The land of gold; or, Three years in California

by Walter Colton

And bracelets, swan-like bosoms, the thin robes

Floating like light clouds ’twixt our gaze and heaven.”

And now they glide to the tables, which stretch away under the embowering trees, and where the rich larder has emptied its choicest stores. There the savory venison scents the still air, and the wild strawberries blush between the green leaves. There the domestic fowl, the swift-footed hare, and the timid quail have met in strange brotherhood. There the juice of the native grape, and the cool wave of the gushing rock, sparkle in the flowing goblet. These were discussed, and the festive board was relinquished to the children, who were too full of glee to note if aught more than the fruit and confectionery remained. The ripe berry sought in vain to add color to their lips, or rival the bloom which lent its rosy hue to the round cheek. Golden locks floated around eyes which sparkled with light and love, and the accents of gladness rung out in joyous peals, like the song of birds when the storm-cloud has passed.

“Theirs was the shout! the song! the burst of joy!

Which sweet from childhood’s rosy lip resoundeth;

Theirs was the eager spirit naught could cloy,

And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth.”

The music from the harp and guitar streamed out again, and the green plat was full of glancing forms, where youth and age, maternal dignity and maiden charms, led down the merry dance. As these glided to their seats, childhood crowned with wild-flowers sprung to the arena, with motions light as the measures through which it whirled its infantile forms. A sylvan Pan might have fancied his fays had left their green-wood covert to frolic on the green beneath the soft light of the dying day. But ere the evening star ascended its watch-tower the merry groups were on their fleet steeds, bounding over hill and valley to their homes. The shadows of the moonlit trees fell in softness and silence where all this mirth had been; only the silver tones of the streamlets were heard as they murmured their music in the ear of night. The echoes of our voices will all cease in the places that have known us as we glide at last to the “dim bourn,” nor will a leaflet tremble long in the breath of memory. The myriads who people the past are still, the stir of their existence is over, the great ocean of their being is at rest. The wandering wind only sighs over their tombless repose.

Friday, Oct. 10. Captain Hull, who has been out here nearly four years in command of the Warren, left us to-day for the United States. He has rendered good service to the country during his long exile. May prosperous breezes waft him safely to his distant home. Lieut. J. B. Lanman succeeds to the command of the Warren; an officer justly esteemed for his gentlemanly deportment and professional intelligence. It is this foreign duty that puts the competency and fidelity of an officer to the test. It is easy to carry on duty at a navy yard, but duty on board ship with a heterogeneous crew, is another thing; it calls for the last resources of the officer, in the maintenance of discipline, harmony, and efficiency.

For a person who has been but a few months in a man-of-war, and never been at sea in any other situation, to attempt to enlighten the public on the discipline of the navy, or any of the duties which belong on board ship, is an exhibition of impertinent vanity. He has no practical knowledge of the subjects upon which he is delivering his sage lecture. He has a certain theory with which he proposes to test the wisdom or folly, the humanity or cruelty, of every thing in the service; and when this theory gets snagged, which is often the case, he is for rooting out the whole concern. He don’t reflect that his land theory is as much out of its element at sea as a stranded porpoise would be out of his. All the habits and usages of a man-of-war, are heaven wide of those which obtain on land. They require rules and regulations suited to their genius. Reforms must necessarily be of slow growth; they must take root in the service itself, and not in the novelties of any land theory.