Los gringos; or, An inside view of Mexico and California

by H. A. Wise

We had narratives of adventure, accounts of previous fourths of July, and anecdotes of distinguished naval heroes, which last, I am sorry to say, as a general rule, are not complimentary—a pint of ale and a bite of luncheon. Then after multitudes of speculations upon the merits of the embryo chowder, and many direful threats and disrespectful allusions to the shins and pedigree of our sable cooks, in case the mess should prove a failure—gradually one by one we fell off into siesta.

San Antonio, or that great fisherman, Sam Jones himself, only knows how long we remained in this happy state of insensibility, or how long the fishes, potatoes and chillis had been bubbling in the cauldron, or how often the jolly's crew had applied their lips to the punch jug—if I might be allowed to conjecture, possibly very often; nevertheless, we were all startled by a doleful yell from Mr. Speckles, who at the same time expressed his opinion in emphatic language, that the larger portion of the infernal regions "had broke loose." Appearances certainly favored the conviction, for within a few yards there came tearing along the beach a drove of bullocks, scattering the sand in clouds, besides having a very unpleasant expression about their horns. We immediately vacated the front seats, and rolled away into the interior of the branch-built castle, leaving no impediment in the path of our enraged visitors. We emerged again as they went by, and in the words of the Archbishop of Granada to Gil Blas, wished them "all manner of prosperity and a little more taste." The cause of this stampede was soon explained by the advent of a youthful vacuero, who stopped to observe us. The General very dextrously hitched a boat hook on to the waistband of his leather breeks, whilst some one else with equal skill, applied a like implement to the bit ringbolt of his bridle, and thus, as it were, brought him up all standing: Señor quoth we, "you behold the rightful conquistadores of California, the enormity of your crime, in driving wild beasts through a cavalier's house and furniture, renders you liable to fine and imprisonment, therefore we desire you to dismount," whereupon, making vigorous resistance, we assisted him to alight by the aid of the boat hook.

Now, being supplied with a horse, we instantly made up a purse for a carrera—sweepstakes for all runners. But two competitors entered—Canova and Earl. The rest of the party held the bets and bottles, and constituted themselves judges. Mr. Earl took the nag, and Canova to his heels. The course was stepped fifty yards, the day being warm. They got away cleverly together, although the first twenty yards the former tried to jockey by crowding his antagonist into the water! At the turning-stone the cavallo was ahead, and if he could have been turned at that precise moment, the game would have been up; but every one knows how difficult it is for one unaccustomed to the business to pull a horse short up at his speed, and, consequently, the animal went still farther ahead, and when suddenly checked, pitched the rider to the ears several times before he could be made to gather fresh way on the other tack. At this period of the action, Canova was making long strides, and came in winner, after a hotly-contested race of two minutes. Rewarding the vacuero with a ship's biscuit, we graciously permitted him to depart on his steed.

The chowder was done to a charm—smelled and tasted nicely—neither over done nor underdone, nor too much chilli, nor too dry, nor too cold; and not being afflicted with indigestion, we did full justice to the feast, and attacked the big pot unceasingly, whose capacious interior did not shrink from the encounter. Still there is an end to all things, and there was, after a great while, to our appetites; so we sighed deeply, and drained the cups to the memory of '76, and other republican sentiments of patriotic tendency.

As the shades of evening began to fall, we walked into the water and had a delicious bath. The old jolly was then gotten ready, and as the last rays of the setting sun flashed behind the western hills, we pushed from the strand, and gave three cheers in commemoration of our marine pic-nic. The light land wind wafted our bark slowly down the bay—the large lug sail swelled sluggishly over the gunwale, sound asleep. The crew were doubled up on the thawts, sound asleep also; and our own coterie, while listening to a narrative by Magarrabin, one by one dropt into slumber, and there was no one awake save the helmsman. I was comfortably esconced on the low grating, and on awaking the "pale night stars in millions bespangled heaven's pavilions." The breeze had freshened, and the water was seething and hissing under the cut-water. "Hillo! coxswain, where are we? near the ship, eh?" "Sir," said Fagan solemnly, "we have not budged an inch these two hours—it's strong flood." True enough we had been sailing in an aquatic treadmill, going through all the motions, without getting ahead. Pending these reflections Luigi came forward, and peering through the gloom to have a glimpse at the surrounding scenery—for he was near-sighted—accidentaly lost his foothold, and popped overboard. I caught him by the toe of his boot, and assisted by the brawny arms of a stout Dutchlander, who, reaching down, seized our friend Luigi by the head, and letting go his heels, he righted, and was hauled on board.

The oars were now called to account, and without any further episode, sometime during the night we crept sedately up the frigate's side, descended to our several dormitories, and sank peacefully to rest. This was the way we passed the glorious anniversary, thousands of leagues away from our homes and country.

A few days afterwards, in one of the frigate's large cutters we departed on an excursion of longer duration, for the Pearl Fisheries. We sailed late in the afternoon for the Island of San José. It stands like a sentinel at the mouth of the great bay, almost forty miles from the usual anchorage of La Paz. With a fresh and fair wind, just as day was dawning, we rounded an elbow-shaped reef, and let run the little anchor, near the shore. At sunrise a portion of the crew were landed on the beach, and under the shady lee of a rocky bluff, tents were pitched, and all the necessary arrangements for an encampment promptly made.

From the first discovery of the peninsula, in the sixteenth century, by Hernando de Grijalva, the shores of the gulf have been famous for their valuable pearls. Many of the inlets and bays were then resorted to, and continued to yield large quantities for more than two hundred years; but from the beginning of the present century the trade has gradually fallen off, and at the breaking out of the war with the United States, there were but two small craft employed in the fisheries. Still there is no doubt that the pearl oyster abounds in immense quantities, and were the ground properly explored, the labor would be attended with profit; but the natural indolence of the natives throws a wet blanket upon everything like industry or enterprise, and as a consequence these submarine mines hide their beautiful treasures from view.

In the harbor we visited there were a number of squalid Indians, farmed out by some more sagacious armador, or patron, who provided them with jerked beef and paper cigars, in exchange for rare shells or pearls.