Presently the preacher rose and mingled with the crowd. A man advanced to the culprits and carefully pinioned their arms with a strong rope. At this stage of the proceedings, they seemed to be fully aroused to a sense of their danger. They looked around and seemed to scrutinize every face in the whole assembled multitude. Never shall I forget that mute, appealing gaze. It was useless; not a face in the whole crowd wore an aspect of mercy; but again arose the angry shout: “Hang them! hang them!� The judge now called out, “Gentlemen! the hour is up!� whereupon they were led to a tree and swung off. A few struggles and all was over. The crowd quietly dispersed; the excitement subsided, and an hour afterwards no one would have suspected that any thing unusual had happened.
Such proceedings as these—the absolute and inevitable certainty of punishment—produced order throughout the State. Indeed, it was the Vigilance Committee alone that ever has enforced obedience to law. The State’s Attorney of San Francisco states that in four years twelve hundred murders had been perpetrated, and only one of the criminals was convicted. What wonder if some people still sigh for the days of the Vigilance Committee?
CHAPTER XVIII.
BODEGA.
Once more in San Francisco, I made preparations to return to the Atlantic States as rapidly as my health and dilapidated means would permit. Before leaving this pseudo Eldorado for ever and aye, I had a wish to see a celebrated grazing district, famed for its vast herds of horned cattle and wild horses; and so, having hired at an enormous price a sorry looking mule, like the knight of La Mancha mounted upon Rosinante, I sallied forth from San Francisco in search of new adventures. I took the high road along the bay towards Bodega, a small town situated upon the Pacific coast, 60 miles north-east from San Francisco. I had hardly cleared the suburbs of the city, when my mule began to exhibit qualities very far from respectable; as, for example, he would stop suddenly, hold down his head, plant his fore feet firmly, and reflect, I suppose, upon the proper moment to pitch me over his head. He had a very uncomfortable way too of throwing up his head, and more than once just grazed my nose; then he was so playful! jerking the bridle suddenly and casting his head round so as almost to reach my leg with his teeth. And, moreover, I judged him to be partial to botanical studies, from the fact of his taking every opportunity of pushing his way through the scrub bushes that lined the road, as if he thought the occasion favorable to scrape me off his back. I have never been very famous for my skill in equitation, nor have I ever been too anxious to intrust myself to the care and safe-keeping of other legs than my own, and I must acknowledge that when I discovered the little pleasing eccentricities already enumerated, I thought it would be most prudent to return; and would have done so, only that the devilish brute would not consent to take the back track; by which I mean that, when I attempted to turn his head homeward, he commenced such a series of circumgyratory evolutions that I remained long in doubt as to which of my limbs would remain unbroken when I did come to the ground, a catastrophe by no means far distant if he continued to spin around five minutes longer. I clung to the pummel of the Spanish saddle, however, with the gripe of a maniac, shouting wo! with an unction and vigor that I am sure contributed as much as any thing else towards stopping the incarnate devil in his mad career. Any person, to have seen my involuntary performances on this trying occasion, would most assuredly have pronounced me the best circus rider in the known world. I am favorably known at home as an even tempered, nay, as a good tempered person; but I verily believe I lost my temper here on this spot, not that I remember to have ever been profane, but I am sure I consigned the wretch to the safe-keeping of a nameless personage, with a particular request regarding the future disposition of his eyes and limbs. As I could do nothing better, I let him have his own way, and for the next hour or so we got along very well together, and I really began to think well of his muleship; when suddenly, and as if by magic, I found myself upon my back in the road, and the precious villain prancing and curveting within fifty feet of where I lay, as if in the very act of rejoicing that he had thrown me there. I had received a slight bruise upon one of my shoulders by the fall, a matter not deserving much attention, and was considering the best method of catching the atrocious robber, as he very deliberately walked up to me, and adjusted his position so that I could mount him again with ease, which I did without delay. Shortly after, we reached a Chinese encampment—all men, or at least I supposed so. They looked exactly alike in face and in dress. Two or three were assembled around a fire, the rest were gambling; those by the fire were engaged in cooking rats in an expeditious manner. I should think there might have been about a bushel of these animals altogether, and they were laid with their skins on, from time to time, upon a bed of hot embers to broil; it was a very primitive way of replenishing the larder! However, I did not dine with the celestials; I had an indistinct idea at the moment that the moon’s relatives were exceedingly respectable, only something the filthiest. Without much further trouble or delay we arrived, towards midnight, at Bodega. My mule behaved like a trump during the latter part of the journey, but only after frolicking for about three quarters of an hour up and down a small stream upon our road, which his excellency insisted upon surveying, even from its source to its mouth.
Bodega contains not more than four hundred inhabitants, including “Diggerâ€� Indians, “niggersâ€� and dogs, the last by far the most useful and most decent of the concern. The people of the town told me that the place was first settled by the Russians, but no vestiges remain of the original settlers to denote who or what they were. A very worthy man is the sole proprietor of the town now—he is an American; some years since resided in Valparaiso, where he married several bags of doubloons, a large lot of cattle, some fine horses, and a Chilian lady; removed to California and became the possessor of the town of Bodega, and a very large portion of the surrounding country. For my part, I could see nothing very seductive in Bodega, nothing that could keep me there a week. The country is almost destitute of timber, with here and there a woody knoll. The surface of the land is rolling, soil good, and well adapted for farming purposes. In fact, it is said to be the best grazing section in the State of California. Dense fogs prevail throughout the summer months; from these the earth receives a sufficient quantity of moisture to answer all the purposes of rain. An abundant crop of grass is produced, upon which vast herds of cattle and droves of horses are raised. The horned cattle are slaughtered in immense numbers, merely for their horns, hides and tallow.
Twelve miles south-east of Bodega is the little village of Petaluma, situated upon the margin of an extensive swamp or morass, through which a small stream winds its way to the bay of San Francisco. This morass is entirely overflowed during the winter. In the summer it becomes perfectly dry, and cracks open in every imaginable direction to the depth of twelve or fifteen feet, the crevices varying from one to eight inches in width. At an early period the Indians captured entire herds of horned cattle in the summer by driving them into this morass. If an animal attempts to cross this fissured spot he must assuredly break his legs. It is no uncommon occurrence daily to find three or four wild horses, and as many more horned cattle, vainly struggling to extricate their fractured limbs from the clefts and crevices in this death-dealing Golgotha. In this situation they are quickly dispatched by the Indians and others living in the vicinity, stripped of their hides, and the carcasses left for the birds of prey. Owing to certain preservative properties in the atmosphere, animal matter does not undergo decomposition in this region with the same degree of rapidity that it does in other sections of the Atlantic States in the same parallels of latitude, and it is not unusual to see the carcasses of slain animals upon this very morass, a month or more after they have fallen, in a good state of preservation, and without emitting, in any great degree, an offensive odor.
Upon my return to Bodega, I witnessed the punishment of an Indian boy for theft. This was the case: The boy had stolen a trifling sum from the house of an American, and being shortly after detected with the money in his possession, he was sentenced to expiate his offence in a very novel manner; and here I might with great propriety use the language of Lord Byron, the scene reminded me so strongly of the main incidents of his Mazeppa. A wild horse that had been caught with the lasso only the day before, was brought out, and the boy’s person in an upright position securely strapped to his back. The boy thus bound, the horse was then freed from restraint by the men that held him, and with a cut from a whip, he bounded away with the speed and swiftness of an arrow shot from a bow. The race, however, was of short duration. He had scarcely accomplished the third of a mile, when he suddenly threw himself, and with frantic efforts endeavored to roll over and over, in order to rid himself of his burden. In these struggles, one of the boy’s legs was literally crushed into a bloody mass. The violent exertions of the animal had so far exhausted his strength, that he was unable to rise. In this condition, we had time to come up and liberate the boy from his bonds, but not until the poor creature had ceased to breathe. He was quite dead, and another murder was to be added to the long list of California crimes. Horror-sticken and distressed at the scene of ruthless barbarity I had just witnessed, I made my way out of the village of Bodega, wondering if the good God would permit such an unparalleled atrocity to pass unpunished.
In returning, I took the road through the valleys of Sonoma and Napa to Benicia: feeling fatigued and somewhat indisposed upon reaching the city of Benicia, I determined to rest there a day or two. Benicia contains about 1500 inhabitants, is 40 miles north-east from San Francisco, situated upon a branch of the Sacramento river. The city is regularly laid out on a gentle slope, rising from the water’s edge to the hills in the rear. Benicia is a port of entry, contains an arsenal, a navy-yard, and extensive docks for repairing and refitting steamers. Ships of the largest class can come up to the wharves. It has been proposed to establish the seat of government of the State here. It must be by no means understood that I had traveled thus far upon my return without trouble from the antics and extravagances of my mule, being somewhat upon my guard, I more than once foiled him in his design of getting me off his back. I have seen vicious animals in my time, but never saw any thing to equal the cunning and malice of this one. It seemed as if he had been taught every thing that was bad, and being naturally vicious, had become by long practice more than a match for man. Desirous of examining more closely a singularly formed elevation some fifteen miles from Benicia, known as Monte Diabolo, I set out the third morning after my sojourn in Benicia to visit this famous mountain. Mounted upon my rascally mule, I had unfortunately suffered myself to be persuaded to wear a pair of Spanish spurs, having been assured that the fractious conduct of the mule heretofore was entirely owing to my not providing myself with these persuaders at the commencement of my journey. I had ridden barely the half of a mile, when the accursed animal was seized with a fiend-like desire to break my neck and his own too. With this commendable purpose in view, he began by taking short leaps forward, backward and sideways, varied every now and then by an effort to throw me over his head, by casting his hind legs high into the air, or in endeavoring to force me off by standing almost upright, and pawing the air with his fore feet. I maintained my seat with difficulty during these fiendish gambols, and plied him with the spurs. This settled the matter at once, for no sooner did I plunge the sharp rowels into his infernal sides, than he stood for a moment, as if to gather strength for a more mighty effort; then, dropping his head, he suddenly threw out his hind feet with such violence as to eject me from his back with an impetus that I am astonished did not crush every bone in my body, and kill me outright. As it was, my left leg only was broken. The mule, demon as he was, seemed to exult in his misdeeds, and to be well content with the (to him) triumphant termination of the contest; at least I judged so, from his sounding the trumpet of victory long and loud; he brayed incessantly for an hour. My leg was broken just above the ankle, and whenever I moved gave me exquisite pain. What to do I did not know; I could not move. I was somewhat comforted, however, by reflecting that I should not lie in this helpless condition long. I was on the highway, and some traveler must pass soon. I shouted with all the voice I had left; pain and agony had weakened me so much, that I feared death would ensue before my situation could be known. At length I attempted to drag myself upon my hands and knees towards Benicia, then less than a mile distant. In the effort, the agony I endured caused me to faint. I know not how long I lay in this death-like condition. When I again returned to consciousness, I found myself in bed, with my broken limb confined between splints, after having been properly set by a surgeon. Many weary days and nights were passed upon a bed of sickness. I received every attention from the kind people into whose hands I had fallen. These good Samaritans had found me insensible by the wayside, my mule standing within ten feet of me, very gravely contemplating his handiwork, afterwards suffering himself to be led back to Benicia, without making the slightest demonstration of discontent. As soon as my new friends discovered the cause of my accident, it was proposed to shoot the mule forthwith. To this summary disposition of the malignant brute I objected, not from any desire to save his worthless carcass, but from a wish to return him to his more worthless owner in San Francisco, whom I had some hope the animal would cripple for life upon some future day. I therefore requested my friends to have him returned to his owner by the first opportunity that offered.
My most constant attendant was an old negro named Ben. A better nurse I could not have had than this same old fellow. As he was quite an original, I will describe him. Ben was about four feet six inches in height, very thin and very black; his grandfather must have been a chimpanzee—I feel quite sure of that, because his features were precisely those of an ancient baboon; his age might be about fifty or fifty-five, and at an earlier day he may have had a nose, I doubt it, though; at any rate he had none when I saw him. No! not a bit. It had disappeared altogether. The wool grew within an inch of his eye-brows, and he had but one eye. Ordinarily and for economy’s sake, Ben was very simply attired in canvas pantaloons and the remnant of a red woolen shirt—disdaining hat and shoes, except upon great occasions and State celebrations; then, indeed, Ben shone conspicuous in all the glory of an immensely high bell-crowned white hat, with a narrow rim and a broad green ribbon to match, a tall, stiff shirt collar that reached his ears, a military stock, tightly buckled around his neck, which effectually prevented the wearer from looking downward, a whitish looking something that had been worn for at least seven years as an overcoat by a tall, stout man, now served Ben in the capacity of a dress coat; to be sure he had “curtailed its fair proportionsâ€� by cutting off one and a half feet of the skirts, six inches of the sleeves and a good large piece of the collar. It was a nice garment. A pair of breeches so tight that he slept in them upon occasions when he had used much exercise, for the simple reason that he could not get them off without greatly endangering their respectable appearance; boots large and somewhat dilapidated, of course the legs of the tights could not be drawn over the boots, therefore they were tucked inside. But the crowning glory of the entire outer man was a broad, shining, black leather belt, drawn so tightly around his waist, that he breathed at times short and sharp.
To Ben’s many other great talents must be added his very great proficiency in music. He performed very spiritedly indeed upon the bass drum, and when necessary, could do the jingling upon the triangle. But his forte was the fife, and it was a pleasing sight to see him upon a gala day, rigged as described, lugging a huge drum buckled to his breast bone, thrashing away with both hands as if his life depended upon the amount of confusion he created. Suddenly he would cease, and drawing the fife from the depths of his breeches pocket, would favor the procession or company with an air from “Norma,� or from somewhere else. Heroic Ben! can I ever forget the day when, attired in all his bravery, tall hat, big coat, old boots, bright belt, long drum, short fife and all, he hobbled past the house wherein I lay, followed by all the boys, girls and dogs in the place? It was some saint’s day, and the Mexicans had hired Ben as chief musician to aid with such music as he had on hand in doing proper honor to his saintship; and he did it, too, much to the admiration of every one within hearing. No! I shall never forget that day; I think the sight hastened the recovery of my health and strength.