At that early date there was not a hotel, boardinghouse, or restaurant anywhere in sight from the landing. One wall of an old adobe warehouse stood near by, and the only thing for the writer to do was to seek what shelter that wall afforded. Thither he dragged his effects, then dropped down on his bedding exhausted. He lay there until he had excited the curiosity of a Spaniard and his wife who were some distance away. They came down and asked what was the matter, and as I did not know, I could not tell them. They saw that my face was swollen and they seemed afraid to come close, but inquired what I wished, and if they could do anything for me. I asked for milk and bread, which they supplied, and left me to my fate for the night.
The experiences of that terrible night baffle the writer's powers of description. Suffice it to say, he passed it alone, with the heavy mist of the briny deep resting upon him, while the fever and thirst seemed to be consuming his body.
At last the morning light came through a dense fog; but by 8 or 9 o'clock that had partly passed away. Some freight teams came down from Los Angeles, and the sufferer felt somewhat encouraged to think there was a prospect of his reaching civilization at the place where he had helped to rear the first liberty pole which was to bear aloft the Stars and Stripes on the Pacific coast. He accosted the freighters, feeling assured that he would not be denied a passage, as he was prepared to pay for this accommodation. The first man said no; he had all that he could haul. The second teamster said no, he was not doing a passenger business. The third said, "I don't know. It is too d—d bad to leave you here sick. I guess I can take you. Throw on your things if you can, and hurry about it." When the writer made an effort to do as invited, the freighter lent him a hand, and when the baggage was aboard the teamster said, "Come, get on here. It's a poor place for a sick man, away up on a goods box, among the bows, but it's your only chance with me. Up there!" and away we went on our journey twenty-one miles to Los Angeles, where we arrived about 8 p.m.
Near the center of the city, on the sidewalk at a street corner, my effects were dumped. I wandered around to find shelter, and at last reached Jesse D. Hunter's place. Hunter had been captain of Company B in the Mormon Battalion, and I thought I could do no better than stop with him, though I did not meet anything very inviting. I was coldly granted the privilege of dragging my blankets into the kitchen, and of bunking down on the dirt floor, after a light supper of bread and milk, the first food I had had since the night before. But I was too ill to do better, and Mr. Hunter was so cool and indifferent that I was glad to leave his place next morning without any further accommodations.
I started out alone, and turned so sick and dizzy that I had to lie down in the street on my blankets. While there I was approached by Daniel Clark and James Bailey from San Bernardino. They asked if my name was Brown, and if I was a returning missionary. I told them yes. They said they had heard of me, and that I had the smallpox, so they had been searching the town for me, and happening to see me lie down in the street, they became satisfied they had found the object of their search. Each of them threw me ten dollars in gold, and went in search of a room or place where I could be cared for. Failing in finding that, they called on the mayor, who started the marshal out to hunt a place. When Clark and Bailey had done all they could—and they were as kind as they could be—they had the mail sacks delivered, but did not find the pay that was to be all right on delivery. Then they went home to San Bernardino, while I did the best I could to find shelter, but my face was so terribly swollen that every door was shut against me; and when the news spread that there was a man around the streets with the smallpox, I could have the sidewalk to myself wherever I went.
At last I found Dr. Jones' office open, but dark and with no one in it. I dragged my bedding through the office to the bedroom, where I spread my blankets and turned in, leaving the door open and lights burning. When anyone came to the door I would shout "Smallpox!" and it was amusing to hear the people run.
About 11 p.m. the doctor came, and I shouted "Smallpox!" Said he: "Who is here?" I answered, "The man whom you said had the smallpox." He responded, "All right, but I would not have had it happen for five hundred dollars. Be quiet, you have done just right. But how did you get in?"
"Why, the door was open," I replied, and he said: "I never did such a thing before in my life. It must have been done on purpose for you, for it was not fit for you to be out." The doctor then held his breath, stepped in over me, took up his bed, and walked away.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CITY MARSHALL AND DOCTOR COME TO REMOVE ME—TAKEN TO A DESERTED HOUSE, WHICH HAD BEEN USED AS A SHEEPFOLD—BEDDED IN SHEEP MANURE—AN INDIAN NURSE WHO BECOMES FRIGHTENED—SPANISH NURSE SENT TO ME—IN A BOAT WITH PATIENT JOB—MY FEVER INCREASES—ATTACKED BY ROBBERS—RELIEVED BY CITY MARSHAL WITH POSSE—MARSHAL TAKES THE MONEY I HAVE IN MY CARE, FOR SAFE KEEPING—SPANISH NURSE SCARED OFF—QUEER SAILOR NURSE—HE DRINKS WHISKY, SINGS AND DANCES—HIS THOUGHTFUL CARE OF ME—VISITED BY MY COUSIN—KINDNESS OF SAN BERNARDINO SAINTS—RECOVERING FROM MY ILLNESS—MY CLOTHING BURNED—HEAVY EXPENSE BILL AGAINST ME—TELL THE CITY MARSHAL OF MY ARRIVAL IN CALIFORNIA AS A UNITED STATES SOLDIER IN THE MEXICAN WAR—KINDNESS OF THE MARSHAL—LOS ANGELES ASSUMES THE BILL FOR MEDICAL ATTENTION GIVEN ME—START FOR SAN BERNARDINO—EXHAUSTED ON THE JOURNEY—ALMOST DIE OF THIRST—RELIEVED BY A PARTY OF SPANISH LADIES—KINDNESS OF SPANISH FAMILIES—ARRIVE AT SAN BERNARDINO AND MEET FRIENDS AND RELATIVES.