CHAPTER XVI.
A CALIFORNIAN JEALOUS OF HIS WIFE.—HOSPITALITY OF THE NATIVES.—HONORS TO GUADALUPE.—APPLICATION FROM A LOTHARIO FOR A DIVORCE.—CAPTURE OF MAZATLAN.—LARCENY OF CANTON SHAWLS.—AN EMIGRANT’S WIFE CLAIMING TO HAVE TAKEN THE COUNTRY.—A WILD BULLOCK IN MAIN-STREET.
Saturday, Nov. 20. I was tumbled out of my dreams last night by a succession of rapid and heavy knocks at my office door. Unbarring it, I found Giuseppe, a townsman, who stated, under an excitement that almost choked his voice, that he had just returned from the Salinas; that on entering his house he had discovered, through the window in the door leading to his bedroom, by the clear light of the moon, which shone into the apartment, a man reposing on his pillow by the side of his faithless spouse, and desired me to come and arrest him. I had understood that the sposa had not the reputation of the “icicle that hung on Dian’s temple,” and had no great confidence in Giuseppe’s domestic virtues either; but that was no valid reason why he should be so unceremoniously ousted of his domestic claims. I therefore ordered the constable, whom this midnight noise had now awoke, to go with him and bring the culprit before me.
Off they started, well armed with batons and revolvers. On reaching the premises the house was carefully reconnoitred, and every egress from the building securely bolted. They were now inside, and had conducted their operations so silently they were unsuspected. The door leading to the bedroom was at the other end of the hall; they crept over the floor with steps so low and soft, each heard his heart beat, and the clock seemed to strike instead of ticking its seconds. Giuseppe’s thoughts ran—
“I’ll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And, on the proof, there is no more but this.”
Through the panes of glass which relieved the panels of the door, they saw in the faint moonlight, which fell through the opposite window, the dark locks of the guilty intruder flowing over the husband’s pillow. “I have a mind,” whispered Giuseppe, “to rush in and plunge my knife at once to his cursed heart.” “No, no;” returned my faithful constable, “we are here to execute the orders of the alcalde, and if you are going to take the law into your own hands I will leave you. Hush! hark! he stirs! No; it was the shadow of the tree that frecks the moonlight.” All was still and waveless again. The door was on the jar, and drawing one good long relieving breath, in they rushed, and seized——what? A muff! The husband could not believe his own eyes, and mussed the muff up, jerking it this way and that, as if to ascertain if there was not a man inside of it. “You return late, Giuseppe,” murmured his wife, scarce yet awake. “Oh, yes, yes, my dear, late, late,” stammered the husband. “You have a friend with you,” continued the unsuspecting sposa. “Yes, my darling; a friend from the Salinas, whom I have invited to take a night’s lodging,” replied Giuseppe. “Well, you will find a bed for him in the opposite room, and a candle and matches on the table,” rejoined the sposa. So the twain went out, and having disturbed the bed assigned the friend sufficiently to give it the appearance of having been slept in, my constable slipped out and came home, denouncing all jealous husbands and ladies’ muffs. This fluster cost me two hours’ sleep, and Giuseppe a fee of three dollars to the constable. He would have paid forty times that sum to get free of the joke. Nothing so completely confounds a Californian as to find himself the dupe of his suspicions. It is more vexatious than the wrong which his mistaken anger sought to avenge. Mutual confidence is the basis of all domestic endearment, and the cause which is allowed to disturb it, should be as weighty as the happiness it wrecks. So reads my homily.
Tuesday, Dec. 7. There are no people that I have ever been among who enjoy life so thoroughly as the Californians. Their habits are simple; their wants few; nature rolls almost every thing spontaneously into their lap. Their cattle, horses, and sheep roam at large—not a blade of grass is cut, and none is required. The harvest waves wherever the plough and harrow have been; and the grain which the wind scatters this year, serves as seed for the next. The slight labor required is more a diversion than a toil; and even this is shared by the Indian. They attach no value to money, except as it administers to their pleasures. A fortune, without the facilities of enjoying it, is with them no object of emulation or envy. Their happiness flows from a fount that has very little connection with their outward circumstances.
There is hardly a shanty among them which does not contain more true contentment, more genuine gladness of the heart, than you will meet with in the most princely palace. Their hospitality knows no bounds; they are always glad to see you, come when you may; take a pleasure in entertaining you while you remain; and only regret that your business calls you away. If you are sick, there is nothing which sympathy and care can devise or perform which is not done for you. No sister ever hung over the throbbing brain or fluttering pulse of a brother with more tenderness and fidelity. This is as true of the lady whose hand has only figured her embroidery or swept her guitar, as of the cottage-girl wringing from her laundry the foam of the mountain stream; and all this from the heart! If I must be cast in sickness or destitution on the care of the stranger, let it be in California; but let it be before American avarice has hardened the heart and made a god of gold.
Monday, Dec. 13. A Californian, who had been absent some two years in Mexico, where he had led a gay irregular life, finding or fancying on his return grounds for suspecting the regularity of his wife, applied to me for a decree of divorce, a vinculo matrimonii. I told him that it was necessary, that on so grave a subject, he should come into court with clean hands; that if he would swear on the Cross, at the peril of his soul, that he had been faithful himself during his long absence, I would then see what could be done with his wife. He wanted to know if that was United States law; I told him it was the law by which I was governed—the law of the Bible—and a good law, too—let him that is without sin cast the first stone. “Then I cannot cast any stone at all, sir,” was the candid reply. “Then go and live with your wife; she is as good as you are, and you cannot require her to be any better.” He took my advice, is now living with his wife, and difficulties seem to have ceased. Nothing disarms a man like the conscious guilt of the offence for which he would arraign another.