[3] See Exhibit F, in Appendix.
[4] See Exhibit G, in Appendix.
RUNNING FOR THE LEGISLATURE.
One morning about this time I unexpectedly found myself in the newspapers, nominated by my friends as a candidate for the lower house of the Legislature. Who the friends were that named me I did not know; but the nomination opened a new field and suggested new ideas. I immediately accepted the candidacy. Judge Turner had threatened, among other things, to drive me into the Yuba River. I now turned upon him, and gave out that my object in wishing to go to the Legislature was to reform the judiciary, and, among other things, to remove him from the district. I canvassed the county thoroughly and was not backward in portraying him in his true colors. He and his associates spared no efforts to defeat me. Their great reliance consisted in creating the belief that I was an abolitionist. If that character could have been fastened upon me it would have been fatal to my hopes, for it was a term of great reproach. Yuba County then comprised the present county of that name, and also what are now Nevada and Sierra Counties. It was over a hundred miles in length and about fifty in width, and had a population of twenty-five thousand people, being the most populous mining region in the State. I visited nearly every precinct and spoke whenever I could get an audience. An incident of the canvass may not be uninteresting. I went to the town of Nevada a little more than a week before the election. As I was riding through its main street a gentleman whom I had long known, General John Anderson, hailed me, and, after passing a few words, said, "Field, you won't get fifty votes here." I asked, "Why not?" He replied, "Because everybody is for McCarty, your opponent." I said, somewhat sharply, "Anderson, I have come here to fight my own battle and I intend to carry Nevada." He laughed and I rode on. The first man I met after reaching the hotel was Captain Morgan, who afterwards commanded a steamer on the Bay of San Francisco. After talking for some time on general topics, he asked me about a story in circulation that I was an abolitionist. I saw at once the work of enemies, and I now understood the meaning of General Anderson's remark. I assured Morgan that the story was entirely false, and added; "To-morrow will be Sunday; everybody will be in town; I will then make a speech and show the people what kind of a man I am, and what my sentiments are on this and other subjects." Accordingly, the next day, in the afternoon, when the miners from the country were in town and had nothing else to do than to be amused, I mounted a platform erected for the purpose in the main street, and commenced speaking. I soon had a crowd of listeners. I began about my candidacy, and stated what I expected to do if elected. I referred to the necessity of giving greater jurisdiction to the local magistrates, in order that contests of miners respecting their claims might be tried in their vicinity. As things then existed the right to a mule could not be litigated without going to the county seat, at a cost greater than the value of the animal. I was in favor of legislation which would protect miners in their claims, and exempt their tents, rockers, and utensils used in mining from forced sale. I was in favor of dividing the county, and making Nevada the seat of the new county. I had heard of numerous measures they wanted, and I told them how many of these measures I advocated. Having got their attention and excited their interest, I referred to the charge made against me of being an abolitionist, and denounced it as a base calumny. In proof of the charge I was told that I had a brother in New York who was a free-soiler. So I had, I replied, and a noble fellow he is—God bless him wherever he may be. But I added, I have another brother who is a slaveholder in Tennessee, and with which one, I asked, in the name of all that is good, were they going to place me. I wondered if these "honorable" men, who sought by such littleness to defeat me, did not find out whether I did not have some other relatives,—women, perhaps, who believed in things unearthly and spiritual,—whose opinions they could quote to defeat me. Shame on such tactics, I said, and the crowd answered by loud cheering. I then went on to give my views of our government, of the relation between the general government of the Union and the government of the States, to show that the former was created for national purposes which the States could not well accomplish—that we might have uniformity of commercial regulations, one army and one navy, a common currency, and the same postal system, and present ourselves as one nation to foreign countries—but that all matters of domestic concern were under the control and management of the States, with which outsiders could not interfere; that slavery was a domestic institution which each State must regulate for itself, without question or interference from others. In other words, I made a speech in favor of State Rights, which went home to my hearers, who were in great numbers from the South. I closed with a picture of the future of California, and of the glories of a country bounded by two oceans. When I left the platform the cheers which followed showed that I had carried the people with me. McCarty, my opponent, followed, but his speech fell flat. Half his audience left before he had concluded.
The election took place a week from the following Monday. I remained in Nevada until it was over. At the precinct in town where I had spoken, I had between three and four hundred majority, and in another precinct in the outskirts I had a majority of two to one. In the county generally I ran well, and was elected, notwithstanding the fact that I was not the nominee of any convention or the candidate of any party. The morning following the election, as I was leaving Nevada, I rode by the store of General Anderson, and hailing him, inquired what he thought now of my getting fifty votes in the town. "Well," he replied, "it was that Sunday speech of yours which did the business. McCarty could not answer it."
There was one thing in the election which I regretted, and that was that I did not carry Marysville; a majority of the votes of its citizens was cast for my opponent. It is true that there the greater number of gamblers and low characters of the county were gathered, but the better class predominated in numbers, and I looked with confidence to its support. My regret, however, was sensibly diminished when I learned the cause of the failure of a portion of the people to give me their votes. Some few weeks previous to the day of election a man was killed in the street by a person by the name of Keiger, who was immediately arrested. The person killed was about leaving the State, and owed a small debt to Keiger, which he refused either to pay or to give security for its payment. Exasperated by his refusal, Keiger drew a pistol and shot him. I was sent for by an acquaintance of Keiger to attend his examination before the local magistrate, by whom he was held for the action of the grand jury. In the afternoon of the same day a large crowd assembled in the streets, with the purpose of proceeding to the summary execution of Keiger. Whilst the people were in a great state of excitement I made a speech to them, begging them not to resort to violence and thus cast reproach upon the good name of Marysville, but to let the law take its course, assuring them that justice would certainly be administered by the courts. My remarks were received with evident displeasure, and I am inclined to think that violence would have been resorted to had not the prisoner been secretly removed from the city and taken to Sacramento. The exasperation of a large number, at this escape of their intended victim, vented itself on me, and cost me at least a hundred votes in the city. I would not have acted otherwise had I known beforehand that such would be the result of my conduct. When the civil tribunals are open and in the undisturbed exercise of their jurisdiction, a resort to violence can never be approved or excused.
I witnessed some strange scenes during the campaign, which well illustrated the anomalous condition of society in the county. I will mention one of them. As I approached Grass Valley, then a beautiful spot among the hills, occupied principally by Mr. Walsh, a name since become familiar to Californians, I came to a building by the wayside, a small lodging-house and drinking-saloon, opposite to which a Lynch jury were sitting, trying a man upon a charge of stealing gold dust. I stopped and watched for awhile the progress of the trial. On an occasion of some little delay in the proceedings, I mentioned to those present, the jury included, that I was a candidate for the Legislature, and that I would be glad if they would join me in a glass in the saloon, an invitation which was seldom declined in those days. It was at once accepted, and leaving the accused in the hands of an improvised constable, the jury entered the house and partook of the drinks which its bar afforded. I had discovered, or imagined from the appearance of the prisoner, that he had been familiar in other days with a very different life from that of California, and my sympathies were moved towards him. So, after the jurors had taken their drinks and were talking pleasantly together, I slipped out of the building and approaching the man, said to him, "What is the case against you? Can I help you?" The poor fellow looked up to me and his eyes filled with great globules of tears as he replied. "I am innocent of all I am charged with. I have never stolen anything nor cheated any one; but I have no one here to befriend me." That was enough for me. Those eyes, filled as they were, touched my heart. I hurried back to the saloon; and as the jurors were standing about chatting with each other I exclaimed, "How is this? you have not had your cigars? Mr. bar-keeper, please give the gentlemen the best you have; and, besides, I added, let us have another 'smile'—it is not often you have a candidate for the Legislature among you." A laugh followed, and a ready acceptance was given to the invitation. In the meantime my eyes rested upon a benevolent-looking man among the jury, and I singled him out for conversation. I managed to draw him aside and inquired what State he came from. He replied, from Connecticut. I then asked if his parents lived there. He answered, with a faltering voice, "My father is dead; my mother and sister are there." I then said, "Your thoughts, I dare say, go out constantly to them; and you often write to them, of course." His eyes glistened, and I saw pearl-like dew-drops gathering in them; his thoughts were carried over the mountains to his old home. "Ah, my good friend," I added "how their hearts must rejoice to hear from you." Then, after a short pause, I remarked, "What is the case against your prisoner? He, too, perhaps, may have a mother and sister in the East, thinking of him as your mother and sister do of you, and wondering when he will come back. For God's sake remember this." The heart of the good man responded in a voice which, even to this day—now nearly twenty-seven years past—sounds like a delicious melody in my ears: "I will do so." Passing from him I went to the other jurors, and, finding they were about to go back to the trial, I exclaimed, "Don't be in a hurry, gentlemen, let us take another glass." They again acceded to my request, and seeing that they were a little mellowed by their indulgence, I ventured to speak about the trial. I told them that the courts of the state were organized, and there was no necessity or justification now for Lynch juries; that the prisoner appeared to be without friends, and I appealed to them, as men of large hearts, to think how they would feel if they were accused of crime where they had no counsel and no friends. "Better send him, gentlemen, to Marysville for trial, and keep your own hands free from stain." A pause ensued; their hearts were softened; and, fortunately, a man going to Marysville with a wagon coming up at this moment, I prevailed upon them to put the prisoner in his charge to be taken there. The owner of the wagon consenting, they swore him to take the prisoner to that place and deliver him over to the sheriff; and to make sure that he would keep the oath, I handed him a "slug," a local coin of octagonal form of the value of fifty dollars, issued at that time by assayers in San Francisco. We soon afterwards separated. As I moved away on my horse my head swam a little, but my heart was joyous. Of all things which I can recall of the past, this is one of the most pleasant. I believe I saved the prisoner's life; for in those days there was seldom any escape for a person tried by a Lynch jury.
The expenses of the election were very great. It was difficult to interest the miners in it; most of them had come to the country in the hope of improving their fortunes in one or two years, and then returning to "the States." It was, therefore, a matter of little moment to them who were chosen members of the coming Legislature. Party lines were not regarded among them, and party questions could not draw many of them from their labors. As I was an independent candidate, not supported by any party, I had to bear the whole expenses of the campaign. How great those expenses were may be imagined from the following bill, one of a large number sent to me after the election. I had told the saloon-keepers in the vicinity of the polling places in the different precincts to be liberally disposed towards my friends on the day of election. They took me literally at my word, as this bill from the keeper of a saloon where the polls were opened in Downieville precinct will show:
Mr. S.J. FIELD,