The gold hunters

by John David Borthwick

The sleeping apartments in the hotel itself were all full, and I had to take a cot in a tent on the other side of the street, which was a sort of colony of the parent establishment. It was situated between two gambling-houses, one of which was kept by a Frenchman, who, whenever his musicians stopped to take breath or brandy, began a series of doleful airs on an old barrel-organ. Till how late in the morning they kept it up I cannot say, but whenever I happened to awake in the middle of the night, my ears were still greeted by these sweet sounds.

There was one canvas structure, differing but little in appearance from the rest, excepting that a small wooden cross surmounted the roof over the door. This was a Roman Catholic church. The only fitting up of any kind in the interior was the altar, which occupied the farther end from the door, and was decorated with as much display as circumstances admitted, being draped with the commonest kind of colored cotton cloths, and covered with candlesticks, some brass, some of wood, but most of them regular California candlesticks—old claret and champagne bottles, arranged with due regard to the numbers and grouping of those bearing the different ornamental labels of St. Julien, Medoc, and other favorite brands.

I went in on Sunday morning while service was going on, and found a number of Mexican women occupying the space nearest the altar, the rest of the church being filled with Mexicans, who all maintained an appearance of respectful devotion. Two or three Americans, who were present out of curiosity, naturally kept in the background near the door, excepting two great hulking fellows who came swaggering in, and jostled their way through the crowd of Mexicans, making it evident, from their demeanor, that their only object was to show their supreme contempt for the congregation, and for the whole proceedings. Presently, however, the entire congregation went down on their knees, leaving these two awkward louts standing in the middle of the church as sheepish-looking a pair of asses as one could wish to see. They were hemmed in by the crowd of kneeling Mexicans—there was no retreat for them, and it was extremely gratifying to see how quickly their bullying impudence was taken out of them, and that it brought upon them a punishment which they evidently felt so acutely. The officiating priest, who was a Frenchman, afterwards gave a short sermon in Spanish, which was listened to attentively, and the people then dispersed to spend the remainder of the day in the gambling-rooms.

The same afternoon a drove of wild California cattle passed through the camp, and as several head were being drafted out, I had an opportunity of witnessing a specimen of the extraordinary skill of the Mexican in throwing the lasso. Galloping in among the herd, and swinging the riata round his head, he singles out the animal he wishes to secure, and, seldom missing his aim, he throws his lasso so as to encircle its horns. As soon as he sees that he has accomplished this, he immediately wheels round his horse, who equally well understands his part of the business, and stands prepared to receive the shock when the bull shall have reached the length of the rope. In his endeavors to escape, the bull then gallops round in a circle, of which the center is the horse, moving slowly round, and leaning over with one of his fore-feet planted well out, so as to enable him to hold his own in the struggle. An animal, if he is not very wild, may be taken along in this way, but generally another man rides up behind him, and throws his lasso so as to catch him by the hind-leg. This requires great dexterity and precision, as the lasso has to be thrown in such a way that the bull shall put his foot into the noose before it reaches the ground. Having an animal secured by the horns and a hind-foot, they have him completely under command; one man drags him along by the horns, while the other steers him by the hind-leg. If he gets at all obstreperous, however, they throw him, and drag him along the ground.

The lasso is about twenty yards long, made of strips of rawhide plaited, and the end is made fast to the high horn which sticks up in front of the Mexican saddle; the strain is all upon the saddle, and the girth, which is consequently immensely strong, and lashed up very tight. The Mexican saddles are well adapted for this sort of work, and the Mexicans are unquestionably splendid horsemen, though they ride too long for English ideas, the knee being hardly bent at all.

Two of the Vigilance Committee rode over from Moquelumne Hill next morning, to get the Padre to return with them to confess a Mexican whom they were going to hang that afternoon, for having cut into a tent and stolen several hundred dollars. I unfortunately did not know anything about it till it was so late that had I gone there I should not have been in time to see the execution: not that I cared for the mere spectacle of a poor wretch hanging by the neck, but I was extremely desirous of witnessing the ceremonies of an execution by Judge Lynch; and though I was two or three years cruising about in the mines, I never had the luck to be present on such an occasion. I particularly regretted having missed this one, as, from the accounts I afterwards heard of it, it must have been well worth seeing.

The Mexican was at first suspected of the robbery, from his own folly in going the very next morning to several stores, and spending an unusual amount of money on clothes, revolvers, and so on. When once suspected, he was seized without ceremony, and on his person was found a quantity of gold specimens and coin, along with the purse itself, all of which were identified by the man who had been robbed. With such evidence, of course, he was very soon convicted, and was sentenced to be hung. On being told of the decision of the jury, and that he was to be hung the next day, he received the information as a piece of news which no way concerned him, merely shrugging his shoulders and saying, “’stá bueno,” in the tone of utter indifference in which the Mexicans generally use the expression, requesting at the same time that the priest might be sent for.

When he was led out to be hanged, he walked along with as much nonchalance as any of the crowd, and when told at the place of execution that he might say whatever he had to say, he gracefully took off his hat, and blowing a farewell whiff of smoke through his nostrils, he threw away the cigarita he had been smoking, and, addressing the crowd, he asked forgiveness for the numerous acts of villainy to which he had already confessed, and politely took leave of the world with “Adios, caballeros.” He was then run up to a butcher’s derrick by the Vigilance Committee, all the members having hold of the rope, and thus sharing the responsibility of the act.

A very few days after I left San Andres, a man was lynched for a robbery committed very much in the same manner. But if stringent measures were wanted in one part of the country more than another, it was in such flimsy canvas towns as these two places, where there was such a population of worthless Mexican canaille, who were too lazy to work for an honest livelihood.

I went on in a few days to Angel’s Camp, a village some miles farther south, composed of well-built wooden houses, and altogether a more respectable and civilized-looking place than San Andres. The inhabitants were nearly all Americans, which no doubt accounted for the circumstance.