Next morning a vaquero, passing in that direction, noticed a shapeless mass lying upon the newly-spaded earth. It proved to be the body of the unfortunate woman, horribly mutilated by the wolves. The clothes were torn from it, and the limbs presented a ghastly spectacle of fleshless bones. Whether she died by her own hand, or was killed by the wolves during the night, none could tell. She was buried by the side of her lover.
Soon after these events, having completed my business in San Luis, I took passage in a small schooner for San Francisco, where I had the satisfaction in a few days of turning over ten thousand dollars to the Collector of Customs.
I never afterward could obtain any information respecting the two men mentioned in the early part of my narrative—the Colonel and Jack. No steps were taken by the authorities to arrest them. It is the usual fate of such men in California sooner or later to fall into the hands of an avenging mob. Doubtless they met with a merited retribution.
Eleven years have passed since these events took place. Many changes have occurred in California. The gangs of desperadoes that infested the state have been broken up; some of the members have met their fate at the hands of justice—more have fallen victims to their own excesses. I have meanwhile traveled in many lands, and have had my full share of adventures. But still, every incident in the "Dangerous Journey" which I have attempted to describe is as fresh in my mind as if it happened but yesterday.
OBSERVATIONS IN OFFICE.
I.
MY OFFICIAL EXPERIENCES.
There is something very fascinating in public office. The dignity of the position touches our noblest sympathies, and makes heroes and patriots of the most commonplace men. It is wonderful, too, how unselfish people become under the influence of this most potent charm. Every four years it becomes an epidemic. The passional attraction of office is felt throughout the length and breadth of the land. Many thousands of our best citizens visit the seat of government at the inauguration of a new president. A large proportion of them have faithfully served their country by contributing their time, talents, energies, and pecuniary resources to the success of the dominant party. But they don't want any thing; they have a natural repugnance to office; they merely come to look on, and pay their respects to the chief magistrate. If he deems it necessary to solicit their services for the common good, it is not for them, as patriotic citizens, to refuse. The seductive influences of official position may tend, perhaps, to quicken their perception of the grades of service in which their time could be most profitably spent; but modesty, after all, is their predominant trait. Indeed, for that matter, the general characteristic of great men is modesty, and where will you see so many notoriously great men as in Washington upon the advent of a new administration. The difficulty is to find a man who is not great. You may find many who are poor, some thriftless, and a few worthless, but none deficient in greatness. It must not be understood, however, that mercenary considerations have any connection with the charm which allures them thither. These excellent people—as in my own case, for example—are governed by motives of the purest and most exalted patriotism. Who is there so destitute of national pride—so indifferent to the welfare of his fellow-beings, that he does not desire to serve his country when he sees that she stands in need of his services?
The consideration of a per-diem allowance could not be wholly discarded, but I assure you, upon the veracity of a public officer, it had not the slightest influence upon me when I accepted the responsible position of Inspector General of Public Depositories. The Secretary of the Treasury—a gentleman in whom I had great confidence—required my services. I was unwilling, of course, to stand in the way of an efficient administration of the affairs of his department. The fact is, I had great personal respect for him, and was anxious to afford him all the assistance in my power. I do not pretend to say that the appointment of inspector general was destitute of attractions in itself, but they were not of a pecuniary character. The title had a sonorous and authoritative ring about it altogether different from the groveling jingle of filthy lucre—something that vibrated upon the higher chords of the soul.