twelve were princes of the blood. A bishop was 
a peer. Not to be an elder was to live outside the 
court. A Gentile was of less account in Main Street 


than a Sioux or Snake, who kept, although in dark 
ness, some traditions of a sacred code. 

A railway train has done it all. 

The change in Zion, since the railway opened, 
is like that from Santa Clara under the Franciscan 
friars to that of Denver under Bob Wilson and the 
young Norse gods. Much evil pours into the town, 
as well as good ; the sharper and his female partner 
coming with the teacher and divine ; the people who 
open hells and grogshops treading on the heels of 
those who open colleges and schools. Everyone is 
free to come. As yet, the Saints retain possession 
of the real estate ; no less than seven-eighths of the 
city, nineteen-twentieths of the territory, says Daniel 
Wells, mayor of the city, still belonging to the 
Saints. Yet every one must see that a Gentile 
feeling, hostile to the Mormon theory of domestic 
life, begins to reign in store and street, in mart and 
bank. A Gentile banker may not seem so great a 
personage as a Mormon bishop, yet this bishop s 
daughters cannot be prevented from turning their 
eyes in female envy on that banker s wife. The 
Gentile lady is more richly dight than any other 
woman at Salt Lake. The Mormon ladies wish to 


dress like her. Eiches are entering into strife with 
grace, and fashion is pushing sanctity to the wall. 

In other days plurality was a rage. You 
heard of nothing else. Ladies affected to be smitten 
by the spell, and boasted of bringing in new Hagars 
to their lords. To have a plural household was a 
sign of perfect faith and walking in the highest light. 
To be a member of the Church, and yet refrain from 
sealing wife on wife, was a discredit to the priest 
hood ; and an elder so remiss in duty was unable 
to get on. That rage in favour of plurality is past. 
Some leaders have renounced the practice, others 

have denounced the dogma, of polygamy. Elder 


Jennings is living with a single wife ; Stenhouse, 
Elder no longer, is living with a single wife. 

Why should not plural families increase ? asks 
Taylor, in a tone which begs the whole question of 
fact and theory, this increase is the wiH of heaven. 
We have to live our faith out openly before the world, 
and all good Saints are striving to obey the will of 

Yet, Elder, I observe that some of my old 
acquaintance seem falling into Gentile ways. There s 
Jennings. When I first knew him he had two 


wives, and people told me lie was likely to seal two 
more at least. I find him living with, a single wife. 
One lady is dead, but lie lias not taken a sister 
into her place. 

We supped last night with Elder Jennings at 
his new villa, where we saw his wife and daughters. 
Being a wealthy man, Jennings has been urged to 
seal a third and fourth sister to himself, according 
to the will of heaven ; but he has held aloof from 
counsel in this matter, and in face of bishops and 
pontiffs, anxious for his good, he steadily refuses to 
add wife on wife. A man of business, dealing with 
men of every class and creed, Jennings has been 
carried into something like silent opposition to his 
Church. He will not bring, he says, another woman 
to his house. His living partner seems to me the 
happiest Mormon woman in the town. 

Well, in the city, you may note such cases, 
says the Apostle, putting my case aside, with what 
appears to me a weary shrug. A Gentile influence 
has been creeping in, no doubt ; and business people 
are the first to see things in a worldly light ; but 
on the country farms and in the lonely sheep-runs 
you will find a pastoral people, eager to fulfil the 


law as it is given to us, and to enjoy the blessings 
offered by God to his obedient Saints. 

Taylor is no doubt right. The system of White 
polygamy, which droops and fades in presence of 
the Gentiles, springs and spreads in presence of the 
Snakes and Utes a fact of facts : the full signifi 
cance of which is hardly seen by Taylor and his 
brother Saints. 

No sooner was the railway built, the valley 
opened, and the stranger admitted, than a change 
of view set in. Some elders, including Godbe, 
Walker, Harrison, and Lawrence, began a new 
movement, favouring liberty of trade and leading up 
towards liberty of thought. They tried to bring 
in science, and to found a critical magazine. 
Stenhouse was of their party, though he had not yet 
seceded from his Church. Belief in polygamy as a 
divine institution was the first thing to go down. On 
turning to the original seer, these critics found good 
reason to conclude that plurality was one of the 
additions made by Brigham Young to the gospel 
taught by Joseph Smith. Smith had only one 
wife. That lady, still alive, asserts that neither in 
public nor in private was the prophet ever sealed or 


given to any other woman than herself. The 
prophet s sons denounce the doctrine of polygamy 
as the spawn of hell. These were no pleasant things 
for Godbe to discern. This elder, a chemist, lived 
in a fine house, with three wives, and had a garden 
full of boys and girls. How, under his new lights, 
was he to deal with his domestic facts ? The women 
were his wives, the children were his flesh and 
blood. The past was past, for good and evil. But 
the future ? If polygamy were not divine, he must 
not seal another wife so long as any of the three 
women in his household were left alive. The same 
conclusion has been forced on many others. 

Do you wish me to infer, I ask Apostle 
Taylor, that the rich and educated Mormons are 
giving up polygamy, and that the poor and ignorant 
brethren are taking to it ? 

No, he answers me with meek reproof, we 
should not like to put the matter so. Some worldly 
men are weary of obedience to the law ; while 
others, pure in heart and true in faith, are ready to 
assume their cross. 





IN Salt Lake Valley, as in Los Angeles, San Jose, 
and other places, the Eed aberrations of White people 
are in process of correction. White polygamy is 
perishing in Utah, like Eed polygamy, of which it is 
a bastard offspring, not by force or violence, but by 
the operation of natural laws. It dies of contact 
with the higher fashions of domestic life. 

I gather, not from what you tell me only, but 
from every word I hear, and every man I see, that 
there is change of practice, if not change of doc 
trine, I remark to President Wells and Apostle 

That is your impression ? asks the Apostle. 

Yes, my strong impression; I might say my 
strong conviction. Pardon me for saying that the 
point is very serious. If you mean to dwell in the 
United States, you must abate the practice, even if 


you retain the principle, of plural wives. Nature, 
Law, and Accident are all against your theories of 
domestic life. Nature puts the male and female on 
the earth in pairs; and thereby sets her face 
against your theories. The Law of every Christian 
State declares that one man shall marry one woman, 
and no more. Accidents, which have left a surplus 
of females in Europe, have brought a surplus of males 
to America. In England, where in every thousand 
persons, five hundred and fourteen are females, four 
hundred and eighty-six males, you might pretend to 
find a physical basis for your theory. But in these 
States and territories, out of every thousand per 
sons, five hundred and five are males, four hundred 
and ninety-five females. There are not enough 
women for every man to have one wife. Even in 
Utah you have fifteen hundred more men than 
women. In the face of such facts, your " celestial 
law " of polygamy will be hard to carry out. Man 
will find his mate, or die for her. 

Gentiles have a right to use all moral arms 
against plurality and priestcraft in the person of 
Brigham Young. Young is the enemy of our 
household science, our ethical system, our religious 


faith ; but men who love justice and liberty, even 
more than they hate priestcraft and plurality, will 
fight him with fact and truth, not shot and shell. 
A good cause need not ask for special laws and a 
fanatical judge. The causes which induce polygamy 
in the Western States are failing, but the end will not 
be hastened by an exercise of cruel and unreasoning 

Brigham Young, the chief reviver of this Indian 
legend, is seventy-four years old. His strength is 
spent. Finding the air of Salt Lake Valley too keen 
for his enfeebled lungs, he passes his winters at St. 
George, a village on the frontier of Arizona ; living 
with two favourite nurses, Sister Amelia and Sister 
Lucy, and leaving his temple and his tabernacle very 
much to the care of George A. Smith and Daniel 
Wells, his second and third presidents, the Lion 
House and Bee-hive to the charge of Eliza Snow, 
his poetess laureate and proxy wife. Jesters speak 
of him as lying sick ; only just well enough to 
sit up in bed and be married now and then. 
But Brigham is not likely to renew his search 
for wives. The biggest Indian chief is happy in 
a dozen squaws, and Brigham, though deserted by 


his youngest wife, still owns eighteen obedient slaves. 
Poor man, his last adventure in the way of court 
ship turned out badly ; for his nineteenth bride, 
Ann Eliza, a young and handsome hussy, after 
trying him for a year, has left his house, re 
nounced her creed, and under Gentile counsel, has 
brought an action for divorce. She wanted more of 
his society and of his money. Finding her charms 
neglected, Ann Eliza sold his furniture, fled to New 
York, and opened a course of lectures on the 
secrets of his harem. She knew his ways, and made 
the Gentiles merry at his expense. 

Such incidents cry out to Brigham Young that, 
though he holds the keys, and claims all power to 
bind and loose, he can no longer rule a woman s 
heart or check the licence of a woman s tongue. 
This cross is hard to bear. With Lucy by his side, 
he might forget the lost bride, but female smiles can 
hardly reconcile the pontiff to his loss of power. 
One flight from a prophet s household breaks the 
charm. c My wife on earth, my queen in heaven, 
sighs Brigham Young. An old fellow, snaps the 
lady, dropping her jargon of celestial laws and 
everlasting covenants, he is forty-five years older 


than myself, and lie has eighteen other wives to 
please. Her intercourse with Gentiles has dispelled 
the mystic halo which surrounds a prophet s tent. 
His harem is profaned, the mystery and sanctity of 
his life are gone. 

Other, and more serious losses, have fallen on 
the polygamous saints. Stenhouse, Godbe, Law 
rence, Walker, Harrison, all the most liberal, 
prosperous, and enlightened members of their 
church, have either seceded or been expelled. 

Stenhouse has not only fallen from the ranks, 
but with his first wife, Sister Fanny, has taken 
service in the Gentile camp. 

When I was last in Zion, the Stenhouses, man 
and wife, were strict upholders of polygamy. The 
Elder had two wives living, Sister Fanny and Sister 
Belinda ; besides his dead queen, Sister Carrie, who 
had been sealed to him for the eternal worlds. 
Fanny was of English birth, a clever, handsome 
woman, who had given Belinda to her husband for 
his second wife. Belinda came of saintly race, being 
a daughter of Parley Pratt, the first apostle, called 
the Archer of Paradise, and of Belinda Pratt, the 
foremost female advocate of polygamy. She was an 


orphan when the Elder took her ; Pratt, her father, 
having been killed in Arkansas by Hector M Lean, 
a gentleman whose wife the Mormon apostle had 
converted and carried off. Not satisfied with these 
young and comply women, Stenhouse was looking 
for another wife ; and Sister Fanny tried her best to 
make me think he was doing right in following the 
celestial law. To-day she puts into my hands a 
volume written by her pen, in which plurality of 
wives is pictured from a Gentile point of view. 

The fall of these conspicuous advocates of plu 
rality is due to the friction caused by that celestial law. 

Clara, one of Sister Fanny s daughters, is the 
favourite wife of Joseph A. Young, the prophet s 
eldest son. The Stenhouses were, therefore, very 
near the throne. To get still nearer, Elder Stenhouse 
proposed to Zina, one of the prophet s daughters. 
The position of this girl was passing strange. By 
birth she was a child of Brigham Young, by grace a 
child of Joseph Smith. Her mother, Zina Hunting 
don, is one of four holy women, who pretend to 
have been the secret wives of Joseph Smith, and as 
the prophet s widows live in proxy wife-hood with 
Brigham Young. Brigham has done his part, but 

VOL. i. p 


Zina Huntingdon is not regarded as his wife and 
queen. Joseph will claim her in the world to conie, 
and Zina, the younger, will be gathered to her 
mother s kingdom. A lovely and a clever woman, 
Zina is a favourite with her father, who loves her 
none the less because his * celestial law prevents 
him from counting her as his child. 

Before he spoke to Young, Stenhouse believed that 
he had won his prize. Zina was an actress, Sten 
house a dramatic critic, with a popular journal in 
his hands. More pretty things, according to 
Sister Fanny, were said of her than any artist in 
the world deserves. Zina was happy in this praise. 
Young raised no obstacles to the match, but he 
insisted that the mother and her child should not be 
separated after Zina s marriage. They had always 
lived together, and they could not be induced to live 

You must take them both/ said Young. 

Brigham wants to get rid of the old lady, 
jeered Sister Fanny, growing cynical. 

4 She forms no part of his kingdom, you know, 
urged Stenhouse, in reply to his wife s jests and 
jeers. On Zina insisting that her mother should re- 


main beneath her roof, the Elder undertook that 
Joseph s widow should reside with them in his third 

But things were not so happily arranged. Sten- 
house was slack, and Zina flirted off. Business was 
bad. Godbe and Walker had commenced the new 
movement, and the prophet wanted Stenhouse to 
abuse these enemies of his church. But Stenhouse 
was dependent on his advertisers, the great and small 
traders of the city, nearly all of whom were in the 
movement. He was silent, and his silence was re 
garded as a crime. Zina refused to see him, and 
her pouts were very properly supposed to represent 
her father s mood. Sister Fanny went to Brigham 
Young, and begged him to let the marriage of her 
husband and the prophet s daughter take place. 

Well, said Young, if Zina has changed her 
mind, I have plenty of other girls. Let him take 
one of them ; if one won t have him, another will. 

Stenhouse suspected Brigham of opposing him. 
He shewed his teeth, and Brigham smote him in 
his paper, which began to fall in circulation. 
Losses ensued and bitterness increased. Sister 
Belinda, seeing that her husband was falling out of 

p 2 


favour, applied to Young for a divorce. Stenhouse 
consented, and the deed was signed. 

A new paper was commenced by the authorities, 
as an official organ of the Church. Then Stenhouse 
]eft his wife going out into apostacy with him. 

He wanted to have Zina, says Captain Hooper, 
4 but the young lady gave him the mitten, and as 
Brother Brigham would not force his child to marry, 
Stenhouse has left us in a rage. 

Sister Belinda carried her three children by 
Elder Stenhouse into another man s harem. Un 
happy with her second mate, she got a new divorce. 
One of her children died. She is now sealed for 
the third time, to a rich Mormon elder, and the 
two children of Stenhouse live in her new home. 

She has tried all round, says the divorced hus 
band, I hope she will now rest/ 

Is not your daughter Clara living with Joseph 

Yes, yes, says Mrs. Stenhouse, sadly, she is 
with him, in the South of Utah, living in polygamy. 
We cannot get the child to see her way. Her hus 
band dotes on her. If he were only a bad man, 
there would be some hope for us. He might 


abuse her and desert her ; then she could come out 
of them, and be with us again. 

Such wrecks come after storms. The tempest is 
not over yet ; but there are signs of lull and 
clearance in the sky. If things are left alone, 
the end may soon be reached. Polygamy belongs 
to a state of society in which females do the chief 
work. When women cease to find their own food, 
light their own fires, and make their own clothes, 
not many fellows care to have five or six wives. 

The thing that touches our plural system most, 
says a Mormon elder who has recently escaped 
from polygamy into freedom, is an agent over which 
the carpet-baggers have no control. It is Fashion. 
Ten years ago, our women were content to dress 
like rustics. Since the railway brought us into con 
tact with the world, our women see how ladies dress 
elsewhere ; they want new bonnets, pine for silk 
pelisses and satin robes, and try to outshine each other. 
All this finery is costly ; yet a man who loves his 
wives can hardly refuse to dress them as they see 
other ladies dress. To clothe one woman is as much 
as most men in America can afford. In the good old 
times, an extra wife cost a man little or nothing. She 


wore a calico sunshade, which she made herself. 
Now she must have a bonnet. A bonnet costs 
twenty dollars, and implies a shawl and gown to 
match. A bonnet to one wife, with shawl and 
gown to match, implies the like to every other 

This taste for female finery is breaking up the 
Mormon harems. Even Jennings shrinks from the 
expense of dressing several fine ladies, and Brigham 
Young may soon be the only man in Salt Lake City 
rich enough to clothe a dozen wives. 

No gathering of the Saints to Zion, no assertion 
of divine authority, can impede the action of this 
enemy of Brigham Young. Women who dress 
like squaws may obey like squaws. The sight of a 
pink bonnet wins them back into the world, and 
arms them with the weapon of their sex. 




RED CLOUD is an example, and no more than an 
example, of a Eed Brigham Young. At Green Eiver, 
in the territory of Utah, we find the details of a recent 
drama, every scene in which would be a parody on 
the Mormon pope, if Brigham Young were not him 
self a parody on these Indian seers. 

In March last year an Indian prophet came into a 
camp of wandering Utes near Tierra Amarilla, in 
New Mexico, bringing a message to this tribe of Utes 
from their Great Spirit. The man was known to be 
a Saint ; a Eed dervish and magician, with a great 
repute among his people ; a wizard who had passed 
through many circles and was privileged to talk with 


The Utes were hunters, living in their tents 
under Sabeta and Cornea, two big chiefs, and seve 
ral smaller chiefs. Their camp was pitched in 


pleasant places, on a running water, in the midst of 
grass, shaded by cedar and cotton-wood. Each tent 
was set apart, the cross-poles peering upwards through 
the buffalo skins. Each wigwam showed a side of elk 
or antelope. The winter chase was done, the summer 
ramble yet unfixed. The younger bucks were eager 
for a raid : more than the others, Manuel, a restless 
member of Cornea s band. Manuel aspired to he a 
chief. Already he was known along the Border 
as the biggest thief in New Mexico. But he raged 
and raved in vain. The hunters needed rest, and were 
enjoying the delights of spring. Cornea, Sabeta, and 
the other captains, smoked the pipe of peace, while 
Manuel and the younger bucks lay sprawling in the 
sunshine, watching their squaws at work, and 
dallying with their tawny imps. Old squaws were 
drying skins and pounding maize ; young squaws were 
gathering twigs and lighting fires. The Ute encamp 
ment was an image of the pastoral life, as lived by 
all these pagan tribes. 

Get up, my children ! cried the seer ; come 
up with me into the land of the Green Eiver our 
ancient hunting-grounds. There you shall see the 
Great Spirit face to face. There you shall tread 


on soft grass, and drink from wholesome springs. 
There you shall find swift ponies and abundant game. 
. Come up with me into the country of Green Paver, 
and see the Great Spirit face to face ! 

They listened to his words ; not only Manuel and 
the younger bucks, but Cornea, Sabeta, arid other 
chiefs. Green Eiver is the chief water in the Ute 
territory ; draining the great dip between the Elk 
Mountains and the Wahsatch chain. Eegarding that 
valley as their ancient home, the bands were not 
surprised to hear a call from their Great Spirit to 
return. Their fathers had received such mes 
sages of grace. The seer was only calling them, 
according to their Indian legends, to the happy hunt 
ing-fields they had been forced to leave. Cornea 
listened to the seer, as to a voice from heaven. His 
tribe was moved, and Cornea, acting on a popular 
impulse, gave the sign to them to go. 

Striking their tents, the Indians packed the jerked 
antelope and pounded maize. But they were poor 
in ponies, and the journey to Green River was a long 
and arduous ride. Let us go out and steal, cried 
Manuel and the younger bucks. No, urged the 
prophet, you must only borrow what you want. 


So Manuel and the younger men went out into the 
White settlements and borrowed about thirty horses 
and as many cows. Then starting for the promised 
land, they drove their stolen herds in front, and 
helped themselves to anything else they wanted on 
the road. 

Vexed by their losses, and caring nothing for the 
Great Spirit, the White men gathered in from ranch 
and mine, and going into Tierra Amarilla, where 
the Indian agent, John S. Armstrong, lived, requested 
that officer to recover and restore their stock. An 
Indian agent has to answer for his tribe, and Green 
River is not only a station on the railway, but the 
chief artery of White settlement in the mountains. 
Chacen, a half-breed interpreter, was called into 
the agency and sent out with an order. 

Follow the trail, said Armstrong, : and when 
you catch the raiders bring them back, together with 
the stolen cattle. Chacen over-rode the tribe. A 
mixed blood, high in favour with the Whites, he 
seemed a great man to these Utes. At any other 
time, they would have listened to his advice and 
acted on his warnings, but now, inflamed by holy 
zeal, they told him to go back. The Great Spirit 


had called them ; they would bend no longer to the 
Whites. Sabeta was as full of fight as Manuel 
and the youthful braves. Chacen rode back, and 
Armstrong, on receiving his report, sent out for 
troops, who soon came rattling into Tierra Amarilla, 
under Captain Stevenson. They had not long to wait 
for a collision with the sacred race. Aflame with 
pride, and promised a great victory over the pale 
devils, the Indians turned back on the settlements. 
Sabeta pricked into the agency, while Cornea lay in 
ambush, three or four miles behind,- unseen by any 
of the Whites. 

Sabeta meant to take the agency, to scalp the 
officers, and to secure the stores. To his surprise he 
found a troop of horse, and was compelled to parley 
where he had prepared to strike. 

4 Bring in the stolen stock and yield the thieves 
to punishment, said Captain Stevenson, taking an 
imperious tone. Sabeta, not yet ready for the fray, 
replied with Indian cunning, that he might be able 
to restore the cows and ponies, but he could not 
yield the thieves for punishment, as they were gone 
into the mountains and were strangers to his band. 
Some of the worst thieves, as Armstrong knew, 


were sitting on their ponies at Sabeta s side, but 
night was coming on, and he was anxious not to 
have a fight if he could gain his point without shed 
ding blood. Sabeta s band far outnumbered Steven 
son s troop. 

You must encamp, for the night. 

A place was named, with wood and water, near 
the spot where Cornea lay in secret ambush. The 
Indians were content, and a squad of cavalry was 
told off as escort. Stevenson set out, but when they 
neared the camping ground, the Indians broke, ran 
out in rings, and yelling to their comrades, whirled 
into array of battle. The interpreter argued with 
them, but the day for talk was gone. Two braves 
laid hold of him and beat him badly, while a 
third brave drew a pistol from his belt, and boasted 
that the Utes were now going to whip and scalp 
the troops. 

As soon as Chacen got away, the soldiers 
opened fire on the Utes, a signal which uncovered 
the Indian ambush, and brought up their own re 
serves. The skirmish lasted for an hour, when dark 
ness put an end to firing and pursuit. One trooper 
fell and two of his companions were unhorsed. The 


Indians suffered more, but they retreated in the night 
across the Eio Charma, carrying off their slain. 

Beyond the Eio Charma, these flying Indians met 
a Mexican herder with his flock. They scalped the 
man and stole his stock, which served them for a 
time as food ; yet in the country where they sought 
a refuge, they were harassed by the Apaches, 
and after starving for five or six weeks, and losing 
nearly all their cows and ponies, they returned to 
Tierra Amarilla in an abject plight and spirit. 

Armstrong resolved to separate the bands, and 
send them, not to Green Eiver in Utah, but to the 
TJte reservations in Colorado. On giving his promise 
not to plunder any more, Sabeta was allowed to leave 
for Los Pinos ; on a similar pledge, Cornea was 
allowed to leave for Pagota Springs. In future these 
Ute bands would have to dwell apart, divorced from 
each other, for the offence of listening to an Indian 
seer, and acting on a call from heaven. 

Their numbers thinned, their wealth reduced, 
their pride subdued, the bands set out. The faces of 
their chiefs were dark. No one save Manuel talked 
of moving from the track laid down for them to keep. 
The braves hung down their heads like squaws. 


When Manuel offered to lead a band of young 
bucks in search of prey, Cornea stopped his tongue, 
for Manuel, more than any other of the braves, had 
brought them into grief and shame. Nor would 
the younger men go out. In savage wrath the 
untameable robber swore that he would go alone. 

Manuel had a cousin in the band, who was his 
nearest chum. He had two ponies also, and he 
hoped his chum, a matchless rider, would join 
him ; but on hearing his proposals for a new raid, 
the young man turned away his face. It was not 
for himself he feared, but for the squaws and 
little ones of his band. Cornea s pledge was given. 
If any members of his band were found at large, 
Cornea would be blamed; if they were caught 
with scalps and stolen stock, the chief would have 
to answer for their crimes. 

When Manuel was ready to depart, his cousin and 
some other braves crept noiselessly to his tent, with 
rifles in their clutch, and finding his two ponies 
hitched to a tree, fired into them. The ponies both 
fell dead. Manuel ran out. His comrades sprang to 
their feet. With cold and haughty gesture, he ex 
claimed : 


You have shot my ponies, you may now shoot 

Without a word, his cousin drew a pistol, faced 
the intending raider, and shot him through the heart. 
He fell without a groan, and instantly expired ; on 
which the broken band covered up his face with dust, 
and then resumed their march, utterly broken and 
impoverished by their holy war. 

Eed Cloud, like Brigham, is elected to his office 
by the acclamation of his people ; like Brigham 
he may be deposed by popular vote ; but while he 
keeps his throne, he reigns by grace of God and is 
divinely aided to fulfil his task. The Indian legend 
runs, that when the tribe, divine in origin, assemble 
for a pow-wow, every one is touched and led by an 
invisible and unfallible guide. Let us have Eed 
Cloud for our chief ; a warrior cries, on which the 
bucks and braves all raise their wild yep, yep. This 
chorus is the call of heaven. So too, when the Saints 
are gathered in their church, divine in origin, each 
Saint is assumed to be fired and guided by the Holy 
Ghost. Let us have brother Brigham for our 
prophet, seer, and revelator, cries some elder, and 
the crowd of male and female Saints respond Amen ! 


The voice of the people is the voice of God. Seceders 
may go out from either Sioux camp or Mormon 
church, but to depose an Indian chief is no less hard 
than to dethrone a Mormon seer. Sitting Bull has 
separated from Eed Cloud, carrying with him a 
thousand lodges of his nation ; David Smith has 
separated from Brigham Young, carrying with him 
more than a thousand families of his people ; yet 
Eed Cloud remains the Sioux chief and Brigham 
remains the Mormon seer. 

Seceders cannot take away the grace which 
covers an appointed chief. The seer not only 
talks with the Great Spirit, but executes his judg 
ments on the earth. A buck falls sick he grovels 
to his chief. That chief, he thinks, can wither him 
by a spell. If that magician is not softened, he must 
die. So thinks the Mormon of his own relation to 
his pope. An Indian learns that sickness is a sign 
of sin. He thinks a devil has entered his flesh, and 
when, amidst the toil and hardship of a hunter s 
life, he feels the fever in his veins, the ague in his 
joints, the ulcer in his lungs, he crawls to his 
sorcerer, who groans and prays, makes passes with 
his palms, and puts the sinner under spells and charms. 


The same things happen to a Mormon, who believes 
that sickness is a sign of sin, and that a member 
who appears to be unsound in either mind or body 
is possessed of a bad spirit/ A bishop is a doctor, 
and his remedies are prayers and invocations ; his 
object in crying to the heavens being to cast out the 
demon which torments his brother s flesh. 

Every one who comes into the Indian country 
finds these notions on the soil and in the air. 

At Santa Clara, Fray Tomas found a medicine 
man ruling the people by divine and patriarchal 
right, as seer and father of his tribe. Fray Tomas 
took his place, but left the law on which that seer 
and patriarch reigned untouched. A change of 
person introduced no change of plan. Each 
governed with despotic sway. Though chosen to 
his post, the Indian ruled in the name and with 
the power of his Great Spirit. The rule was 
priestly and the kingdom was of God. Fray Tomas 
governed in the name of his Great Spirit his Holy 
Trinity, his Three in One. Such are the methods, 
such the pretensions, of Brigham Young. The 
Mormon prophet only goes beyond a teacher like 

VOL. i. Q 


Fray Tomas, where Fray Tomas fell behind such 
chiefs as Bed Cloud. A Christian friar is chastened 
in his exercise of power by the remembrance of 
his vows and by the habits and restraints of 
civilized life. An Indian seer admits no check on 
his authority, and a Mormon pontiff admits no check 
on his authority ; yet, like the Franciscan prior, an 
Indian seer and Mormon pontiff find a limit even to 
* divine commission. 




To introduce the Indian doctrine of Common Pro 
perty in lodge and land, with the village adjunct of 
Blood Atonement, into a community of White people, 
is more than Brigham Young has yet been able to 
achieve, though he has pressed those doctrines on 
his people in Salt Lake Valley with a sleepless 
energy, acting through the Indian machinery of 
secret societies and orders, bound by oaths to carry 
out his despotic will. 

Men who can be persuaded by their bishops to 
marry a second and a third wife, or seal two sisters 
for the kingdom s sake, can not be induced by 
Danite bands, Avenging Angels, and Sons of Enoch, 
to make over to the church, that is to say the president, 
as trustee in trust, their shops and sheds, their 
mines and mills. Brigham is trying to induce 
his people to abandon then: private property, and 



live on a common stock, like their Lamanite 
brethren, the Shoshones and Utes. 

Joe Smith tried the same experiment in Missouri. 
Getting some of his early disciples to put their 
money into joint-stock banks, he raised a Common 
Eund, of which he acted as trustee in trust, and 
bought estates with the money, in a common name 
that common name being Joseph Smith. His plans 
broke down, and personal property was spared, yet 
Smith reserved his principle by insisting on the 
payment of tithes. Each Saint had to pay a tenth 
of what he owned into the church. Each year this 
tithing was repeated on the convert s income, and 
the theory was taught in every meeting-house that 
* property belongs to God. A private person might 
be called a steward of the Lord, but his original and 
abiding steward was the Church. 

Brigham Young, living nearer to the sacred 
race than Smith, and having Lamanite examples 
always in his sight, pushes this pretension of his 
Master home ; insisting that a Saint of perfect faith 
shall place the whole of his earthly goods in trust ; 
and here and there, some ardent follower listens 
to counsel, gives up his all on earth, and takes from 


Young a promise of the highest seat among the gods 
in heaven. To quicken zeal in sacrifice, a new 
Order has been created in Utah, called the Order 
of Enoch, and the men who consecrate their 
property to God, are made members of this Order 
Sons of Enoch, and like Enoch, Heirs of Life. It is 
a form of aristocracy ; a grade in a new order of 
nobles. Not many persons have yet earned this 
grade. A convert now and then lays down his all, 
and wins from his prophet the promise of a seat 
among the highest thrones ; but a Saint grown grey 
in sanctity is rarely tempted to exchange his 
fields and barns, his cows and pigs, his wheels and 
saws, for promises of a heavenly crown. While Fox, 
a poor disciple, surrenders all he owns, and takes 
such mite as Young allows him for food and clothes, 
Jennings, the rich disciple, builds himself a handsome 
villa in the suburbs, which he furnishes with busts 
and pictures, books and cabinets, like a gentleman s 
house in Eegent s Park. 

Great care is taken that such transfers of pro 
perty to the Church are made in legal form, and 
.sworn before a Gentile judge. 

This Order has a strong attraction for the Sho- 


shones, Sioux and Utes. Lame Dog or Flying- 
Deer, according to his Indian legends, understands 
the Order as a call to come in and share the good 
things in Main Street and First Ward. Stalking into 
a shop, the Indian worthy helps himself to what he- 
wants rugs, paint or potted jam and then moves 
quickly towards the door. 

Hillo ! guess you ll lay that down, you dirty 
scamp, cries his fellow Saint, who has not yet become 
a Son of Enoch. 

c Hi, hi ! whines Lame Dog. Me Enoch ; you 
Enoch ? me eat your beef, me sleep your wigwam :. 
nice, hi, hi ! 

Not being a Son of Enoch and a Heir of Life, 
the store-keeper hustles Lame Dog or Flying Deer 
into the street. In practice, it is found that men 
who have nothing to share with their fellow Saints,, 
fall in most readily with the Lamanite principle of a 
Common Property in goods and lands. 

No principle has drawn more obloquy on the Mor 
mons than their doctrine of Blood Atonement and 
Blood Eetaliation ; a doctrine which springs directly 
from the patriarchal system, and which was borrowed 
by Joseph Smith from his sacred brethren, the 


Lamanites. This doctrine led to the Mormon expul 
sion from Ohio and Missouri, and was the cause of 
Joseph Smith s assassination in Carthage Jail. A 
suspicion that this doctrine of Eetaliation animates 
Brigham Young, involves him in some degree of 
responsibility for the Mountain Meadow Massacre, for 
the murders of Brassfield and Eobinson, and for many 
other misdeeds of Eockwell and the Danite band. 

This doctrine of Eetaliation eye for eye, tooth 
for tooth, blood for blood is not only foreign, but 
abhorrent to the Anglo-Saxon mind. All hunting 
tribes know the principle, and retain the practice. 
It is common to Sioux, Apaches, Kickapoos, and 
Kiowas. It is also common to Bedouins, Tartars, 
and Turkomans. In every savage tribe, Blood- 
Vengeance is a necessary act, and the Blood 
Avenger is regarded as a hero in his tribe. A 
Pai-TJte who scalps a Shoshone in revenge becomes 
a chief; a Salhaan who kills an Adouan in revenge 
becomes a sheikh. Eevenge, according to these 
savage codes, ennobles the shedder of blood. In a 
Corsican village, the man who has last drawn blood 
in a great vendetta, struts about in cap and feathers, 
envied by every village swain, adored by every 


village maiden. On the Nile, a fellah who goes 
into the neighbouring hamlet, and exacts blood for 
blood, is said to do a royal deed. Oriental law 
givers have usually been forced to admit the prin 
ciple, even while they were trying to check the 
practice of Blood Atonements. Moses allows retali 
ation, though he places it under some restraint. 
Mohammed treats it in a similar spirit. Solon saw 
the absurdity of exacting tooth for tooth, and eye for 
eye, yet the Athenian legislator left the principle 
embodied in his code. England has the merit of 
repudiating this savage principle. Once, indeed, an 
attempt was made to introduce the principle into 
our legal system ; but this attempt was made so long 
ago as the reign of Edward the Third. After trial 
of the system for a single year, the theory was 
rejected and the law repealed. 

Among the higher races of mankind the rule 
has been put down. A touch of the old savagery 
lingers on the frontiers of civilisation. France finds 
a remnant of this rule in Corsica, Spain in Biscay, 
England in Connaught, America in the prairies each 
nation on the spot where remnants of her ancient 
races yet survive. 


Every observer in America notices the preva 
lence of communistic sentiment a readiness to put 
the country before the commonwealth, and to replace 
public justice by private murder. This disposition 
shews itself in secret leagues Danite Bands, Ku 
Klux Klans, Camelia Circles no less than in the 
prevalence of Vigilance Committees, and the ope 
rations of Judge Lynch. 

A farmer named Yancil lives near De Soto, a 
town on Big Muddy Eiver, in the southern part of 
Illinois. Old and feeble, this farmer has a quarrel 
with his wife, who leaves his farm, and goes to live 
with her friends at a distance. Needing some help 
in his house, Vancil hires a woman on wages, and 
puts his pots and pans under her charge. One day, 
twelve fellows, masked and otherwise disguised, 
come to his farm, and finding him at home, tell him 
they have judged his case and settled what he must do. 

You judge between my wife and me ? 

4 Yes, Sir, we have weighed the facts. 

The facts ! what facts ? 

6 No matter, they reply ; we know the facts, 
and find you in the wrong. 

1 Well, says Vancil, if you know . . . 


c Talk is useless, says the spokesman of the 
party ; we have come to put things square. You 
send that help away ; you fetch the old woman 
home ; you make the quarrel up ; and for the future, 
keep her on the farm. 

6 Have you no more commands to lay on me ? > 
asks Vancel, rising in his wrath. 

Yes, returns the spokesman, who goes on with 
several things of no great moment, as to what the 
farmer ought to do. 

6 Suppose I disobey ? 

Don t try, the spokesman snarls; if you 
refuse to carry out these orders, we shall hang you 
like a dog. Beware ! 

At once the farmer sends away his hired help, 
and writes to tell his wife about the strange orders 
he has got. On all the lesser points, he carries out 
these orders : but the woman will not come to live 
with him again. She knows nothing, she alleges, of 
her champions, and refuses to take advantage of 
their interference. A few nights after their first 
visit the band returns, masked as before, to Vancil s 

c Where is the wife ? snaps one. 


She will not come back, sighs the old fellow. 
I have put away the hired woman. I have sent 
for my wife ; I have done everything you bade 
me ; but I have no means of making my wife come 

In spite of his entreaties and explanations, this 
poor old man is pushed from his house, dragged to 
a tree near by, strung to a branch, and left till he is 
dead. Next day his corpse is found by a farmer 
named Stewart Chip. 

This Stewart Chip, a farmer living near the place, 
saw the party of masked men, and recognised two 
or three of them, through their disguise, as members 
of a secret society, called the Ku-Klux of Illinois. 
Chip gave tongue, being roused to anger by an 
outrage happening at his door. Two members of 
the league were arrested on suspicion, and indicted 
at the petty sessions, but before the trial came on, 
the only witness who could swear against them was 
no more. As Clup was riding home in his waggon, 
from the mill at De Soto, a click was heard in the 
lane, a patter of shot came hissing through the air,, 
and Clup rolled back into the hind part of his> 
waggon dead. His horses plodded home, with 


their load of flour, and turned into the yard, before 
Chip s family knew that he was killed. This witness 
gone, the case against the two suspected men was 
at an end. 

No clue has yet been found to the perpetra 
tors of this second murder. Everybody in De 
Soto swears that those who hung Vancil know who 
shot Clup ; but how are the suspected persons to be 
arrested, and how are witnesses to be compelled to 
speak ? The sheriff will not act ; he is a servant of 
the commune ; and he has to mind his own affairs. 

Illinois, the scene of these murders, prides 
herself on many things. She is a large and 
populous State, and for so young a country may be 
called a literary and scholastic State. She has a 
dozen universities and academies. She has more 
than thirteen thousand libraries. In 1870 she 
counted two million five hundred thousand souls ; 
three million four hundred thousand volumes. 
Barring some ninety thousand natives, and forty-two 
thousand foreigners, every man and woman in Illinois 
is supposed to be able to read and write. She is 
the paradise of pork butchers and whisky distillers ; 
her business mainly lying in dead meat and fer- 


mented liquor. Fully one-third of all the slaughter 
ing done in the United States is done in Illinois ; 
fully one-fifth of all the distilling done in the 
United States is done in Illinois. 

Science might find in these occupations of the 
people a moral basis for Ku-Klux ; that wild form 
of justice which in someKed sections of the country 
takes the names of Light Horse and Mourning Bands, 
and in most White sections the names of Lynch Law 
and Vigilance Committees. 

. In Europe, Illinois is chiefly known by the tragic 
story of the Mormon settlement in Nauvoo, from 
which locality the Saints were driven by fire and 
sword. A full account of life in the prairie lands, 
on which the Eed and White men are still in contact, 
would supply a hundred tragedies no less singular in 
detail than the murder of Joseph Smith in Carthage 

A law abiding people ! says to me a magistrate 
of much experience on the bench in Illinois ; a jest, 
Sir, and a sorry sort of jest! 

Your codes, I interpose, seem marked by 
much good sense, as well as highly liberal sentiment/ 

Oh, the codes are well enough, he answers witli 


a jerk, if anybody would obey them ; but our folks 
are spendthrifts, who pay their debts with promissory 
notes. We make more laws and break more laws 
than any other people on this earth. Abide the 
law ! Sir, we can t abide the law. 




IN Illinois every man claims to be a law to him 
self, and every second man claims to be a law to 
other people. Wild justice, as among the Indian 
wigwams, is the favourite form of punishment ; if pure 
revenge, the rule of eye for eye and tooth for tooth, 
may be called punishment. Under this Indian 
system, men of violent instincts assume a right to 
reject the public code, and even to resist the popular 

In many parts of Illinois, the public rule is faint 
and formal ; for the officers of justices, whether judge 
or coroner, sheriff or policeman, are elected by the 
rank and file, and must obey the men who put 
them in their seats. Home rule is organised. The 
pig sticker and whisky dealer read the code in the 
light of their strong passions, and support their view 
of its articles with buck shot and bowie knives. 


When they agree, their will is law. Judge, sheriff, 
coroner chosen by the people chosen for a 
short time only have no option but to serve the 
power which raised them up, and in a little while 
may pull them down. Such officers are seldom rich. 
Their services are meanly paid. Hardly one in five 
has either sense enough to see, or strength enough 
to execute, his trust according to the higher prin 
ciples of public right. An ordinary sheriff is an 
ordinary man. He lives on the clearing, where he 
has to watch over his pigsty and his still. His plan 
is to receive his pay, and let the world go by. Our 
sheriff, laughs a philosopher in a leather jacket, is 
always square ; when any cuss is up, Frank turns 
his back and lets things slide. 

Sheriff Frank is a typical man. When farmer, 
butcher, and distiller differ in their views, they fight 
it out. One party wins, and law becomes again a 
rude expression of the general will. 

On Saturday evening, December 12, 1874, 
Colonel Sisney, Sheriff of Williamson county, was 
sitting in his own house, near Carterville, with his 
brother-in-law, George Hindman, playing a game 
of dominoes in the fading light. A lamp was lit, 


a curtain drawn ; the lamp so placed that shadows 
of the two men inside the room were thrown on 
the window blind. A shot was heard. Crash went 
the glass, and both the players sprang to their feet, 
stung with the pain of gunshot wounds. Two loaded 
guns were in the room. Each seized a weapon, and 
prepared to fire. A scurry of retiring feet was heard 
beyond the fence. Sisney, though bleeding fast, 
rushed to the door, lifted the latch, and stepped into 
the yard. Retreating steps could still be heard, 
though faintly, in the scrub ; but in the darkness of 
night, and with his bleeding wounds, the sheriff was 
unable to give chase. 

When help arrived, Sisney was found to be 
seriously hurt. One arm was blown to pieces ; a 
mass of squirrel shot was lodged in his side and 
breast. Hindman was hurt still more, and no one 
thought he could survive the night. No less than 
thirteen slugs and other small shot had passed into 
his chest. 

Next morning, Carterville was all astir. On 
close examination of the fields about the homestead, 
marks were found, which showed that the assassin 
had taken off his shoes, and crept through the 

VOL. I. R 


scrub in his stockings. By this precaution he 
had been able to reach the house without being 
heard, to note his enemies as they sat at play, to 
cover them with his shotted gun, and dash the charge 
into their sides. The man had evidently retired in 
the belief that they were killed. 

Every man in Carterville knew the murderer, 
but no one cared to raise the hue and cry. They 
said it was an old feud ; a family quarrel, like the 
strife of Guelph and Ghibelline, of Ute and 
Snake. Last time, the victim was a Bulliner ; this 
time he is a Sisney. If the two families like to have a 
feud of blood, what right has any one to interfere ? 
What day is this, the villagers ask ? Twelfth day 
of December ! Was not Bulliner shot this very day 
last year ? Has any of the Sisney party suffered for 
that crime ? It is but turn about. So reason all 
the tribe of Sheriff Frank. A murder was committed 
in the previous year. Who doubts that some of the 
Bulliner family had marked this day for Sisney s 
death ? 

On searching out the facts, I find a story of 
vendetta in the Prairie lands, which for vin 
dictive passion equals the most brutal quarrels in 
Ajaccio and the Monte d Oro ; almost rivals in 


atrocity the blood feuds of the two Cherokee factions 
in Vinta between Stand Watie and Jack Boss. 

Colonel Sisney and George Bulliner were neigh 
bours, living on adjoining farms, near Carterville. 
Sisney had a farm of three hundred and sixty 
acres, Bulliner a farm, a saw mill, and a woollen 
mill. Sisney, a native of the country, had served in 
the war, and gained the rank of captain. How he 
obtained the grade of colonel, no one seems to 
know ; he may have been commissioned in the way 
of Colonel Brown. Bulliner was a new comer, 
who had left Tennessee, his native state, during the 
civil war. Sisney had three sons, the eldest of 
whom, John, was married. Bulliner had sons 
named Jack and Dave, and a younger brother, David, 
who had a son called George. Sisney and Bulliner 
were more or less intimate with all the settlers 
living round them ; Sisney with the Eussells and 
Hendersons, Bulliner with the HinchclifFes and 

Not far off lived a family named Stocks, in which 
were three young and pretty girls, sisters and first- 
cousins, who were objects of attention to the young 
sters in all these parts. Illinois is one of those 

E 2 


States in which White women are in great demand, 
the White males being nearly a hundred thousand in 
excess of the White females. A house in which 
three or four pretty girls are growing up, is a centre 
of much resort, and the scene of many jealousies. 
Sallie and Nellie Stocks were sisters, and the elder 
sister, Sallie, was a great coquette. Sallie kept 
company with Jack Bulliner, while Nellie was 
adored by his brother Dave. So far, these strangers 
from Kentucky seemed to carry the field ; but 
things were not so smooth as they appeared, Sallie, 
liking to have more than one string to her bow, 
began to flirt with Tom Eussell. Tom was her 
cousin. People said he was her c choice, and though 
she smiled on Jack Bulliner, shrewd gossips held 
that she would end by marrying her cousin Tom. 

A question rose between these neighbours as 
to the ownership of a parcel of oats. Sisney had 
these oats in his barn ; Bulliner asserted that he had 
paid for them. A reference to the local courts 
supported Sisney s claim. Soon after the decision, 
Dave Bulliner dropped into a blacksmith s forge 
which stood on Sisney s farm, and finding Sisney 
there, he accused him of having won his cause by 


swearing what was false. The Sheriff s blood fired 
up, and snatching a spade, he ran at Dave Bullincr, 
and cut him in the arm. Dave bolted home, and 
told his father, his brother Jack, and three other 
men, that a murderous attack had been made on 
him by Sisney. The Kentuckians seized their shot 
guns and revolvers, and set out in a body for 
Sisney s house. On seeing the five men coming up 
his lane, Sisney, taking his rifle with him, slipped 
through the back door, and made for a fence, behind 
which stood some trees. As he crossed the fence, his 
enemies fired, and he was badly hurt, yet running 
to the shelter of a tree, he raised his piece, and 
called on them to halt. The Bulliners drew up, for 
Sisney was a dead shot. A parley took place, when 
the Kentuckians agreed to leave the farm, if Sisney 
would promise not to fire as they filed off. 

Actions were brought on both sides for assault 
with deadly weapons, but the local judge, accustomed 
to such scenes, induced the parties to withdraw the 
pleas, and pay a fine of one hundred dollars each into 
the county fund. 

But blood is not appeased by words. Each 
party drew their friends and neighbours into the 


quarrel ; Sisney the Hendersons and Eussells, Bui- 
liner the Hinchcliffes and Cranes. One Sunday 
morning, Sisney and his son met some of the Cranes 
at church, in Carterville, and when the service ended, 
they came out of church and fought in the public 
street. Clubs, stones, and knives were used. No 
lives were lost ; but Sisney and his son were banged 
and bruised. Appeal was made to the magistrate in 
CarterviHe, and on the day of hearing, the parties 
mustered in the town. Dave Bulliner and Tom 
Eussell met. Tom Eussell swore that no Bulliner 
should have his cousin, Sallie Stocks. The young 
sters fought ; the elders -joined them ; and the riot 
act was read. Each party rode away from 
Carterville, swearing they would have the other s 

George Bulliner, father of the two swains, was 
the first to fall. He was riding to Carbondale, his 
horse plodding lazily along the road, when he was 
shot from a tree. Some neighbours found him in 
the mire, his body riddled with slugs. Tom Eussell 
was suspected of the crime, and an indictment was 
served on the sheriff; but the sheriff took no steps 
for Tom s arrest, and two or three days after the 


murder, Eussell left the place. No one attempted 
to pursue him, and people soon had reason to think 
he was not far off. 

Some twelve weeks later on, a farmer sitting 
on his bench in Carterville Church, on Sunday night, 
observed the face of Tom Eussell peering through a 
glass window at the folks inside. A second farmer, 
sitting in another part of the church, observed the 
face of Gordon Clifford, a wild fellow who was better 
known as Texas Jack, peering through a glass 
window at the folks inside. Dave Bulliner and 
his brothers were in the church, with their aunt, 
who was staying on a visit at the farm. After ser 
vice, as the Bulliners were returning with the lady 
to their farm, a volley crashed among them from 
the bush. Dave fell. Monroe, a younger brother, 
drew a pistol from his vest, and fired. The party 
in the bush replied, when the old lady screamed a 
slug had passed into her side. Dave lived two days. 
On his death-bed he made oath that among the 
party who had fired on them from the bush, he 
recognised Tom Eussell, his brother s rival in the 
love of Sallie Stocks. 

Tom was arrested, and the evidence against him 


looked extremely strong. He had a deadly quarrel 
with the murdered man ; he had been seen prying 
through the church window, as if to mark his 
victim ; and his face had been recognised in the 
bush by his rival in love, his enemy in a family 
feud. Worse remained behind. An officer, kicking 
about the bush, picked up a piece of wadding, and 
on smoothing out the paper, found it had been torn 
from a copy of the Globe, a newspaper published 
at St. Louis. Hinchcliffe, the post-master of Carter- 
ville, testified that no one except Eussell received 
that journal. The officers arrested Eussell, found 
a shotted gun in his room, and, on drawing the 
charge, they pulled out a piece of wadding, which 
was found to join and fit the paper picked up, in the 
shape of wadding, in the bush. Yet Tom escaped 
conviction. This escape was due to another cousin, 
a girl named Mattie, who swore first, that she was 
paying a visit to her uncle Eussell on the day when 
Dave Bulliner was shot ; and second, that her cousin 
Torn was at home the whole day and night ; and 
third, most positively, that about eight o clock in 
the evening, he bade them all good-night and went 
to bed. Squire Strover, who heard the case, was of 


opinion that this evidence was enough. The prisoner 
was discharged. 

Disgusted with such law as they found in the 
Prairie lands, the Bulliners snatched their guns and 
marked their victims. Sisney was reserved for the 
anniversary of George s death, but Henderson, his 
chief supporter, was taken off at once. Jack Bui- 
liner, with two companions, lay behind a heap of 
logs in Henderson s field, and as the farmer turned 
his plough, they fired into him a whole round of 
buck-shot. Henderson lived a week. Before he 
died, he made a statement that, according to his 
true belief, Jack Ballmer was one of his assailants. 
In a neighbouring field, a man named Ditmore 
was at work, and heard the assailing party fire. 
Within a week, Ditmore was shot. 

Hinchcliffe was the next to fall. Hinchcliffe, a 
physician, as well as a postmaster, was often out at 
night, attending on his patients. He was riding 
home one evening in the dark, when spits of fire 
came out of a copse, near the lane, and struck him 
dead. His horse was also killed. 

Suspicion points to Cousin Tom and Texas Jack, 
as the assassins of Hinchcliffe, but Cousin Tom 



and Texas Jack are ugly customers to tackle. No 
sheriff cares to undertake the job. Much feeling 
is excited by this bloody deed, for Hinchcliffe was 
a favourite in the place ; yet, down to this moment, 
no one has been punished for the crime. 

In truth, the deed was ceasing to be a theme for 
talk, until the anniversary of Bulliner s murder 
came, and the vendetta w T as renewed in the attempt 
on Sisney s life. 

Colonel Sisney has removed his family to Car- 




FORT LEAVENWORTH, and the young city of Leaven- 
worth, growing up under her guns, are ruffled by 
some recent incidents of the Eed war ; a war which 
often hides itself from sight, but never wholly ceases, 
in countries where the Eed and White men are con 
tending for the soil. 

Bad blood is always flowing on the frontier line 
which separates the White State of Kansas from 
the Eed Territory of Cheyennes and Osages. The 
savages are rich in ponies, and the settlers are 
accused of stealing them; the citizens are rich in 
cattle, and the hunters are accused of lifting them. 
Both charges are too often just. A frontier settler 
helps himself as freely to a horse or mule as to an 
antelope or elk ; an Indian kills his neighbour s ox 
as readily as he slings a buffalo calf. White men 
shoot game in sport, on which bucks and braves 


go out and kill their enemy s cows. They say it is 
only sport. When a more deadly raid is meant, they 
call the Light Horse, the Mourning Band, or some 
such Indian league, and riding to the settled parts, 
select a lonely ranch, surround the pales, rush on the 
doors, scalp every living male, eat up the food, 
set lire to the farms, and carry off the women to 
their camps. 

In May last year a son of Little Eobe, a Chey 
enne chief, came over the border into Kansas with 
his band. His herds, he said, had been driven by 
White thieves, and in revenge, he stole a herd of 
cattle from the nearest run. Some cavalry, then 
patrolling on the Kansas line, gave chase, came up 
with the marauders, mauled the chief, and re 
covered the stolen stock. 

Unable to meet the Whites in open field, the 
Cheyennes, in accordance with their custom and the 
genius of their league, are using the knife. A man 
at the Agency breaks his leg, and Hollway, a son of 
the agency physician, is nursing the invalid, when a 
Cheyenne brave creeps into the sick man s hut, and 
plunges a knife into young Hollway s heart. The 
next victims are two Irish herders, Monahan and 


O Leary, who are murdered on the Plains. Will 
Watkins is killed at King Fish ranch. A govern 
ment train is stopped, and four men scalped ; a 
crime in which the Osages, neighbours of the Chey- 
ennes, are known to have borne a part. A company 
of infantry has left Fort Leavenworth, a company of 
cavalry has left Fort Sill, in search of these mur 
derers ; but the line is long, the land is open, and 
the bands have burnt the grass for many leagues. 
Who knows whether any of this White blood will be 
avenged ? 

Amidst the yell and scream of this Eed conflict, 
two events have seized the public mind ; the mas 
sacre at Smoky Hill, and the massacre at Medicine 

A Georgian gentleman, named Germain, living on 
the Blue Eidge, near Eingold, starts with his family 
for the west, intending to try his luck in Colorado. 
His family consists of a grown-up son, an invalid 
daughter, four younger girls, and an infant too 
young to walk. They travel in a common emi 
grant waggon, resting at night, and pushing on by 
day. Passing the river at Leavenworth, they are 
driving by the Smoky Hill route for Denver, still 


a dangerous road, although a railway runs along the 
creek, and they are hardly a dozen miles from 
Sheridan station, when Grey Eagle and his band of 
Cheyennes come on them in the night. Germain and 
his son are instantly scalped and hacked to shreds. 
The wife and invalid girl are brained and chopped 
to pieces, all the meats and drinks gobbled up, the 
traps set on fire, and the younger girls carried to 
the camp ; the Cheyenne warriors leaving no 
thing behind them but a charred wheel and shaft, 
with four dead bodies beaten out of human 
shape ; nothing, as Grey Eagle fancied, that could 
either serve to mark his victims, or betray his 
trail. The deed is done, the murderers lost in 

When news come into Leavenworth that a fresh 
massacre has been committed on the Smoky Hill, no 
one believes the tale. But day by day the story 
is confirmed, on which a party of men goes out to 
see the spot. Bones, much picked by wolves and 
ravens, lie about the Prairie track. Lumps of 
burnt wood are strewn around. No one knows 
the victims of this Indian outrage, but that murder 
has been done no man who passes by that road can 


doubt. At length a book is found a pocket 
Bible, with an entry on the fly-leaf 


Armed with this entry as a clue, the White 
avengers are soon acquainted with the leading 
facts. They learn that Germain s family consisted 
of nine persons, so that five of them may still 
be living in Grey Eagle s camp. Two of the girls, 
Lucy and Ada, are young ladies, Lucy being nine 
teen, Ada sixteen years of age. Adelaide is a 
child of nine, and Julia barely seven. These chil 
dren must be sought and found. 

Grey Eagle makes for the Eed Fork of Arkansas 
Eiver. by which he means to cross into the Public 
Lands, lying westward of the Indian Nations. Find 
ing the infant an encumbrance, one of the hunters 
knocks it on the head, and flings it to the wolves. 
Lucy and Ada are bestowed on the big chiefs ; but 
the pursuers are so hot that Grey Eagle has no time 
to dally with his prize. Passing the North Fork 
of Canadian Eiver, he thinks of slipping into Texas, 
when his band is caught in flank by Colonel 
Miles, commander of a party on the Eed Eiver. 


Grey Eagle fights like a Cheyenne warrior, but 
Colonel Miles has a hundred sabres and a howitzer 
under his command, After holding to their line 
five hours, the savage chief falls back. Captain 
Overton s company pursues him for twenty miles, 
and then gives up the chase, having secured one 
part of his prize in the two girls, Adelaide and 
Julia, who are found in one of the Indian tents. 
On hearing that these girls are left behind, Grey 
Eagle turns his horse, and rushes on Overton s troop, 
meaning to cut a lane through them, and retake 
the girls ; but the American troops close up, and 
baffle his attacks. Again he turns., and dashes on 
the line of sabres, filling those hardy frontier soldiers 
with respect. At length, the savage wheels and 
flies. Once on the wing, no man and horse armed 
in American fashion can hope to overtake his flight. 
Next morning, a hundred picked men, com 
manded by Captain Niel, are placed on their trail, 
with orders to recover the two young ladies, Lucy 
and Ada, from their savage captors. Leaven worth, 
Kansas, and America, they are told, expect these 
ladies at their hands. Looking at their clenched 
teeth and knitted brows, there is no need to ask a 



promise from these volunteers. If they come back 
alive, Lucy and Ada Germain will be saved. 

This tragedy has a counterpart in the massacre 
of Medicine Lodge. A band of Osages, living 
on the lands set apart for them, strike their tents, 
and ride into the Plains in search of grass and 
game. Some Osage families are tame, men of 
mixed blood, who till their land, and live in decent 
huts ; but nine in ten of this savage family are 
wild men, living by the chase. Driving their 
mules and ponies, and accompanied by their 
squaws and imps, they wander up and down ; but 
game is scarce, and much of the grass has been 
lately burnt. They have to spread their wings , 
and follow distant trails. No buffaloes are found, 
the herds appearing to have crossed the frontier 
line into Kansas. 

One of these bands of Osages, numbering nine 
teen hunters, ten squaws, and about eighty ponies, . 
are encamped near the frontier, looking in vain 
for game. Two White men ride into their camp. 
These persons come from Medicine Lodge, in Bar 
ber county, Kansas, and are members of Captain 
Bickers troop of horse. Have you seen any buf- 
VOL. i. s 


falo ? ask the Osage hunters. Yes, plenty over 
there, reply the White men, pointing to a sandy 
plain, a little to the north. The hunters start, 
and they are soon among the herds. 

A few days serve to kill, cut up, and jerk their 
meat; and, having packed their skins and food, 
called in their scouts and ponies, they are turn 
ing towards the south, when clouds of dust arise in 
front of them. Hillo ! A company is riding hard 
and fast, and from their arms and horses the hun 
ters know that they are White men, forty or more 
in number. To fly is ruin, to resist is death. 
Tents, skins, provisions, ponies must be left be 
hind. The Osages stand and wait for the storm to 
break. When the white line arrives within a 
hundred yards, a halt is called, a council held. 
Two Osage bucks, armed with rifles and six- 
shooters, ride out to meet them. Two White men 
advance to greet these heralds, shake hands in 
sign of friendliness, and ask them to come in as 
guests. The Indians slip to the ground, give up 
their arms and ponies, and are led to Captain 
Eickers, who tells them that he and his friends are 
citizens of Medicine Lodge, looking out for bad 


Indians, such as Kiowas and Cheyennes, who are 
committing robbery and murder in the White settle 
ments. On seeing their friends received so well, 
two other bucks, carrying two rifles, but no six- 
shooters, ride out ; the four rifles and two six- 
shooters being the only weapons of these savages. 
They are received with smiles and drinks. A 
fifth and sixth Osage now come in, and then a 
seventh and eighth, each Keel-skin dismounting 
and disarming the moment he arrives. The White 
men stand about, chatting and smiling, but with 
rifles ready for a sign. When Kickers sees that 
no more bucks are coming in, a word is given, a 
line is opened, and a volley fired. Four of the 
eight Osages fall. The other four, springing to their 
ponies, and leaving saddles, clothes, and arms 
behind, strike wildly through the sand and grass. 
Kickers gives tongue, and his followers charge into 
the camp. ot waiting their attack, the Osages 
scatter in a ring. Dusk only puts an end to the 

At midnight two of the Osages creep back, and 
finding the White men gone, search the rifte and 
ridges for their wounded brethren and their cap- 

s 2 


turecl stock. Three of the dead are found, two of 
them scalped, and otherwise hacked and slashed. 
Fifty-five mules and ponies, which they left behind, 
are gone. Their skins, their tents, their buffalo 
meats, are either taken or destroyed. Cast down 
by their misery, the Osages seek their trail, recross 
the frontier, and return to their proper camp, the 
hunters almost naked, and the squaws and little 
ones on foot. 

An Indian Agent, much excited by this massa 
cre, rides to Medicine Lodge, a stockade on the 
Prairie, where he finds Captain Bickers and sixty 
border men, acting as militia under a regular com 
mission from Governor Osborn. 

Who killed the four Osages ? repeats Captain 
Eickers, in high contempt, we killed the Osages ; 
and we mean to kill the vermin whenever we catch 
them in our State. Kickers refuses to give the 
Indian Agent details of the fray. The captured 
ponies are at Medicine Lodge ; the agent sees them 
there, and knows them by their Indian marks. 
Appeals are made to Governor Osborn in Topeka, 
but the governor will not interfere with his militia. 
Eickers, he says, is captain of a company of State 


militia, properly enrolled, and out on service in the 
field. The terms of his commission are, to treat 
all bands of Indians found within the State as hos 
tile. The Indian Agent finds a flaw in this defence. 
4 Tell me, governor, he answers, the date of this 
commission. Is it not the fact that Captain Kickers 
commission is dated ten days after the massacre 
near Medicine Lodge ? * Osborn only smiles. 

Who cares for dates and signatures when they 
are dealing with such savages as Grey Eagle? 
Adelaide and Julia Germain are safe within the 
lines of Fort Leavenworth ; but their elder sisters, 
Lucy and Ada, are still in their savage captor s 




WHAT is about to happen ? we enquire of a 
settler at Olathe, a city with six log shanties, a 
church, a school, a drinking bar, and a fringe of 
maize. Olathe is suffering from a scare. 

Three weeks ago, five men with masked faces, 
stopped the train running from Fort Scott to 
Kansas City, in open day. Two of the five men 
kept guard, their rifles cocked, while their pals 
entered the cars, and rifled the express of thirty 
thousand dollars. No one interfered, for who 
could tell how many passengers were members 
of the gang? Why should a man expose himself 
to fire and steel? The thieves got off. But 
that affair is three weeks old ; the present scare 
arises from events to come. 

A gang of Cherokees, under Billy Boss,, 
their savage chief, are corning up the country, 


swearing they will burn out the White men and 
cany off the White women from Vinita, that is what s 
going to happen, growls a settler on the Kansas plain. 

But surely, I venture to put in, those Chero- 
kees under Billy Eoss are civilised people, not wild 
animals like Cheyennes and Osages. Are they 
not settled on the land? Have they not farms 
and sheep-runs, schools and chapels? Are they 
not dressed in caps and coats, and called by 
Christian names? Billy Eoss does not exactly 
smack of tomahawk and scalping-knife. 

Ha, ha ! roars the Kansas settler. bully for 
you. I see you ll bite. Then tell me, stranger, 
what is the difference whether you call a savage 
Flying Hawk or Billy Eoss ? Will a name wash 
off war paint, or turn the Indian s yep-yep into 
Home, sweet Home? Guess Billy Eoss is a savage, 
like the fathers of his tribe. 

Vinita is a Cherokee town. Why should the 
Cherokees burn their own cabins and sack their 
own farms ? 

Because they are some cuss. Look at this 
news from Texas. They are expecting an attack by 
Eoss. The women and children are aboard the 


train, ready to pull out at a moment s notice. Two 
thousand armed men, mostly full-bloods, are about 
the place. Spies report them within twenty miles 
of Vinita guess you ll say that s not a sort of news 
to make a scare ? 

This news, you say, comes in from Texas. Is 
not Texas a long way from Vinita ? 

Guess they re smart boys, those Texas reporters. 
Sure as Grey Eagle scalped poor Germain, and 
stole his daughters, Billy Eoss will scalp the boys 
of Vinita, and bear their women to his camp. The 
boys will fight, but one would like to hear of that 
train of women and children being safe under the 
guns of Fort Scott. 

Vinita, as we find on reaching it, is a camp or 
town of the Cherokees ; the chief place of this Indian 
nation, though their paper capital is at Tahlequah. 
Vinita is a nest of sties and shanties, lying among a 
few patches of maize and weeds. Here the Chero 
kees have a school, a chapel, and a secret grog 
shop ; secret because Cherokees are not allowed 
to buy and sell whisky, otherwise than on the sly. 
Blood has been shed, and may be shed again in 
Vinita ; but not, we find, the blood of White men 


and women. In spite of smart reporters, no White 
women live in Vinita; and no White men, except 
seven or eight railway servants, and a dozen 
fellows who have married squaws. The only White 
men who have got into trouble at Yinita, are two 
scalawags, who brought whisky to the place, and 
tried to sell it, contrary to law. Some braves got 
drunk ; a row began, and while this row was on, 
the two whisky vendors got hung. No one can tell 
me how it happened. No one but myself enquires. 
Who cares about a scalawag more or less ? Dead 
men collect no bills. 

But a more serious fray than a whisky broil 
threatens the prosperity of Vinita. These Cherokees 
are cursed with a tribal feud ; & feud which has a 
counterpart in every Indian camp. 

When the Gherokees were being ousted from 
their ancient hunting-grounds in Georgia and Ala 
bama, and were offered their present lands given 
to them in exchange, to be their own as long as 
grass should grow and water run, the Indians w r ere 
divided in counsel as to what they ought to do. A 
cunning chief, who had assumed the name of Eoss, 
became the leader of such Cherokees as wished to 


treat the Pale-faces as enemies to reject their offers 
of an exchange of lands, and stand out against them 
as long as his braves could draw a bow and pull a 
scalp. A second chief, who had assumed the name 
of Adair, became the leader of such Cherokees as 
wished to try the Pale-face customs to accept the 
new homes, to give up hunting game, and cultivate 
the land. One party was feudal, the other party 
radical. Eoss was for war paint, cattle lifting, 
common property, and despotic chiefs ; Adair for 
soap and water, settled homesteads, personal pro 
perty, and equal laws. 

Two brothers, named Strong Buck and Stand 
Watie, were the active radical chiefs ; Strong Buck 
the thinker, Stand Watie the soldier of their band. 
Adair was but a nominal head. Strong Buck had 
been sent by Elias Boudinot, a kindly French 
planter, to a good school, where he had learned to 
read, become a Catholic, adopted the name of his 
French patron, and married a woman with White 
blood in her veins. While the tribes were moving to 
their new grounds, Eoss and his friends were all for 
fighting, Boudinot and his friends were all for par 
leying with the Whites along the roads. As they 


approached Fort Gibson, further differences broke 
out. Eoss wished his men to live as Cherokees had 
always lived, in tribal order, holding common pro 
perty under a reigning chief. Boudinot proposed a 
change. He wished to live like White men, under 
law, and to divide the tribal lands among the heads 
of families. Words led to blows, and blows to 
murder. Thirty of the Eoss party stole to Boudi- 
not s ranch, and finding him absent in a field, sent 
four of their body to beg him, as a favour, to mix 
some physic for a sick squaw. On his turning back 
with them towards his cabin, they led him into a 
snare, when a dozen fiends sprang on him, and 
with yells and curses plunged their knives into his 

Stand Watie took up the mission of avenging 
his brother s blood, and in the Cherokee fashion 
he raised a band of avenging braves. He chased 
the murderers, fighting them day and night, till 
nearly all were slain, and he was weary of his great 
revenge. From that day forward, the Cherokees 
have been ranged in opposite camps ; one side ad 
hering to Stand Watie, while the other side have ad 
hered to Eoss. All those who wished to settle down, 


divide the land, adopt White customs, and prepare 
for citizenship, rallied round Stand Watie and Adair. 
All braves and hunters who preferred to roam and 
thieve, and keep their ancient order, rallied round 
Koss. These factions were now divided, not by 
opinions only, but by cries for blood. 

Eoss formed his chief adherents into a secret 
brotherhood, called the Pin League. The members 
of this secret league are known to each other by a 
pin fastened in their hunting shirts. They have 
their signs and grips, their rules and oaths. They 
swear to put down radical opinion, and support the 
customs of their tribes, as well as to avenge their 
slaughtered partisans. A branch of the Pin League, 
with functions very much like those of the Danite 
band, is known as Light Horse. Well-armed, and 
mounted on swift ponies, the captains of these Light 
Horse scoured the country, firing lonely ranches, 
and murdering helpless enemies, on a secret sign 
from Eoss. 

Except Stand Watie, every man among the 
radical party was afraid of this Pin League and 
these Light Horse. The Cherokee Ironside was 
never molested ; but their hands lay heavy on less 


warlike members of the tribe. One day, seven of 
the Light Horse, led by Bear Paw. one of Boss 
warriors, broke into Adair s house, and finding 
the chief sick in bed, dragged him into the open 
yard, and shot him in the presence of his squaws. 
His son, according to the Indian rule of Blood 
Atonement, was also taken out and shot. 

For these black deeds Bear Paw was made a 
captain in the Light Horse, and his example spurred 
on other braves to imitate his heroism. One party 
caught a lad named Webber, a nephew of the mur 
dered Boudinot, and, for his uncle s sins, hacked him 
to pieces with their knives. A party followed Eidge, 
an uncle of Boudinot, into Arkansas, and shot him 
from his horse ; while another party rode to the 
ranch of another Eidge, a cousin of Boudinot, 
dragged him out of bed, and in the presence of his 
wife, plunged no less than twenty-nine daggers 
into his chest. 

Jack Eoss has been succeeded by his son Billy, 
a cunning fellow, who contrives to keep his hold 
on the conservatives of his party thieves, poly- 
gamists, and communists, who wish to keep their 
ancient ways. The leadership of his opponents, the 


radicals, who wish to imitate the Whites, has fallen 
to Colonel Adair, a son of the murdered chief, and 
Colonel Boudinot, a son of Strong Buck. 

Dressed in English attire, Colonel Boudinot 
might pass for a southern White. This young Mestizo 
speaks with force and writes with point ; but his 
accomplishments are causes of suspicion to the igno 
rant Cherokees, not one in five of whom can under 
stand an English phrase. It is a saying in Vinita, 
that the son of Strong Buck is rather White than 

The scare of which we heard at Olathe, on the 
Kansas frontier, is an incident in this tribal feud. 
Colonel Boudinot is in Washington, but Colonel 
Adair is living with his nation near Yinita. On 
Christmas Day, Lewis, a son-in-law of Colonel Adair, 
invited some of his friends to a carouse. Eoss tried 
to spoil their sport. Consena, a deputy-sheriff, and 
three other Indians of their party, rode to the place, 
pretending they were sent for to assist in keeping 
order ; and as the radicals arrived they took pos 
session of their arms and whisky-flasks. Some 
yielded readily ; but two of Adair s party, Tom 
Cox and Jack Doubletooth, refused to give up 


either flasks or pistols. On Consena threatening 
them with force they fired into his party, and a 
fight began. One of the deputy s friends was 
killed. The deputy was scratched, but managed 
to retreat. Tom Cox and Jack Double tooth were 
botli disabled by their wounds, and nearly twenty 
of the Cherokees were badly hurt. 

The Pins turned out, swearing they would 
raze Vinita to the ground, converting their poor 
copy of a White hamlet into a real Indian camp. 
They have not done so yet. The feud is likely 
to go on, until the causes which produce it shall 
have ceased to act. Eoss will not readily give up 
his power ; nor will his chiefs give up their common 
property in the tribal lands. 




WHAT here what dar? Lib here, paper dar. 
What place ? Hi ! hi ! dis place Caddo ; colour 
genl men lib in Caddo hi ! 

Caddo, a village in the Choctaw district, thirty- 
two miles north of Eed Eiver, thirty-seven miles 
south of Limstone Gap, is a Zambo settlement, 
one of the most singular hamlets in a country full 
of ethnological surprises. A scatter of log-cabins, 
standing in fenced fields, surrounds a little town, 
with school and prison, chapel and masonic lodge, 
main street and market-place, billiard-room and 
drinking -bar. A line of rails connects this little 
town with Fort Gibson, in the Creek region, and 
with Denison city, in Texas. Caddo can boast 
of a printing-press and of a weekly sheet of news. 
Yet neither school nor prison, railway plant nor 
printing-press excites so much attention as the 


marvel in the ruts and tracks. The people of Caddo 
are the sight of sights ; these cabins in the fields and 
nearly all these shanties in the town being tenanted 
by the new race of mixed bloods known to science 
as Zambos the offspring of Negro bucks and Indian 

According to Tschudi s List of Half-castes, a 
White father and a Negro mother produce a Mu 
latto ; a White father and an Indian mother pro 
duce a Mestizo; an Indian father and a Negro 
mother produce a Chino ; a Negro father and an 
Indian mother produce a Zambo. These four hy 
brids are the primary mixed breeds of America. 

A Mulatto is coffee -coloured ; a Mestizo is ruddy- 
gold ; a Chino is dirty-red; a Zambo is dirty- 

A White father and Mulatto mother produce the 
Quadroon ; a White father and Mestiza mother the 
Creole. Quadroons and Creoles, though dark and 
coarse, are sometimes beautiful, and in a state of 
servitude young females of these families always 
fetched more money than a Turkish pasha gave for 
his Georgian slave. A Negro father and ^Mulatto 
mother produce a Cubra, and a Cubra is an ugly 
VOL. i. T 


mongrel. In another generation the original Negro 
type returns. Not so with the Indian family. An 
Indian father and a Mestiza mother produce the 
Mestizo-claro often a handsome specimen of the 
human animal. But Indian blood appears to mix 
imperfectly with Black. The Chino is a lanky and 
ungainly fellow, and his half-brother, the Zambo, is 
uglier still. Nature, one imagines, never meant 
these families to mix. A breed so droll in figure 
and complexion as the Zambo imps who sprawl and 
wallow in these ruts is hardly to be matched on 

Yet these ugly creatures are said to be prolific. 
Every cabin in Caddo shows a brood of imps ; and 
if the new school of ethnologists are right, they may- 
increase more rapidly than the ordinary Blacks. 
What sort of mongrels shall we find at Caddo 
in a hundred years? If she is left alone, Caddo 
may yield a family on the pattern of Los Angelos 
and San Jose, and give a line of heroes like Tiburcio 
Yasquez to the ranch men of Eed Eiver and Lime 
stone Gap. 

At Caddo, then, we have some means of study 
ing the two questions of Colour and Servitude in 


their most primitive stages each in a phase not 
seen at Eichmond, Charleston, and New Orleans. 

Before the war broke out, all Negroes living on 
the Indian soil were slaves. They were the property 
of Creek and Choetaw, Seminole, Chickasaw, and 
Cherokee the five nations which are said to be 
reclaimed from their savage state. Their lot was 
hard, their suffering sharp ; no harder lot, no sharper 
suffering, known on earth. In other places servi 
tude is softened by some tie of race, of language, 
or of creed. At Pekin the slaves and their masters- 
are of one colour ; at Cairo they speak the same 
language ; at Eio they worship a common God ; but 
in these Indian wastes, a Negro had neither the same 
features, the same phrases, nor the same covenants 
with his savage lord ; no common interest in the 
present world, no common hope in that which is to 

Can mind of man conceive a lot in life more 
wretched than that of being a Eed man s slave ? 

To be a White man s thrall was bad enough ; but 
on the worst plantation in Georgia and Alabama 
there were elements of tenderness and justice never 
to be found in the best of Cherokee and Serninole 

T 2 


camps. In Georgia and Alabama ladies were always 
near, and children constantly in sight. A civilised 
and Christian society lay around. People lived by 
law, and even where cruel masters abounded 
most, the forces of society were on the side of 
rule and right. No Negro in Virginia lived be 
yond the sound of village bells and of the silent 
teaching of a Day of Eest. No slave in Louisiana 
was a stranger to the grace and order of domestic 
life. What sacred sounds were heard in a Choctaw 
lodge ? What charm of life was seen in a Chickasaw 
tent ? In every Indian camp the squaws behaved in 
a harsher manner towards the Negro than their brutal 
spouses ; and instead of an Indian child acting as a 
check on cruelty, his presence often led to the 
slave being pinched and kicked, so that the 
young brave might learn to gloat over the sight 
of men in pain. A slave in Tennessee might have 
a careless master, but this master was a man 
of settled habits, and amenable to public courts. 
He was no wandering savage, living by the chase, 
and governing his household with a hatchet and a 
scalping-knife. A White owner might be hasty, his 
overseer vindictive ; but the men were citizens sub- 


ject to the law, and Christians subject to the censure 
of their Church. On every side some limit to abuse 
was drawn. But where, in Seminole tent or Cherokee 
lodge, was an injured slave to find a limit to his 
wrongs? A Seminole had no judge to fear, a 
Cherokee no pastor to consult. Within his tribe and 
territory, an Indian chief might glut his anger on a 
slave as freely as if he were a king of Ashantee. No 
sheriff asked of him his brother s blood. No public 
sentiment restrained his arm. When he was roused 
to wrath, an Indian cared no more for what men 
might say of him than a tiger thinks of public 
opinion in the jungle when he makes his spring. 
A Eed savage had more freedom to ill-use his slave 
than any Pale-face has to hurt his dog. 

Yet, while Eed men and Black men were 
left alone, these Negroes seemed doomed for ever 
to serve the masters who were but a shade less dusky 
than themselves. 

While sauntering in and out, among the stores 
and yards at Caddo, we chance to kick an ant-hill, 
and disturb the small red warriors in their nest. 

Like all the South and West, this .dry and sunny 
spot is rich in ants red, black, and yellow ants 


among them the variety known as Amazon ants. 
All ants appear to live in tribes and nations, under 
rules which never change. Like Indians they have 
their ranks and orders patriarchal, military, servile ; 
and like Indians they hold their property in a 
common lot. The patriarchs, set apart as fathers 
and mothers, live an easy life, and pass away when 
they have done their part. These chiefs among the 
ants are winged. They soar and pair, eat up the 
choicest food, and die with mandibles unstained 
by vulgar toil. Next in rank come the soldiers ; 
ants with strong mandibles, but no wings. Lowest 
in order stand the serfs or bondmen. Food must 
be sought, and chambers bored ; wherefore a major 
ity of ants are serfs, and all these servile ants are 
squaws. No male ant ever earns his bread. Scorn 
ing to delve and spin, he asks his female architects 
to build his cell, and sends his female foragers to 
seek his food. These servile squaws, arrested in 
their growth, and having neither wings nor ovaries, 
are content to drudge and slave. But Amazon 
ants have souls above these ordinary squaws. 
The Amazons would rather fight than drudge, and, 
like all fighting creatures, they become the owners 


of such poor species as would rather drudge than 


A colony of black ants usually settles near a 
colony of red. Does Nature mean her duskier 
children to be seized and made to labour for the 
fairer kinds ? The red ants hunt them down. A 
red ant is no bigger in body, no stronger in mandi 
ble, than a black ant ; yet the Amazons always 
beat their duskier sisters and enslave their brood. 
Is this result a consequence of their coats being 

Who knows the mystery of colour ? By consent 
of every age and country black has been adopted as 
a sign of woe and servitude. All faces shall 
gather blackness, cries the prophet, in the day of 
wrath. In Spain the unpardoned sinner was ar 
rayed in a black robe. In England the judge who 
passes sentence of death puts on a black cap. A 
Euss peasant called his lord the White Tsar, and his 
old fellow-serfs the Black People. In Turkey a Jew 
had to wear a black turban. In Bretagne, Navarre, 
and Connaught the remnants of darker races scowl 
in hate and fear on their more civilised and prosper 
ous countrymen of a fairer race. A common mode 


of thought suggests the presence of an underlying 

What law? Are shades of colour, grades of 

In every part of Europe people in the upper 
ranks are fairer than people in the lower ranks. In 
Spain and Sicily, countries mostly occupied by a 
swarthy race, the leading families are fair. One 
rule holds good on the Danube and on the Dneiper. 
Nearly all the Muscovite princes and princesses are 
blonde. Venice is the home of raven hair, yet this 
artistic city has an upper class with blue eyes and 
golden locks. In Styria, in Bavaria, in Switzerland, 
the better blood is almost always wedded to the 
lighter skin. All through the South of Europe, 
where the masses are dark, the kings and emperors 
are pale. The kings of Spain, Italy, and Greece are 
fair. The emperors of Austria and Eussia are fair. 
The royal families of England, Belgium, Holland, 
Denmark, and Sweden are exceptionally fair. The 
conquerors of Sadowa and Sedan are very fair. The 
Pope is fair. The Sultan is fairer than the ordi 
nary Turk. The Shah of Persia, and the Khedive of 
Egypt, are comparatively fair. The Emperor of 


Brazil is fair. No white people serve a dusky ruler, 
and no aristocratic class is black. 

As in the sphere of men, so in the sphere of 
ants colour appears to be an outward sign of 
sway. A red ant makes the black ant toil for him, 
but no red ant has ever yet been found, except as 
an invader, in a black ant s nest. A red ant may 
be slain in fight, but he will rather fall in war than 
live in the position of a slave. 

The Creek and Choctaw yoked the Negroes, as 
the red ants yoke the black. When a colony of 
Amazons need more serfs to drudge for them, they 
organise a foray, march into a black ant-hill, 
overturn and scatter the defending force, and carry 
off the eggs and grubs. Old ants, likely to give 
trouble, are left behind. So happened with Semi- 
noles and Creeks. The Indians stole or bought 
the Negro child. A Negro who was used to a plan 
tation could never fall into Indian ways. He missed 
his meeting-house and village inn, his cane-brake 
and his evening dance. If he were taken young, a 
Negro might be trained, as a black ant is trained, 
to be a useful drudge. 




To own a batcli of Negroes was the aim of every 
Creek and Seminole chief. Negroes, like squaws, 
were evidence of his wealth and rank ; more grate 
ful in his eyes than squaws, as being a property 
which he held in common with the Whites. In 
early days he had lived in Georgia or Carolina, 
where the society was divided into free men and 
bondmen. He and his brethren of the tribe were 
free, and only the less martial and more dusky race 
were bond. Acquainted with the Pale men s ways, 
he paid them the moral tribute of walking in their 
steps, but, with the instinct of a savage, he only 
bought his slaves when he could not carry them off 
by stealth. 

When a Creek or Seminole chief was driven by 
the White planters from his hunting-grounds in 


Georgia and Tennessee, lie took the Negroes in his 
camp along with him, compelling them to share the 
misery of his long march, and brave the perils of 
his new and distant home. 

Such ills as fell on the Red savage fell with 
sevenfold fury on his slave. A Negro was no 
better in an Indian s eyes than a mule. In rain 
and wind he had to lie outside the tent. When 
game ran short he had to feed on garbage and 
to starve. All base and menial offices were thrust on 
him. A squaw is seldom kind to any creature 
weaker than herself, and every Negro slave was 
governed by a squaw. With gibe and curse she sent 
him to his task ; with pinch and cuff she lashed him 
to his yoke. Herself a beast of burden, she had no 
compassion for the servile drudge who, bought or 
stolen like herself, could hardly say his lot was 
heavier than her own. She made him moil and 
sweat. In her poetic idiom he had to march in 
his sleep, and bruise his feet against flint and rock. 
If he rebelled in either word or glance, a cudgel 
made him leap and grin. If he returned the blow 
a hatchet sliced his poll. A White man rarely 
killed his slave. A Eedskin, when his anger rose, 


would slay his Negro just as readily as he brained 
and scalped his foe. 

Yet such is the fecundity of men in servitude, 
that the Negroes grew in numbers under all their 
wrongs ; and that so rapidly that in twenty or 
twenty-five years they promised to out-count their 
savage owners. No attempts were made to breed 
them, as in Carolina and Virginia, for the markets. 
Young and pretty Negresses were swept into the 
wigwam ; old and ugly women, whether Black or 
Eed, were handed over to these dusky swains. Yet 
while the hunters brought plenty of food into the 
camps, the Negro race increased in all the Indian 
nations. When war broke out, the Seminoles had a 
thousand slaves ; the Cherokees and Chickasaws had 
each about fifteen hundred slaves ; the Creeks and 
Choctaws had each about three thousand slaves. 

In these Eed nations there were less than fourteen 
thousand full-blooded Indians to ten thousand Negro 
slaves. The Indians were fading fast, the Negroes 
were increasing fast. 

These Negroes were a danger and a curse to 

each of the five Eed nations. A sentiment 
growing up on every side, which the Eedskins were 


unable to repulse by tomahawk and scalping-knife. 
Kansas, their immediate neighbour on the north, 
was Free Soil. The settlements in their rear were 
rising into Free States. From time to time Free 
Boilers came into their hunting-grounds, sniffing the 
air, glancing at the slaves, and threatening the 
.savages with a war of liberation. 

Long before war broke out, such chiefs as Jack 
Boss, White Catcher, and Lucy Mouse were exercised 
in mind about the great institution of African 
slavery. From Eichmond and New Orleans they 
heard that one object of the North was to annul this 
institution in the Indian lands, to make these Indian 
lands Free Soil, and in the end to plant free cities on 
the site of Indian camps. Catcher and Mouse talked 
big, and Boss, an older and shrewder chief, advised 
his braves to secretly whet their knives. 

War came. The solution of a great and difficult 
social problem was committed to the sword. Then 
Jefferson Davis sent an agent to the Indian lodges, 
with the object of exciting Creek and Choctaw fears, 
and drawing the Indian chiefs into a league with the 
Confederate States. 

Albert Pike, this agent, was in figure and repute 


adapted for his work. A man of portly frame and 
rosy face, he wore a veil of silver hair, which 
hung about his neck in clouds ; giving him the jovial 
look of youth combined with the aspect of a sage. 
A clerk, a poet, an attorney, a scout, a trapper, a 
school teacher, a cavalry officer, a journalist Pike 
had tried all trades and seen the world on many 
sides. In riding hard, in drinking deep, in talking 
big, few men were equal to Albert Pike. Some 
verses from his pen have won repute, even in 
England, notably his Ode to the Mocking Bird and 
his Hymns to the Gods. Having spent some years 
of his life on the Eed Eiver and the Arkansas, he 
knew the Light Horse and the Pin League, and was 
a master in all the arts and artifices necessary for 
the seduction of savage tribes. 

Eiding from camp to camp, Pike told the warriors 
that the old Union under which they had lived 
was gone ; gone like the old Indian League of the 
Six Nations, never to be renewed on earth. The 
flag was rent to shreds, the flagstaff snapt in two. 
The gentry of the South could never again join hands 
with the hucksters of the North. He bade them 
choose their side. Slavery, he said, was the corner- 


stone of the new Confederacy ; and pointing to a 
group of Negro slaves, he asked them whether they 
would not cast in their lot with the planters of Georgia 
and Louisiana, rather than with the traders of Boston 
and New York. You may have had some cause in 
former times to rail against the planters, he remarked, 
but in this new war your interests and your 
destinies are inseparably connected with those of the 
South. The war is one of Northern cupidity and 
fanaticism against African slavery, commercial 
freedom, and political liberty. 

To gain his ends, Pike had recourse to other 
means. Cavour had the merit of seeing that his 
countrymen wanted two good things a common 
banner and a cheap cigar. His offer of Italian 
Unity might have failed without the Cavour * 
cigar at five cents. So with Albert Pike. When 
argument failed him with the Eedskins, Pike threw 


his whisky-flask into the scale. 

No want is so imperious to the Indian as a free 
market for intoxicating drink. A right to buy and 
sell slaves affected a few chiefs only, while a right 
to buy and sell ardent spirits is the desire of every 
man and woman in the Indian camps. 


By offering to secure the Indians free trade in 
.slaves and whisky, Albert Pike secured a great 
majority of voices for the South. 

Opothleyolo, a Creek chief, tried to stem the 
tide, believing that this Slave Commissioner was 
drawing his people into a snare that is to say, 
into a conflict with the stronger power. He spent 
his eloquence in vain. A cry of Slaves and Whisky 
filled his camp ; and when the chief withdrew to 
Bushey Creek, near Verdigris Eiver, he was followed 
by a cloud of warriors yelling for free trade in slaves 
and whisky, and was driven to fall back for safety 
on the White settlements of Kansas. 

Article ninety-seven of the treaty of alliance 
signed by Jack Eoss on behalf of the Cherokee nation, 
and by Albert Pike on behalf of the Confederate 
States, contains this clause : 

It is hereby declared and agreed that the 
Institution of Slavery in the said nation is legal, and 
has existed from time immemorial ; that slaves are 
taken and esteemed to be personal property ; that 
the title to slaves and other property having its 
origin in the said Nation shall be determined by the 
laws and customs thereof; and that the slaves and 


other personal property of every person domiciled 
in said Nation shall pass and bo distributed, at 
his or her death, in accordance with the laws and 
customs of the said Nation, which may be proved 
like foreign laws, usages, and customs, and shall 
everywhere be held binding within the scope of 
their operation. 

Even from the pen of Albert Pike such pas 
sages come as a surprise. Slavery in the Indian 
nation legal ! Why, the Indians had no code, and 
slavery had never been sanctioned by a public Act. 
Slavery existing among Eed men from time im 
memorial ! Why, slavery was absolutely unknown 
to any Indian tribe in the days of Boss s grand 

No such falsehoods were inserted by Confederate 
agents in the Acts which from their nature must be 
read in Europe. Davis was extremely cautious in 
his words. He spoke of slavery as a fact but only 
as a fact. Stephens, a bolder man, advancing from 
the sphere of facts into that of principles, asserted 
that Negro slavery was based on a great physical, 
philosophical, and moral truth ; but Stephens never 
ventured to proclaim that Negro slavery had existed 

VOL. i. u 


from time immemorial on the American continent. 
In fact, this fervid orator, convinced that the rule 
proposed by him had no historical basis, actually 
announced his theory of the corner-stone as a new 
truth, the latest development of time, which his 
Government was the first to write on a national 

Inspired by love of drink and lust of slaves, five 
thousand Indian warriors, armed with knife and 
hatchet, rallied to the flag set up by Pike, who 
dropt his civil rank as Indian Commissioner, and 
put on hat and feather, lace and sword, as 
General Pike. Two armies, acting under Curtis and 
Van Dorn, were on the frontier an army of the 
North under Curtis, an army of the South under 
Van Dorn. By orders from the War Office in 
Eichrnond, Pike led his warriors to the aid of Yon 
Dorn, which movement threw a touch of comedy 
into the fierce and indecisive battle of Pea Eidge. 

So long as the Eedskins lolled on parade they 
liked their business well. Their pay was high, their 
food good, and Pike was not too pressing on the 
score of drill. Whisky was plentiful in camp. But 
when the enemy drew near and opened his big guns, 


these children of the forest broke and ran. Brave 
as they are in fight, the Indian cannot face the roar 
and wrack of serious war. They made a rush ; but, 
met with volleys, they recoiled. All sounds and 
sights were new to them. Hardly one Indian in 
ten had heard a cannon fired. Not one Indian in 
fifty had seen a rocket. Shells appeared to them 
shooting-stars. Their whoop could not be heard for 
noise; their foes could not be seen for smoke. 
Even when they dodged behind oaks and pines 
they were not safe. Shells burst among the trees, 
and splinters crashed about their heads. What 
could these children of the forest do but crouch 
on the ground, cover their bodies with sand and 
stones, and wait until the night came down ? 

At dusk they stole into the field, and passing 
through the sleeping soldiers, scalped the dying and 
the dead, and carried off their trophies to the camp. 
These were the only blows the Indians ever struck 
for the possession of their Negro slaves. 

Next day the scalpless men were found by 
burying-parties, and a cry rose up from both Ame 
rican camps against employment of such savages. 
Curtis sent a message to Van Dorn, and to avoid 


retaliation, tlie Confederate General was obliged to 
order liis Eed contingent to go home. 

Pike lost his lace and feathers, and his Creek 
and Cherokee warriors had to stand aside, solaced 
by whisky, till the White men who were quarrelling 
among themselves over Black rights and wrongs, 
had settled under the walls of Eichmond whether a 
Eedskin living on the Arkansas should, or should 
not, continue to hold his Black brother in a state 
of servitude. 

When Eichmond fell the slaves in fifty Indian 
camps were free. 




TiiE Negro slaves were free ; but free in a separate 
Indian country, in the midst of savage Indian camps ! 

In President Lincoln s proclamation not a word 
was said about the ten thousand Negroes who were 
then living as slaves on Indian soil. This country 
lies beyond the Pale. Only ten months after the 
battle of Pea Eidge the proclamation of freedom 
came out, but the heat and burthen of the strife had 
been so great on other fields, that people had for 
gotten how the war-whoop and the scalping-knife 
had been employed on Pea Eidge. In fact, the 
Eed man s slaves were overlooked. 

Alone with their late owners, and beyond the 
reach of help from Washington, what were the 
liberated slaves to do ? In theory they were free ; 
in substance they were only free to starve. They 
had no tents, no guns, no ponies. Not an acre of 


the land belonged to them, nor had they now a 
place within the tribe. While they were overlooked 
on the Potomac, these Negroes found no change in 
their condition on the Arkansas and Eed Biver. 
They are a feeble folk, these coloured people ;, 
and their masters, though unwilling to face small 
bodies of White men, are ready to fight any number 
of Blacks. When news arrived at Fort Gibson 
and Fort Scott that the war was over and the 
Negroes emancipated, the Cherokee and Choctaw 
masters yielded with a sullen fury to their loss. 
They kicked the liberated Negroes from their 

Beyond the reach of help from Boston and New 
York, even if Boston and New York had means of 
helping them, how were the Blacks to live ? In 
theory they were now free ; but having neither 
tents nor lodges, where could they find a shelter from 
the snow arid rain ? Without guns and ponies, how 
were they to follow deer and elk? They had no 
nets for taking fish, no snares for catching birds. 
Having no place in any Indian tribe, they had no 
right to stay on any of the tribal lands. Nor were 
they dowered with the invention and resources of 

IN CADDO. 29$ 

men accustomed to the fight for life. Brought up 
with squaws, they had the ways of squaws. Set 
to dig roots, to cut wood, to pitch and pack tents, 
to dry and cure skins, they might dawdle through 
the day, sulking at their toil and muttering oaths 
below their breath. But with the task imposed 
on them they stopped. From labour of a larger 
kind, and from adventure with a dash of peril, 
they recoiled in laziness and fright. A Negro 
seldom rode a horse. Not many Negroes knew the- 
use of firearms. Slaves were never trained by 
Indians to the chase ; for hunting was the trade of 
freeborn braves, the pastime of warriors, seers and 
chiefs. A Negro rarely marched with the young 
braves, and never learnt to lie in wait for scalps. In 
Creek and Seminole creeds, a Negro was a squaw> 
and not a brave. 

A life of servitude unfits a man for independent 
arts. Helpless as a pony or a papoose, the Negro 
was now cut adrift. While he remained a slave he 
had a place in tent and tribe, as part of a chiefs 
family ; having ceased to be a slave, he lost his 
right of counting in the lodge, and sank into the 
grade of outcast. He belonged to no one. As an 


alien he had no place in the system, and the 
country spewed him forth, a waif and stray, whom 
any man might chase and kill. For him there was 
no law, no court, no judge. In every other part 
of the United States a Negro was protected in his 
freedom; but the Indian country is a separate 
commonwealth, in which the White man s law has 
no effect. A Eedskin has his rules ; and while the 
Black men linger on his soil they must submit, 
even though the Redskin s rule should be enforced 
with poisoned arrow, pony-hoof, and salted fire. 

The Creeks and Cherokees have borrowed some 
of the forms of civilised communities. They have 
assemblies, more or less comic ; they have schools 
and justice-rooms, more or less comic. Some of 
the chiefs are hankering after private property in 
land. A few seem not unwilling that their 
boys should learn the English alphabet and the 
Christian Catechism. But none of these good things 
are open to the liberated slave, who still remains on 
Indian territory. A Negro casts no vote. He may 
not send his child to school, or ask a hearing in 
the justice-room. He never owns a rood of soil. 
When kicked from the Indian lodge, as an in- 

AV CADDO. 297 

trader, lie is left to find such food and shelter as 
the waste supplies. Naked and free he wanders 
into space ; he and the poor old squaw whom they 
have given to him as a wife. He dares not squat 
on Indian ground, for though the President pro 
nounces him a free man, his recent master has 
the power to kill him as before, and neither judge 
nor sheriff would attach that master for his blood. 

What wonder that the liberated Negroes melt 
from the Indian soil, much as a herd of ponies turned 
into the waste might melt from the soil ? 

Some hundreds of these emancipated slaves 
have fled across the frontier into Arkansas and 
Texas ; trusting to the White man s sense of jus 
tice for protection in the commoner sort of civil 
rights. But as a rule the poorer people in a 
district cannot seek new homes. Like plants and 
animals, they must brave their lot or sink into the 
soil. To many fugitives from Choctaw lodges and 
Chickasaw tents, Caddo has become a home. 

The site on which these outcasts have squatted 
is a piece of ground abandoned by the Caddoes, a 
small and wandering tribelet, who in former days 
whipt these creeks for fish and raked these woods 


for game. Beduced in numbers, the Caddoes have 
moved into the Washita region, leaving their ancient 
hunting-fields to the coyotes and wolves. In theory 
the district lies in Choctaw country, but the 
Choctaws never occupied this valley, and the coming 
in of railway men, with teams and tools, induced 
the nearer families to move their lodges farther back. 
Caddo, abandoned to the iron horse and liberated 
slave, became a town. A Negro has no legal right 
to squat in Caddo, but squatting is the game of 
folks who stand outside the ordinary law. Others, 
besides unemancipated slaves, show a taste for 
squatting. Have we not here the Oklahoma Star/ 
edited by a man who is neither Choctaw, Negro, 
nor Zambo, but a free rover of the waste, a literary 
Bob Eoy ? 

Barring accidents, the Star comes out once 
a week. On asking for last week s issue we learn 
that no paper appeared last Friday morning, owing 
to the illness of our printer. Some experience of 
the press having taught me that press faults are 
always due to the printer, I enquire no further, 
but on turning to the current sheet my eyes rest 
on a paragraph which explains the matter. Gran- 

IN CADDO. 299 

ville McPlierson appears to be editor of the Star/ 
and Granville McPlierson was at Fort Washita last 
week, on his wedding trip. These facts I find 
announced to the people of Caddo, and to all the 
happy hunting-fields between Eed Eiver and Lime 
stone Gap : 

When, in the course of human events, it becomes 
necessary for the editor of a public journal to 
chronicle to an anxious and waiting world the glad 
tidings of his own nuptials, modesty would dictate 
that it be done in as few words as the solemnity of 
the occasion will admit. Adhering to this principle, 
we will simply say that on the eighteenth instant, 
at Fort Washita, C. N. Granville McPlierson, of the 
Indian Territory, and Mrs. Lydia Star Hunter, of 
Oskaloosa, were united in the holy bonds of matri 
mony. . . . Well, strange things will happen 
sometimes, and why not with us as well any ? 

Strange things will happen ! Yes, strange things 
indeed. To gain a right of settlement in the Choc- 
taw country, Granville McPlierson should have 
taken to himself a Choctaw bride, instead of whom 
he has married Mrs. Star Hunter, of Oskaloosa, Iowa. 
Granville has fallen to his fate. How could an 


editor of the c Oklahoma Star escape being run 
down, when a widow called Mrs. Star Hunter was in 
chase ? 

Caddo, as might be expected from her origin, is 
radical, not to say revolutionary, in her politics. The 
Negroes and their Zambo offspring not being Indians, 
and having no part in the Indian system, the people 
of Caddo wish to change the whole existing order 
of things the separate Indian nationality ; the distri 
bution of Indians into tribes and families; the exclu 
sion of strangers from the Indian country ; the 
abolition of Indian blood-feuds, despotic chiefs, and 
the common property in land. 

6 What do you want to have done by way of 
change ? I ask a Negro politician. 

6 By way of change ? replies the Black radical. 
* Let us change everything. We want to put down 
tribes, to found a regular government, to open the 
Territory to labour and capital, to abolish the rule of 
chiefs, the sale of squaws, and the common pro 
perty in land. That s what we want for others ; but 
we want a few things also for ourselves. Well, hear 
me out. As yet we have acquired no rights. You find 
us here in Caddo, but we are living here by sufferance, 

IN CADDO. 301 

not by right. We have no title in our fields. At 
any hour we may be driven away, without being 
paid a cent for the improvements we have made/ 

Some of the Choctaw chiefs tell me they will 
act justly towards you/ 

c Yes ; so they may ; but who will make them ? 
We require a good deal more than promises from 
chiefs. We want the right to vote, the right to 
hold offices, the right to own land, the right to sit 
on juries, the right to send our lads to school. We 
should like to have these rights secured to us by 
Acts of Congress, not by promises of Choctaw 

Such are the politics of Caddo, a hamlet peopled 
by Negroes and Zambos ; such the principles of the 
Oklahoma Star, a paper edited by a journalistic 
Eob Eoy. 




OKLAHOMA is the name proposed by Creek and 
Cherokee radicals for the Indian countries, when 
the tribes shall have become a people, and the hunt 
ing grounds a State. Enthusiasts, like Adair and 
Boudinot, dream of such a time. These Indians can 
not heal their tribal wounds, nor get their sixteen 
thousand Cherokees to live in peace ; yet they in 
dulge the hope of reconciling Creek and Seminole, 
Choctaw and Chickasaw, under a common rule and 
a single flag. Still more, their hearts go out into a 
day when tribes still wild and pagan Cheyennes, 
Apaches, Kiowas, and other Bad Faces will have 
ceased to lift cattle and steal squaws, will have 
buried the hatchet and scalping-knife, and will have 
learned to read penny fiction and to drink whisky 
like White men. 

That day is yet a long way off. 


A new policy has just been adopted by 
President Grant towards the Eed men, with a view to 
their more speedy settlement and conversion. This 
policy is founded on Franciscan experience, but 
adapted to the principles of a secular state, and the 
existing order of things. In future, the Indians are 
to be received and marked as wards. Driven 
by bayonets into nooks and corners, they are now 
placed under the guidance of certain sects, who feed 
and teach them, and under the inspection of certain 
captains, who watch and shoot them, should they be 
caught roaming across the paper lines. The teachers, 
anxious to please the sects and justify the ways of 
God, have created an ideal Indian country, smiling 
with imaginary ranches, gardens, schools, and 
churches. Every Indian reservation has a school 
fund on paper, and in some settlements there are 
actual sheds called schools. The captains tell another 
tale. These captains have no theories to support. 
When a white ranch has been violated, as at Snake 
Eiver, or a white family scalped, as at Smoky Hill, 
they have to chase and fight the savages. Illusions 
find no place in a frontier post. Now, it is the 
short and simple truth to say that so far as my ex- 


perience reaches no officer who has served on the 
Plains believes that any full-blooded Indian can be 

A Bed man cannot understand a White man s law. 

Take the last decision of Chief Justice 
Waite and his learned brethren of the Supreme 
Court, and ask how either a Creek or Cherokee, 
not to say an Osage or a Kickapoo, is to compre 
hend such law ? Years ago the Indians, as the 
weaker party, became subject to a general law of 
removal by the State from one point to another. If 
their hunting grounds were wanted by White farmers, 
they were forced to move ; but their right and pro 
perty in the soil were not denied, and something like 
a fair exchange of lands was always offered to them. 
On quitting Georgia, the Cherokees obtained a better 
country on the Verdigris. In place of their old 
home, the Creeks and Choctaws got hunting-grounds 
along the Arkansas. The Senecas got the Alleghany ; 
the Oneidas, Green Bay. The Omahas received lands 
on the Missouri, the Crows on Yellowstone, the 
Shoshones on the Snake. No tribe was ever driven 
from home, except on promise of a finer camping- 
ground elsewhere. From Penn and Ogle, therefore, 


to Story and Chace, no one has denied that the 
original title in the land lay with the Ked men. 

But Waite and his learned brethren have wrought 
a sudden change. These magistrates have decided 
that the Indians are not owners of the soil, gene 
rally, or even holders of the fee in their own lands. 
The true proprietor, they assert, is the Government 
of the United States ! 

No Creek, no Choctaw can be made to seize the 
maxims on which Waite proceeds, but the most be 
nighted Indian can understand that his field is not his 
own, that he is only a tenant on the land, and that 
he must no longer cut and sell a pine. 

Under the < new policy, which turns the Eed war 
into pious idyls, and confiscates the whole Indian 
country to the Government, the Indians are displayed 
for public approval in four great classes : 

First. Those that are wild and scarcely tract 
able to any extent beyond that of coming near 
enough to the Government agent to receive blankets 
and rations. 

Second. Indians who are thoroughly convinced 
of the necessity of labour, and are actually under- 
VOL. i. x 


taking it, and with more or less readiness accept the 
direction and assistance of Government agents to 
this end. 

Third. Indians who have come into possession 
of all lands and other property in stock and im 
plements belonging to a landed estate. 

Fourth. A class of roamers and vagrants. 
The first class in this division is said to contain 
ninety- eight thousand souls, including, amongst 
others, Sioux, Utes, Apaches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, 
Comanches and Arapahoes. The second class is 
supposed to contain about fifty-two thousand souls, 
including, amongst others, Osages, Kickapoos, Pai- 
Utes, Shoshones, Pawnees, and Navajos. The third 
class is believed to number a hundred thousand 
souls, including, amongst others, Creeks, Choctaws, 
Cherokees, Seminoles, and Chippewas. The fourth 
class is more difficult to estimate ; but it is guessed 
at twenty or thirty thousand souls, including, amongst 
others, Winnebagoes, Sacs, Pottawatomies, and 
such broken up bands of Shoshones and Utes 
as those of Labeta and Cornea. Such classes 
and figures may amuse the sectaries, who are now 
trying on the Plains the great Christian experiment 

OKLAHOMA. 3 o 7 

which the Franciscans tried in California. But the 
Classification is too vague and weak for practical life, 
and is thrust aside by men who have to deal with 
living facts. 

These practical men know two Indian classes 

I. Wild Indians. 
II. Half- wild Indians. 

All the great families and tribes are wild : Sioux, 
Utes, Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Navajos, and the like. 
These are the Eed men who have never been sub 
dued and fixed. Pagan, predatory, and nomadic, 
these Indians count about two hundred thousand 
souls ; and are the true Eed men, unmixed witli 
alien blood, untouched by alien creeds. 

The second class contains the smaller Indian 
families, who, from contact with White men, have 
been half-subdued and fixed: Mission Indians of 
California, Pueblo Indians of Arizona, Senecas in 
New York, Chippewas in Michigan, Winnebagoes 
in Nebraska, Choctaws. and Cherokees in Okla 
homa, and their fellows everywhere. These Indians, 
mostly surrounded by White settlers, count about 

x 2 


a hundred thousand souls, the salvage of mighty 
nations which have passed away. They have been, 
tamed a little, and thinned off very much. In fact, 
an Indian fears White customs, chiefly because he 
finds that the first step taken in our civilisation is a 
step towards his physical ruin and moral death. 

Colonel Stevens, an officer with much experience 
of savage life, tells me he was employed on the Plains, 
as Government engineer, to build a number of stone 
houses for the Indian chiefs. These tenements were 
designed as baits to catch their tribes. In six months 
all his tenements were gone, sold to the White men 
for a few kegs of whisky. One big chief, Long 
Antelope, kept his house, and Stevens rode to see 
their chief as being a man of higher hope than others 
of his race. He found Long Antelope smoking 
in a tent pitched near the window of his house. 

Why living in a tent, Long Antelope, when 
you have a good house ? 

Long Antelope smiled. House good for pony, 
no good for warrior ugh ! 

Stevens went in, and found Long Antelopes 
pony stalled in the dining-room. 

_ A house, says Stevens, is too much for a full 


blood Indian s brain. The only notion you can get 
into such a fellow s head, is, that to settle down 
means to wrap his shoulders in a warm blanket 
instead of in a skin, to loaf about the Agency instead 
of going out to hunt, and to spend his time in 
smoking and drinking instead of in taking scalps/ 




* You fear the full-bloods cannot be reclaimed ? I 
ask Colonel Stevens. 

I never knew a pure Indian settle down to 
any kind of work. He is a hunter and a warrior,, 
and to touch a spade or plough is to soil his noble 
hands. The Mestizos have a chance ; though they 
are weighted by their savage blood. They start 
well, for their father is, in almost every case, a 

On crossing from the Creek country to the Choctaw 
country, by way of the Canadian river, we arrive at 
a store and mill, kept by a brave Scot, named 
McAlister. A rolling prairie spreads around, with 
pines and cedars on the heights, and rivulets 
trickling here arid there. McAlister came into the 
Indian land by chance. The country pleased him, 
and, unlike his countryman, McPherson, of Caddo,. 


he settled down legally on the soil by taking a 
Choctaw wife, and getting himself adopted by the 
tribe. McAlister, like a brave Scot, has bought and 
sold, scraped and saved. From flour to whisky, 
everything that an Indian wants to buy, McAlister 
has to sell. By adding field to field, and farm to- 
farm, McAlister is getting nearly all the land of this 
Frame into his own hands. In time his ranch will 
be a town ; that town will bear his name. 

These White intruders have no trouble in 
marrying Indian wives ? I ask a friend in the 
Chickasaw nation. 

6 In marrying Indian wives ! You talk of marri 
age like a White. Marry ha, ha ! Not many of 
these fellows go to church. An Indian s notion of 
marriage is the theft or purchase of a squaw. Fut 
down your money, and you have your pick of his 
lodge, without the blessing of a parson or the 
signature of a clerk. For twenty dollars you can 
buy a girl, and claim, through her, adoption by the 

Is the adoption easy ? 

Very easy. As a rule, the adoption goes with 
the Indian girl. If any Bad face makes a row, a 


keg of whisky sets things straight. Whisky is 

Nearer to Bed Eiver, in a green bottom, with a 
wooded ridge on either side, we find a White ranch ; 
a house with fence and garden, in which a Pale-face 
lives with his Indian bride. The man is Bob Beams, 
a brother of the American sculptress Vinnie Beams. 
Bob came into this valley, bought a Chickasaw wife, 
and settled in the tribe, where he has managed 
to annex no little of the soil. The valley bears his 
name. His wife, whom he delights to call the 
Princess, is a tall, lithe woman ; and his Mestizo son, 
Young Bob, has wild antelope eyes. Squaw Beams 
is said to put on war-paint now and then. Some 
months ago Bob got into trouble at a whisky bar, 
and was lodged in jail, on which his Princess went 
out, morally, on the war path. Bob in jail? Then 
he s a failure ! cried his squaw, and no little force 
had to be used by her kith and kin to prevent her 
from quitting his ranch, renouncing her allegiance, 
and returning to her savage life. 

Only one man in four among the Cherokees is 
now of pure blood, says Boudinot. Billy Boss, 
though representing Indian legends and traditions, 


is a mongrel. Frank Overton, the Chickasaw chief, 
is a mongrel, and a handsome fellow. In these half- 
wild tribes the chiefs are nearly all of mongrel 
blood. The Indians hate these chiefs, but fear them 
more than they detest. Not so with the Chino and 
the Zambo. These poor creatures are both hated 
and despised. No living creature can be held in 
greater scorn than a Black man is held by a Eed. 

6 Not many weeks ago, says the son of Strong 
Buck, I went up to the Capitol, in Washington, to 
hear a grand palaver on the policy to be adopted 
towards my nation, and I found a Negro in the 
Speaker s chair ! While saying so, the young Eed 
chief is sad ; sad, to use his own phrase, as a wood 
in autumn. He knew the Negroes as a servile 
race, and the man whom he saw presiding over this 
debate, of so much moment to his tribe, had been 
a slave. A coloured man, sighs Boudinot, and 
yesterday a slave ! 

That men of the White race, leaders of old and 
mighty States, should sit under a Black fellow and 
obey his nod, seems to the son of Strong Buck very 
strange. Yet this strange sight was not so galling to 
the Cherokee as the fact that a coward and a slave 


should be seen ruling, even for a moment, the 
councils of an assembly which has the power of 
dealing with the rights of a people like the Cherokees 
a people untameably brave and irnmemorially free. 
Everyone, sighs the young Cherokee, c appears 
to have rights in this republic except the original 
owners of the soil. 

The son of Strong Buck and nephew of Stand 
Watie cannot see that this new position of the Negro- 
is an accident, not a growth, having no better 
foundation than the quicksands of a party vote. 
Even if the Cherokee intellect could grasp the situa 
tion as a whole, such contrasts as those presented at 
Washington and in Talequah would still be great. 
A contrast in the Negro s position lies at his gate, and 
startles him on passing his frontier line. 

To the south of Eed Eiver, a Negro may be any 
thing for which he possesses brain enough from 
sweep to senator, from newsboy to Chief Justice, 
from railway porter to President. To the north of 
that river, in the Indian country, he can never rise 
beyond the condition of a waif and stray, even 
though he have the brain of Newton. He can 
obtain no more right in the soil than a bear or 


buffalo. South of Bed Kiver he is the pet of a 
great party, an object of attention to all parties, 
who desire to have the benefit of his vote. North of 
Eed Biver, he is the scorn of every buck and squaw, 
who still regard him as a beast to be cuffed and 
spurned, though he has ceased to be a chattel to 
be bought and sold. South of Eed Eiver, no man 
can hurt a Negro s dog without being answerable to 
the law ; north of Eed Eiver a man may take the 
Negro s scalp without being called to answer for his 

What wonder that the Negro moves into the 
South, and tries to put Eed Eiver between his scalp 
and the impending knife ? 

Texas, is not a model country ; in respect of 
public order many things may be improved ; yet, 
in Texas, since the war, a -Negro has the same 
right as any other citizen to a settlement on the 
soil. A member of the body politic, he votes, 
gives evidence, serves on juries, sends his imps to 
school. He owns property and holds office. In 
brief, so far as law can make him equal, he is a 
White man s peer. 

The Eed man seeks in vain to understand why 


the great Father in Washington, who takes away his 
own lands and forests, made over to him by treaty, in 
exchange for other lands and forests, to be his 
own, according to Indian usages, as long as grain 
grows and water runs/ should give the Black man 
so many rights and privileges, that he is everywhere 
equal, in many places superior, to the White men. 
Creeks and Cherokees give up the puzzle. In Tali- 
quah, chief camp of the Cherokees nation, a little 
sheet of news is printed by a mixed blood editor, 
from which I cut this paragraph a summary of the 
Eed Question, as the matters strike an educated 
Cherokee : 

As a people we are not prepared for American 
citizenship. Not that we are not sufficiently intelli 
gent, or honest, or industrious, or lack much of any 
of those substantial qualities which go to make a 
person fit to be free anywhere. But that we have 
not that training in and experience of those arts of 
guile which a condition of freedom authorizes, if it 
does not encourage, to be employed against the 
unsuspecting both being equally free to cheat and 
be cheated as a national right. 


In answer to this hint of a perpetual separation 
of the Eed community in America from the White, 
a company of White men are building a town, a 
frontier post, from which they threaten to invade, 
acquire, and annex the Eed man s land. 




EROM Caddo to Eecl Eiver is a bee-line of thirty 
miles. A clearing in the jungle has been made 
near the river-bank, and the name of Eed Eiver 
City has been printed on local maps ; but not a 
single shanty, not even a ticket-office, or landing 
stage, or a drinking crib, has yet been built. The 
city consists of a rock cutting and a trussle bridge. 
Eed Eiver city is not even a ghost of a city, with 
imaginary squares and roads, like those unborn 
paradises on the Bay of San Francisco, which are 
waiting for the good time. As yet the Chickasaws 
and Choctaws lie too near. In time a town may 
look across Eed Eiver into the Chickasaw country, 
but the time will not arrive until the Eedskins shall 
have ceased to live in tribes, to hold their lands in 
common, and obey the orders of despotic chiefs. 
Yet, as a town was needed on the frontier, not 



for local traffic only, but for the security and supply 
of a long chain of Indian posts, including Fort Sill, 
Fort Griffin, and Fort Bichardson, a town was 
ordered to be built, and has accordingly been built. 

The story of Denison City is as curious, in its 
way, as the story of Salinas City ; for Denison in 
Texas, like Salinas in California, is built by English 
enterprise, with English gold. 

Five miles from the bridge over Eed Eiver, 
Colonel Stevens, engineer of the Texas and Kansas 
railways, found a safer and better site. The 
Colonel (in whose company we have the great 
advantage of seeing these countries) is a man of vast 
experience in the ways of savage life. No one in 
the service knows the Eedskins better, or the 
land on which they live so well. A town was needed 
on the frontier, and he chose the site, instead of 
leaving the locality to chance. A rolling prairie, 
with a grove of ancient oaks, arrested his attention, 
and on finding the plateau drained by a pretty 
runnel, fed by many living springs, he paused, and 
looked about. At points, the rock cropped out, 
and here and there, outside the grove of oaks, 
lay strips of open country, dotted with single trees. 
Around the plateau rolled a rich and level country, 


with a soil adapted for the growth of cotton, rice, 
and maize. 

A sheet of paper was produced ; streets, squares, 
roads and lines were marked. The grove was set 
apart for public use. A school was marked, and 
the young city being named Denison, a day was 
fixed when corner lots were to be sold. Stevens 
assured the first bidders that a railway depot would 
be built. Denison was to be the magazine of Fort 
Eichardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Sill. A line of 
telegraphs was to connect these posts. Ice-houses, 
slaughtering -yards, and cotton-compressors were to 
follow. Such were the promises held out to specu 
lators in main streets and corner lots, and as the 
railways are owned in England, and the promises 
were made on English good faith, the Jews who 
came up from Dallas and Shreveport to look on, 
were satisfied that the town would prosper. Sheds 
began to rise. But logs for building purposes were 
scarce. Oak is too hard for use ; the yellow- 
pine country lies a hundred miles off; yet lumber- 
teams soon began to hail in Main Street. Finding- 
a market opening for planks, three firms in St. 
Louis sent down several loads of white pine. 
These planks and boards had to come nearly six 


hundred miles by train. A good market seldom fails 
to find supplies, and when the lumberers heard that 
pines were wanted in Denison, they sent in teams, 
though Denison was a place unknown to maps, and 
charts. Work went merrily on. The Nelson House 
was roofed, the Adams House begun. Shanties here 
and there sprang up. Negroes from Caddo and Vinita, 
Jews from Dallas, Shreveport, and Galveston, row 
dies and gamblers from every quarter of the 
compass, flocked into the town. A bar, an auction 
mart, a dancing room, were opened. In six months 
Denison had a thousand citizens of various colours 
and persuasions, and was famed from Dallas to 
Galveston as the livest town in all Texas/ 

Twenty-eight months have hardly passed since 
Colonel Stevens drew his plan on that sheet of 
paper, and Denison is now a town of four thousand 
five hundred souls. The railway depot occupies a 
quarter of the town and near this depot stand the 
slaughtering-yards, two vast ice-houses, the cotton- 
compressor, four churches, five taverns, and an 
unknown number of faro-banks. 

Denison can already boast of a mayor, eight 
aldermen, all honest democrats ; a recorder, who 

VOL. i. y 


is a terror to evildoers, and a Board of Trade. In 
strolling about the town, we notice a Masonic lodge, 
a Good Templar lodge, and a Base Ball Club. But 
the chief glory of Denison is the school-house, a red 
brick edifice, in the American Tudor style, so com 
mon in the Southern States. This pile cost forty- 
five thousand dollars, every cent of which was 
raised on loans in Capel Court. What singular 
corners of the earth are fertilized by English gold ! 
If Denison prospers, the money-lenders may 
receive their own again, and feel that they have 
helped in a good cause. Eough, noisy, profligate, 
Denison is a very live place. Much drink is put 
away in little time. The day is Sunday, yet bars 
are open and billiard-balls click at every turn. 
Gay women flaunt about the streets, and hucksters 
quarrel in their cups on every kerbstone. Yet how 
near the pastoral nature seems to lie ! Trees grow 
in Main street, and stumps of trees choke up the 
avenues right and left of Main street. Antelopes are 
tethered in yards. Cows wander up and down, 
and hang familiarly about the gates. Girls fetch 
in water from the creeks, and mustangs, still unbroken 
to the collar, tear across trackless leas of grass. 


Judging from the streets, the Negroes must be 
half the population of this frontier town. Not a 
single Chickasaw or Choctaw can be seen. No Beel- 
.skin lives at Denison ; yet Denison i$ something 
more than a depot for Fort Sill and a refuge for 
emancipated slaves. It is a camp of enemies to the 
Heel man. 

Before we had been ten days in America, a 
gentleman in a Potomac steamer, seeing me mark 
some passages in a morning paper, with a view 
to future use, came up and said to me : 

4 Guess you re a correspondent of the New York 
press ? 

No, sir ; I am a visitor from the old country/ 

Ha ! an Englishman ! You know Ulysses S. 
Grant ? 

I have that privilege. 

Guess you can tell me what he is going to do 
with the Indians ? I m Texas-born, and represent 
the Spread Eagle ; guess you ve heard of the Spread 
Eagle ? No ! That s strange-. Well, I ve come out 
East to learn what the President means to do with 
the Indian territory. If he is going to open up the 
-country, we are ready at the gates. All Denison, 

Y 2 


will move across Eed Eiver. Caddo is nearer to 
Fort Sill than Denison, and would suit the Govern 
ment better as a magazine of arms and stores. 
Two words %long the wires, just l Go ahead, would 
bring ten thousand men to Denison, Caddo, and 
Limestone Gap in less than a week. That 
country, Sir, is the garden of America. If Ulysses- 
S. Grant will only give the sign, I guess our Texan 
horse will soon be picketed on the Arkansas. 

I fear that editor is right. Five years after the 
Indian countries are opened up to capital and labour, 
as every part of a republic must be opened to the 
citizens of that republic, the Creeks and Cherokees. 
will own no more soil in Oklahoma than they own 
in Massachusetts and New York. 




A TEXAX is a mounted man ; a knight, who rides 
and carries arms. The air is hot, and swells in 
mortal veins. Under Sam Houston, there was a 
Texan boast that every White settler in the land had 
killed a Mexican and scalped a Eedskin. Later on, 
the saying of the country ran that every White man 
owned a mustang and a slave. The slave being gone, 
the sense of lordship takes another shape. Now, the 
legend runs, that every Texan owns a horse, a dog, 
and a gun ; a horse that never slackens speed, a dog 
that never drops his scent, a gun that never misses 

Like his Eed neighbour, the Kickapoo, a Texan is 
a hunter ; but, unlike his neighbour, the Kickapoo, 
a Texan never hunts. At every ranch we find a 
mustang hitched to a rail ; on every track we meet 


armed and mounted men ; yet nowhere have we seen 
much evidence of devotion to the chase. Wild game 
abounds. On every side, except the side-board, we 
see elk and antelope, snipe and quail, leveret 
and prairie-fowl. Nature has done her part, and 
done it well ; but man has not found time, as yet, to 
use her gifts. The fight for life is still too hard for 
men to ask for anything more dainty than campaign 
ing fare. 

4 Game ! cries a comrade in the dining-room ; 
guess the only game we Texans care about is 
poker. Dine where you may at prairie ranch, 
at roadside inn, at railway restaurant the beef is 
all leather, the bacon all fat ; and when you ask for 
another dish, you are served with more beef all 
leather, and more bacon all fat. Prom Denison to 
Hearne, from Hearne to Galveston, the plains of 
Texan are dotted with cattle. Steers browse on 
every knoll, heifers make pastorals at every pool. 
Here now, you whisper to yourself, is a country 
of wholesome food fresh meat, pure milk, new 
butter, native cheese ; here, after courses of jerked 
antelope and alkaline water, we shall have a chance 
of growing strong on simple meat and wholesome 


drink. Sore is your surprise on asking the Texans 
for this simple meat and wholesome drink. 

A cut of beef is laid before you. Beef ! What 
kind of beef? Is not this buffalo steak ? 

No, Sir, explains your host, this beef is cow 
meat, or it maybe bull meat. If it were only fresh 
it would be good enough. 

Why is it not fresh ? 

You see it has to come a long way, and must 
first be dried and packed. We have to fetch our beef 
from St. Louis, seven or eight hundred miles by 
car, seventeen or eighteen hundred miles by boat. 
We have no time to grow our own food. Texas 
is a grazing country ; in the future she may supply 
America with beef and butter ; but she is still 
dependent on the North for what she eats and 

You ask for milk a glass of fresh, cold milk. 
Some warm and greasy stuff is poured into your 
cup : This is the only milk we have. It is New 
England milk, prepared in cans, and warranted to 
keep in any climate. If you ask for butter, you get 
a mixture of grease and brine. 

Living in a wild country, with Comanches on 


the north and Kickapoos on the south, the Texans 
have not yet acquired that solid hold of the soil 
which lends a platform to domestic arts. A chain of 
military posts runs through the land, from Fort 
Eichardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Worth, in the 
upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and 
Fort Clarke, in the lower counties. Every season, 
some portions of the State are overrun by savages 
from Mexico ; not such gentle savages as those who 
stream into Shefelah and Sharon, eating the grapes, 
drinking the water, and fighting the peasantry, but 
monsters in human shape, who steal into the settled 
parts in search of cows and ponies, scalps and girls. 
There are no milking-maids and dairy-maids in 
Texas. If the farmers had such girls they would not 
dare to send them out into the cattle-runs. The 
Kickapoos would whisk them off into Mexico. Men 
with rifles and revolvers have enough to do if they 
would mind their cows and keep their scalps. 

A settler here and there has introduced domestic 
arts, but only for his family use. The mass of settlers 
keep their pails and churns down East. They find 
dried meat from Illinois, canned milk from Vermont, 
and salt butter from Ontario cheaper than they can 


make them on the spot. Some farmers lay the blame 
on climate, soil, and water, as unfavourable to the 
dairy trade. 

A fine country, Sir, but wild/ says a stock- 
raiser, with whom we swap drinks at a roadside bar ; 
everything is wild. You can only keep a cow tame 
for a year or so. All herds go back on nature. I 
brought some short-horns out from Essex ; in three 
lives they have all gone back to long-horns. 

A Texan builds no cattle-sheds. Once he has 
turned his herds into the grazing lands, he lets 
them run wild, and stay out all the year. Who 
knows w r hat happens with such herds ? 

If left alone all animals go wild ; a steer but 
some degrees faster than a lad. The son of a White 
man who had been stolen as a child by Kickapoos 
and mated in their tribe has been found as savage 
&s an ordinary Kickapoo. 

Some persons blame the Negroes as the evil 
demons of this country, charging them with a pro 
pensity to acts of violence, a disposition to abuse 
whatever favour they obtain, and an extreme anti 
pathy to family order and domestic arts. Some 
grains of truth there are in what these critics urge. 


The Negro, as he lives in Texas, is a savage, but 
without the virtues of a Cherokee. Unbroken to 
the yoke, he hardly understands the meaning of a 
moral code, a social compact, or a family law. To 
him domestic arts are figments of the brain, and 
family order is a vision in the clouds. In moral 
sense he rises no higher than a Kickapoo ; in per 
sonal rectitude he sinks below the Kickapoo. 

In Texas, three races are in contact and conflict ; 
each race against the other two races ; Eed men 
against White and Black ; Black men against Eed 
and White ; White men against Black and Eed. 
The calendar of crime in Texas is a fearful record, 
and the darkest portion of that record is the list of 
Negro crime. 

At every ranch we hear of Negro frays and 
fights, beginning for the greater part in drink, and 
ending for the greater part in bloodshed. Since 
the Negro became a citizen he has acquired the 
faculty of buying whisky and getting drunk, a gift 
of liberty denied to his Eed brother ; and one more 
precious in his sight than that of voting for a village 
justice or even for a member of Congress. 

White people, as a rule, pay no attention to 
these Negro quarrels, White people caring no more 


whether a Black fellow kills his comrade than they 
care whether a Bedskiii scalps his neighbour. We 
learn, on good authority, that there were three 
thousand murders in Texas last year, and that 
nearly all these murders were committed by Xegroes 
on their brother blacks. A few were Indian 
outrages, committed by the Kickapoos and Kiowas 
who swarm across the border out of Mexico in search 
of cows and girls ; but these few Indian murders 
were not enough in number to affect the main results. 
But though the White men stand aloof, in pity and 
contempt, as they might stand apart when street-dogs 
or wild bulls are fighting, such offences help to 
keep Texas a savage country, and to stop the growth 
of villages on plains, which at the best are only one 
remove from desert wastes. 

But when a Black man kills a White man, blood 
is certain to be shed ; for neither race has yet 
acquired much confidence in the courts of law. In 
a society so young as that of Texas, courts of law 
are swayed by every storm of public passion, and 
the judges, chosen by a popular vote, feel bound to 
rule as the majority dictates. Hence verdicts are 
the sport of party victories. An Asiatic Greek 
believes he has some chance of getting justice from 


a Turk ; a Kabyle in Algeria thinks lie lias some 
chance of getting justice from a Gaul ; a Tartar in 
Kazan imagines lie lias some chance of getting jus 
tice from a Muscovite ; but a Negro in Texas never 
dreams of getting justice from a Conservative judge, 
and a White man in Texas never leaves the duty of 
revenge to a Eepublican judge. In case of a col 
lision, there is not much difference in the mode of 
settling matters. Whether fair or dusky, men 
whose friends have been injured by the other party 
are ready to enact the parts of sheriffs, jurors, 
judges, and hangmen, on the shortest notice. 

Take the latest case, as an example. On Sunday 
last, Zete Fly, a stalwart Negro, trudging on the 
road near Moulton, a village in Gonzales County, 
passed a White boy, named Dick Dixon, who was 
hardly fourteen years of age. Some words arose. 
Ply whipt out his pistol, fired at the lad, tearing his 
arm from elbow to shoulder, and left him bleeding 
in the road. Tom Dixon, elder brother of the boy, 
ran after Zete, and finding him shut up in his shanty, 
challenged him to come out and fight. Instead of 
-coming out to fight Zete barred and logged his door. 

Come out ! cried Tom. Zete skulked behind 


his logs and bars. Then Tom began to beat the 
door and threaten to smash the planks. Zete slid his 
bar, opened his door, and fired his pistol. Tom fell 

Four or five settlers, hearing the shot, came up 
from Moulton, and were soon aware how matters 
stood. Brief parley led to stern resolve. Dead or 
alive Zete must be arrested on the spot and carried 
to Sheriff De Witt, in Gonzales, the county town, 
together with the witnesses of his guilt. 

They summoned Zete to yield himself a prisoner ; 
he defied them to come in and take him. To- 
attack a desperate fellow was to risk a second life, 
and perhaps a third, and no one cared, in such 
ignoble quarrels, to be shot. The settlers thought 
of fire. It is an easy thing to burn a fellow in a 
log cabin, and Zete himself caved in as soon as he 
perceived their drift. 

At four in the afternoon, as the sun was setting, 
two settlers started with the prisoner for Gonzales. 
The night was closing in, when they were met by 
seven or eight mounted men, who called a halt. The 
darkness hid the features of these persons, but their 
purpose was apparent in their acts. They took the 


murderer from his escort, strapped his legs under 
his horse, and placing him in their centre, struck into 
the open Plains. 

Having lost their man, and thinking the affair over 
and their duty done, the two settlers jogged along 
the road. Nobody at Gonzales seemed to care for 
Zete. The night was Sunday, and the people were 
at evening service. What was there to say ? Zete 
had committed murder, and a murderer s doom is 
death. If he were hanged by the rescuers substan 
tial justice would be done. So thinking, the citizens 
in Gonzales drank their whisky and went to bed, 
giving the criminal and his captors no further 

Next day intelligence reached Sheriff De Witt 
that Zete, though sorely wounded, was still alive. A 
second party had appeared. A fight had taken place, 
another rescue had been made, and Zete, exalted in 
Negro eyes by his double crime, was lying at a ranch 
on the Plains, guarded by forty well-armed blacks. 

This tale was true. When the White captors, 
having no confidence in public justice, were about 
to hang the murderer, a much stronger Black party, 
having no confidence in public justice, were gather 
ing to save him from the rope. These parties met. 


Forty against seven are long odds. The seven fell 
back, and Zete, though injured by a gunshot, was 
released and carried off by his Negro partisans. 

On Tuesday morning Sheriff De Witt rode out 
with half Gonzales at his side. As they approached 
the ranch where Zete was lying, they looked and 
listened for sign and sound none came ; the ranch 
was silent as a tomb. On peering through the door, 
De Witt perceived two corpses, and on touching the 
bodies he found they were still warm. One corpse 
was that of Zete Fly ; the other that of an unknown 
Negro. Both bodies were riddled with shots, so 
were the wall and door. A short and bloody fight 
had evidently taken place, but who the combatants 
were no sign remained to tell. The work of 
death was done the ministers of doom were gone. 

Later in the day, some Negroes who had aided 
in the fight and rescue came before De Witt and 
told him that a party of White men had come that 
morning to the ranch and summoned the Negroes 
to surrender Zete Fly. The party being too strong for 
the Negroes to fight, many of them ran away ; but one 
man, braver than his crew, had raised his gun, and 
standing in front of Zete, had challenged his enemies 
to come on. A White volley struck them dead. 




SUCH conflicts are the curse of Texas ; yet one 
sees no end of them till the country has been 
settled, the roads have become safe, and the courts 
have been purged of party spirit. The White settlers 
are gaining ground, but they are still too near the 
Indian lodges for security, and too near the day 
of Negro rule for peace and confidence. 

c Our blood is hot/ says an English settler, who 
tells me he has learned to like the country very 
much, c but we are mending day by day, especially 
in the towns. We drink less liquor, and invoke 
more law. Eemove the whisky-shops, and we 
shall show as few white crimes of violence in Texas- 
as they show in Georgia and South Carolina. Whisky 
is cheap and every one drinks hard. Such crimes 
as stain our name, apart from drunken rows, 
are the results of fear, and have their source in our 


unsettled state. We are not strong enough to 
overlook offences. Why do we carry arms? 
From fear of an attack. Why do we fire so readily ? 
In order to forestall a blow. When people feel 
secure, they cease to shoot each other in the 

c But in the country in the cattle-runs, and on 
the cotton plantations ? 

In the cattle-runs we are rather wild ; knowing 
hardly any ministers of justice save the hatchet and 
revolver. But remember where the cattle-runs lie : 
within an easy ride of Kickapoo tents. The 
cotton-yards are better than the cattle-runs ; the 
Negro being less brutal, if more vicious, than the 
Kickapoo. I cannot say that in Texas a fellow 
thinks it wrong to kill his creditor, his wife s 
seducer, and his tipsy comrade. 

It will be long ere Austin and Indianola are as 
tame as Norwich and Yarmouth, but the Anglo- 
Saxon blood is there, with all its staying power. A 
few English ladies would assist the progress of 
refining much. A lady never feels her sceptre till 
she finds herself the empress of some frontier State. 

At Dallas, a gentleman from Missouri is good 
VOL. i. z 


enough to offer me a fine estate, if I will only take 
it off his hands. My land, he says, with a sad 
humour, lies on the upper reaches of the Brazos, 
in a lovely country and a healthy climate. There 
are woods and pastures, water rights and fisheries. 
It is not so large a place as Kent, yet a swift rider 
would hardly cross it in a day. 

This fine demesne is the owner s big elephant :, 
a source of cost and trouble which destroys his life. 
He has to pay the public tax on land. He has to 
hire men to guard his timber. Yet the place has 
never yet yielded him a cent. The ruin of the 
war, he says, added to the raids of Kiowas and 
Kickapoos, prevents the march of settlers towards 
the upper Brazos. But for the Negroes and Indians, 
Brazos would be a paradise. When these two 
plagues are gone, all parts of Texas will be as free 
from marauders as the neighbourhood of Dallas/ 

My friend has reason to believe that Kiowas and 
Kickapcos hunt game in his preserves, that Mestizo 
herdsmen crop his grass, that White foresters cut and 
sell his wood. Yet how is he to charge them rent ? 
His title to the land is perfect ; but once, on going to 
see his place, he tells me, he received a notice to 


return the way he came, unless he wished to see 
strange sights. This message brooked no fencing ; 
and he rode away that night, leaving his protest with 
some district judge. An agent whom he afterwards 
sent out was shot. 

It is a good thing, says my friend, to have a 
fine cattle-run, but a man who owns a good cattle- 
run on the upper Brazos, ought to live out West, 
and keep things square. 

What do you think of us now ? asks a citizen 
of Galveston county. 

You seem to have a big estate wood, water, 

6 Grass is a cuss. You see these fields near the 
creek : they re under cotton. Cotton is king. You 
think we might have meat and milk ? We might ; 
but then who cares to throw away his chance ? No 
man ever got rich on meat and milk. Dollars are 
what we want ; dollars from St. Louis and Chicago ; 
dollars from Boston and New York ; and neither 
St. Louis nor Chicago, Boston nor New York would 
send us a coin if we began killing our own calf 
and milking our own cow. If we had no need for 
Eastern dollars, we d divide. 


6 Divide ? You mean that you would break the 
Union ? 

Yes ; most Texans hereabouts are ready to 
divide. The case of New Orleans warns us. 
Having lately passed through fire, we feel the 
anguish of Louisiana in our hearts. Look at our 
case, and tell me the sort of justice we are likely to 
obtain from the republicans of Boston and New 

In Texas the brief period of Negro supre 
macy was a bitter trial for the Whites, some of 
whom saw their former menials sitting over them 
as judges, legislators, and tax collectors. Many of 
these Negro judges, legislators and tax-collectors 
could barely read their letters and sign their names. 
Confusion then seemed chaos. Crime increased, 
income- decreased. Bates were raised, till property 
was taxed beyond the power to pay. Houses fell 
empty. Land became a burthen and a curse. 

Instead of keeping within the law these ignorant 
rulers trampled justice under foot. Under the lead 
of carpet-baggers a low class of adventurers from 
the North and covered by the presence of Federal 
troops, they seized the ballot-boxes and drove White 


voters from the polling-booths. A White citizen 
could hardly cast his vote. Unless some friendly 
Negro led him up and vouched for him as a scala 
wag, he could hardly reach his balloting-urn. The 
Blacks were mostly armed, the Whites were all dis 
armed. In every village row White blood was shed. 

Thank God those shameful days are gone for 
ever/ says a planter of more moderate vein. The 
Black tyranny and the Black legislature have van 
ished, never again to blight our cities with a curse. 

Gone without violence P 

Yes, by natural causes ; gone as all bad things 
should go : by means of natural law. Europe has 
saved us from the curse of Negro rule. 

It is the immigration, chiefly flowing in from 
Liverpool to Galveston and Indianola, that has 
restored the balance of White power in Texas. Ex 
cept the runaways from Eed Eiver, few Negroes have 
entered Texas ; while, since the war, more than a 
hundred thousand Whites have come in from English 
ports. Untainted by secession, these settlers get their 
votes the moment they apply, and they have nearly 
always cast them on the Conservative side. Eace 
counts. A clown just landed from an English deck 


will take his part, without a word being said to him, 
in favour of his White brother against the Negro and 
the Kickapoo. A White League starts up in opposi 
tion to a Eed League on one side, to a Black 
League on the other side. Ku Klux is but a White 
counter part of the Cherokee Light Horse. 

Last year, by help of these in-comers from 
Europe, the White Leaguers of Texas beat the army 
of Black Leaguers and their partisans at the polling- 
booths, carrying all their candidates for the 
Executive Coke for Governor, De Berry for Secre 
tary of State, Eoberts for Chief Justice. Six Con 
servatives are going to represent the State in Wash 
ington. The scalawags are routed, and the White 
citizens have recovered the full control of their 

In riding towards the South we overtake a party 
of the new legislators on their way to Austin, where 
the Chambers are about to meet. They are attorneys, 
planters, doctors, and the like ; a natural aristocracy 
in a frontier State ; a jovial set of fellows, with a 
spice of rough old English humour in their talk. 

When you get to Austin as masters what will 
you do ? 


Do ? laughs one of them. We mean to have 
a good time. We shall revise the new Scalawag 
Constitution, and give the poor down-trodden Whites 
a chance. 

6 And then ? 

Guess then, he laughs still more, we ll fill 
our trunks. What should we go to Austin for? 
You see these gentlemen. Every man among the 
lot has an empty box in the luggage van. Hish ! 
When we come back these boxes will be full. Why 
else is Coke made Governor, De Berry Secretary 
of State P Have not we as much right to rob the 
Treasury as those scalawags ? On my return from 
Austin, I bet you ll not be able to lift this trunk ! 

We laugh and tell some jest about our way of 
doing things in London when one party is going out 
and the other party coming in. A fellow with the 
manner of a ranting preacher creeps behind and 
whispers in my ear, You smile, Sir ; by the eternal 
heavens it s true. 

Do you expect to have any more Black trouble 
in Texas ? 

None, snaps one of the members, merrily ; no 
more Black trouble, except what springs from the 


Black women. These women are a curse. Squaws 
are bad enough, heaven knows, but Negresses are 
ten times worse. We frontier folk aren t angels, but 
these coloured women have no souls at all. Five 
Negresses in six will go any lengths to get a drink. 

At Houston we notice that the hotel servants are 
White ; a thing we have not seen, except in one house 
at San Francisco, since we left New York. Here 
the advertisements run : all the servants White and 
polite. A Negro with a vote is always lazy and 
often saucy, and this laziness and sauciness are 
threatening to deprive him of his daily bread. Pat 
and Karl fetch higher wages than Sam, but 
managers of big hotels must please their customers, 
even though they drive the Negro from a market 
which was once his own. 

A gentleman of good position and large ex 
perience says to me in Galveston : 

c In Texas there never was a majority of coloured 
people. When our slaves were freed, we counted 
more than two fair heads for every woolly head. 
Living in a republic, with the weight of numbers 
on our side, we had a right to choose our rulers, 
magistrates, and tax assessors. If our brethren at 


the North were minded to deny our wealth, intelli 
gence, and enterprise, they could not rob us of our 
majority of votes, except through treason to the 
first principle of a Eepublic. Such was their 
case and ours. Forget our common origin our 
blood, our history, our literature, our civilised 
life things which we hold in common from our 
English ancestry ; and in the absence of all ties 
of memory and affection, we demand, as members 
of a free society, the right of settling things by 
a majority of voices. 

Such a claim is hardly to be denied in a Ee 

Yet that claim was set aside by President 
Grant. For what? Because he hankered after a 
second term, and needed Southern votes. A gang 
of dollar-hunters swarmed into Texas, not to settle 
in the country, but to eat it up ; fellows having no 
stake in the soil, no knowledge of the people, no 
concern with planting towns, no interest in pro 
moting order. Backed by Federal officers, they or 
ganized Black clubs, and convened private meetings 
of scalawags. Seizing our electoral lists, they put 
in names and struck out names, according to their 


secret orders, till the Negroes had majorities of votes 
in hamlets where the coloured people were not more 
than two in five. We chafed, you may be sure, 
and have no wish to see that game played over 
again at our expense. If we divide, we may have 
peace ; if not, who knows where we shall stand ? 
These Negroes want to rule and reign once more. 
Do you suppose that men of English blood will 
stand that sort of thing? We Texans were the 
last to cave in ; we ll be the first to head out. You 
bet ? If Phil Sheridan comes to Austin we ll 




MOVING atj sunrise out of Galveston harbour we sail 
into a thick and golden mist, which hides the low- 
lying shores of Saline Pass and the adjoining country 
from our sight. The waves are long and smooth. 
A flock of snow-birds flutter in our wake, and swoop 
with easy undulation on their prey. A semi-tropical 
languor lies on every face. 

As day comes on the mist clears oiF, and through 
the vanishing haze we catch along the shores a 
fringe of cypress and cotton-wood, with roots in 
swamp and pool, and branches hung with vegetable 
filth the noisome and funereal weed called Spanish 

Our vessel, plying between Indianola, in Texas, 
and Brashear, in Louisiana, skirts two of the rich 
Gulf States, and connects the port of Galveston with 
the river at New Orleans. She carries few natives, 


either Mexican or American. Her passengers, like 
her crew, are mostly Scotch and English ; for the 
ports and towns in Texas are nearly all built by 
British capital and settled by British families- It is 
the old, old story of our race. Who planted Vir 
ginia and Massachusetts ? Who peopled Georgia, 
Pennsylvania, Maryland ? The seventeenth century 
only saw at James Town and Plymouth Eock what 
the nineteenth century beholds in the Gulf of 
Mexico. The English race is moving on the West. 
London and Liverpool are pouring out our wealth 
and population on these coasts our surplus 
capital, our adventurous sons. 

This power of drawing on the parent country 
for supports is the chief mainstay of White America. 

Apart from passing politics, the Conservatives 
hold that time is always fighting on their side. 
White men increase in freedom. In a hundred 
years the White family has increased in North 
America from less than three millions to more than 
thirty millions. Who knows whether the Black 
family will increase in freedom ? Every fact appears 
to point another way. The Whites are recruited 
from Europe, the Blacks are not recruited from 


Africa. One force expands, the other wanes. Yet 
what a power of mischief this low and waning 
branch of the human family possesses; a power 
which wounds and weakens every section of 
America ; setting brother against brother, North 
against South, the disciples of Brewster against the 
comrades of Ealeigh, and the children of Oglethorpe 
against the descendants of Penn. 

This question How, in our advance towards a 
higher plane of freedom, culture, and refinement, 
shall we treat those races on our soil which stand on 
the lowest stages of freedom, culture, and refine 
ment ? has already wrecked a third part of 
America, putting back for unknown terms of 
years the noble work which the Eepublic inherited 
from her English founders that of planting and 
peopling this continent with Free States. 

Born in the South, and trained to look on 
slavery as a domestic system, I was always of 
opinion that the Slave Question was a passing evil, 
says a companion of the quarter deck. 

A passing evil? You think it would have 
passed away ? 

It would assuredly have passed away. 


Without the civil war? 

Assuredly, without the civil war. Yea, more. 
If we regard the question as a whole the Negro s 
life in freedom as well as his life in bondage the 
problem might have been solved sooner without 
the war than with the war. Neither the 
Black League nor the White League need have 
troubled the United States. Moral emancipation 
would have come through moral means, and in a 
time of peace, with all good men disposed to make 
the best of it. Military emancipation came on us as 
a shock, occurring in a time of war, and sending 
up, in sullen rancour, some of the blackest pas 
sions of the human heart. What has the war done ? 

Destroyed slavery. 

Excuse me the war has destroyed freedom. 
Where is the Eepublic now? Where is the com 
monwealth conceived for us by Franklin, left to us 
by Washington ? Shall we seek it in New Orleans, 
in Vicksburg, in Eichmond ? Where is our boast 
of local self-government justified to-day ? 

At day-break, starting to my feet and peering 
through my cabin-window, I see a trail of land in 
the distance, with a fringe of forest trees, funereally 


draped in Spanish moss. Hollo, what s here ? A 
bank of sand lies bare and dry under the paddle- 
wheel. Are we ashore ? Is that white bird a crane ? 
Are we at sea is this a phantom ship ? 

On coming to the fore, I find that we are push 
ing through a sea- canal, marked off with boles of 
trees. This work is seven miles long, and twelve 
feet deep, running between Marsh Island and the 
swamps of Terre Bonne, in Atchafalaya Biver, on 
the eastern bank of which lies the port of Brashear : 
a place created out of chaos, by the necessity which 
has sprung up since the settlement of Texas for a 
shorter and safer route from Galveston to New 
Orleans than that by way of Pass a Loutre. The 
voyage is reduced by half the time. By boat and 
car a man now runs from Galveston to New 
Orleans in little more than twenty-four hours. 

Is Brashear land or water? Slush and mud, 
gutter and pool, basin and drain, all meet in Brash- 
ear ; a dismal swamp and fever-den, enclosed on 
every side with jungle, in which every tree is hung 
with Spanish moss. This ghastly parasite clings in 
cobwebs, of dull mouse- colour, from every branch. 
c Observe this weed, a resident in Brashear says 


to me, when showing us the lions of his hamlet. 
You see it in a place get off as quickly as your 
horse will trot. We call it fever-moss. It is a sign 
that chills and fevers hang about. 

The weed seems widely spread ; we see it 
everywhere along the Gulf. 

Along this Gulf disease and death are widely 
spread. It grows in every marsh and pool, round 
every lake and bay. You find it in Eastern Texas 
and Southern Louisiana, in Western Florida, and 
among the inland waters of Alabama. 

This parasite is ugly, foetid, and of little use. 
Negroes rake it down and bury it in the earth. In 
ten or twelve days the stench dies out, and then 
they dig it up and dry it in the sun. When crisp 
and hard, they stuff it into mattresses and pillows 
in place of straw. Negroes are said to like sleeping 
on this dried fever-moss. 

Brashear is a colony of Negroes, and a strong 
hold of the Black League. Setting aside some dozen 
officers connected with the boats and trains, no 
White inhabitants dwell in Brashear. Every door 
way shows a Negro, every gutter a dusky imp. 
Grog-shops, billiard- rooms, and lottery stalls reek 


with Negroes most of them having the thick lips, 
the woolly hair, the long faces, and the ebony skins 
of their Fanti and Mandingo fathers. 

Glancing through the lanes of Brashear, you 
perceive that, unlike Texas, Louisiana is a country 
in which the scalawags and carpet-baggers may 
chance to find a majority of voters on their side. 
Since every Negro is a citizen raid every citizen has 
a vote, what is to prevent this mass of coloured 
people from choosing a Black lawgiver and framing 
a Black code ? United they might carry any chief 
and any bill. They might have a Fanti sheriff, a 
Mandingo judge. Acting as one man, like a mass of 
Celtic voters, they might legalise in America the 
4 customs of Yam, Dahomey, and Adai. 

The African brain is limited in range. 

Oranges, massa ! Hab oranges ? cries a 
stalwart Negro in the street. 

c How much a dozen, eh ? 

Four for a quarter, massa, four for a quarter ! 
Yes, the fellow asks no less than threepence each ; 
though oranges are so plentiful at Brashear, that if 
he fails to sell them in the cars, he will hardly take 
the trouble to carry them home. 

VOL. i. A A 


A quarter for four, Sam ! Why. when you 
have sent them all the way to London you will 
only ask a quarter for twenty-five. 

c Eh, massa ! Dat all true ? Den dose are 
planter oranges dat planter trade. 

Sam cannot grasp the methods of a large and 
complex commerce. He walks two or three miles, 
and spends an hour or more in gathering twenty 
oranges from a tree. The time and cost are much 
the same as though he were to gather a thousand, 
but his brain has no conception of scale. 

In Louisiana, the Negroes count a clear, though 
not a large, majority of votes, and claim to have a 
clear majority of members in the Chamber. They 
are backed by Federal troops. Their nominee, 
William P. Kellogg, is recognised by President Grant 
as Governor of Louisiana. Yet see the train in 
which we are going towards New Orleans ! By law, 
a Negro is the White s man s equal ; by the railway 
company he is charged the White man s fare. Is 
he allowed to exercise the simplest of his rights to 
travel in which car he pleases ? Never. 

An Irish navvy, a Mexican pedlar, may take a 
seat in any car ; but not a man or woman of the 


African race. His scalawag champion cannot help 
him in a train. Here ladies rule. All ladies are 
Conservatives, and in America nothing can be clone 
if ladies object. You see these fellows huddled 
in a front car, next to the engine, smothered by the 
smoke of burning logs. Some of them are merry, 
others sullen ; yet, in spite of their many discom 
forts, not a soul amongst them dreams of straying 
into the better cars. 

The Negro never comes into your company? 
we ask a passenger. 

6 Never, he replies, a curl of scorn on his thin 
aristocratic lips ; a Negro sit among our wives and 
sisters ! 

6 Has he not the legal right ? 

6 Such right as rules and articles can give him, 

yes ; but he knows his place a good deal better than 
the scalawags. If Kellogg and his crew were gone, 
we should have no more trouble with the coloured 
folk. They know us; we know them. It was a 
crime to give them votes ; but we could live well 
enough with coloured voters, if the Federal troops 
were called away. 

4 You have no fear of their majorities ? 


No, none; unless those majorities are guided 
by a military chief. The thing we have to execrate 
is Csesarism that government by the sword, which 
takes no heed of liberal principles. For what purpose 
has General Sheridan been sent to New Orleans ? 

After a moment s pause, during which I make 
no answer having none to make he adds : Who 
knows whether we shall not find the city under 
martial law, the side walks running blood, the public 
offices on fire ? 




{October, 1875. 




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