Page 17

IN October, 1852, the good steamer "Sea Bird," Captain Haley, landed at San Pedro. Whether the gallant commander of the swan-like little steamer that so gracefully swept our beautiful Southern coast was Salisbury Haley Esq., now an honored member of the California bar, or his elder brother "Bob," I disremember. Glorious old Bob Haley! So fondly remembered by all who are left of those that were so wont to go dead-head to San Francisco, with jolly old Bob on his merry craft in those good old times, long gone by, never to be known again in this world, and certainly not by any of us who so merrily passed through them. I think, however, that Salisbury was the commander of the beautiful "Sea Bird," on the trip that brought the writer to this land of sunshine and bountiful prosperity, more than a quarter of a century ago. What changes have been wrought within that time! Changes in Government, progress in commerce, discoveries in science, revolutions in modes of travel, and vicissitudes in the lives and fortunes of individuals! How few are left of the thoughtless and reckless adventurers who inhabited and roamed over California twenty-eight years ago; and at that time all were adventurers, unless,

Page 18

perchance, some few of the grave old Spaniards who belonged to a past generation.

The "Sea Bird" brought about twenty passengers, one of whom was the writer, then a boy in years, and the youngest of all, unless, perhaps, little Johnny Wilson, now deceased, Romualdo Pacheco, Judge Ogier, B. D. Wilson, Pat. Tompkins, the eccentric lawyer and former Congressman from Mississippi, and Alexander Nelson, of Green Meadows. I remember that Nelson was in company with the Hardy boys, who were bringing down an English thoroughbred race horse to get a race out of "Old Sepulveda," against a native mustang, and beat the old Don out of a thousand or two head of cattle and a few thousand dollars. They got the race, but failed to drive the cattle to a profitable market in the mines, for the reason that Sepulveda's California mustang, on the nine-mile race, almost distanced the beautiful thoroughbred, and the old Don aforesaid quietly pocketed the innumerable $50 octagonal slugs, brought down by the boys, who were so absolutely cleaned out, that, if my memory is correct, they were all forced to go to work, something hardly to be thought of at that time in Los Angeles. Indians did the labor and the white man spent the money in those happy days.

The Hardys are all dead. Nelson is a rich and prosperous farmer, whose increase of family keeps pace with his prosperity.

At San Pedro we found two stages of the old army ambulance pattern, to which were being harnessed as vicious a looking herd of bronco mules as ever kicked the brains out of a gringo. While a half dozen Indian and Mexican vaqueros were engaged in subduing and hitching up the mules, a gallant looking young man rode up, splendidly mounted, and dressed in elegant clothes, half gentleman and half ranchero in style, and after politely saluting Don Benito Wilson, informed him that a great Vigilance Committee was in session in Los Angeles, and were trying some half dozen cut-throats, who had

Page 19

been arrested and accused of the murder of General Bean. Don Benito informed us that the young man was Billy Reader, City Marshal of Los Angeles. Poor Billy! He accompanied the author to Nicaragua and was killed at San Jacinto. By the time the conversation above referred to had ended, the stages were ready and we were invited to "get in." A sailor-looking fellow, who seemed to be at least half-seas-over, sat on the driver's seat and held the lines all together in both hands, while two savage looking Mexicans, mounted on horses that, for bone and sinew, would have vied with the famous steed of Mazeppa, stood with lassoes tightly drawn on the leading mules to "guide centre," while two others stood in a flanking position with their riatas ready to be used as whips to urge the animals forward when the word was given to "let loose." Finally, when all hands were seated, a portly looking young man that Don Benito called Banning, came around with a basket on his arm and offered to each of the passengers an ominous looking black bottle, remarking, "Gentlemen, there is no water between here and Los Angeles," and then inquired, "all ready?" One surly looking sailor driver grumbled out in reply. "Is there going to be no betting?" When Banning laughingly remarked that the drivers usually expected the passengers to bet something on the trip, "just enough to make it interesting" whereupon a passenger who sat beside me, whose neat appearance showed him to be a recent importation, offered to bet $5 on our stage. One of the horse racers on the other stage said: "Well, do you suppose there is a man on this wagon who would bet $5? There is a slug I'll go you on the trip." My neighbor, whom I recollect as Ransom, failed to respond; so the author patriotically saw his $50, after which the betting became general.

When all the stakes were made, Banning sang out to the driver: "Now lads, mind your helm! Let her drive!" and the Mexican major-domo savagely yelled out: "Suelto carajo!" and

Page 20

sure enough it was "let loose" and away we went. Of all the rattling of harness, kicking, bucking, pulling, lashing and swearing, the twelve bronco mules, the two half-drunk sailor drivers, and the six Mexican conductors with their chief, the major-domo, they did the most. The mules were worthy of the glorious country that gave them to their domineering and relentless masters. The two Mexicans who "guided centre" on the two leading mules of both stages, were certainly artists; they were absolute masters of the situation. They just snaked the mules along, whether they would or not. The four outriders, or mule-whackers, showed a refinement in whipping mules that was absolutely incomparable, and by the time we were half way to the Angels, the mules bore a perfect resemblance to the ring- streaked and striped kine of Holy Writ. The two half-drunk sailor drivers would roar at each other, as we dashed along at lightning speed, sometimes passing each other, sometimes neck and neck, each team straining every nerve to get ahead of the other. "Helm a-port, you lubber! Don't you see you will run into me!" always with an amount of profanity that was absolutely appalling. Greeley's ride with Hank Monk was monotonous compared with the early staging between San Pedro and Los Angeles. There was money bet on that bronco mule stage race, and when we had passed over about half the distance, the two teams kind of slacked up in speed, as if by mutual consent of all concerned, except we who had bet our money. We were opposed to any thing of the sort, and urged our driver onward, when he said in a gruff kind of way: "When will we splice the main brace?" One of the black bottles was accordingly opened and passed to the driver, who raised his eyes heavenward and gazed piously at the stars that were just beginning to twinkle in the early twilight, and then passed it to one of the "whackers," who also raised his eyes heavenward and gazed at the stars. We passed out another bottle, and all of the Dons followed suit. We could see that the

Page 21

same performance was being gone through with by the party in charge of the other stage. We inside the stage went through the same pious devotions, only we failed to see stars. One happy passenger at this juncture said to the driver: "I'll give you $5 if you'll beat that stage to the city."

"Bully," said the sailor. "How much will you give? And you? And you? And you?" and "we all" who had bet gave $5, and then said the driver, "Them buckaries have got to be seen, or we are beaten worse nor a Chinese junk." We saw the Dons and told the driver to let loose again, and away we went rackety-whack. The party in the other stage had seen the drivers and Dons apparently in the same manner as we had seen ours, so we got no advantage of them, and the racing, lashing and swearing, both in English and Spanish, recommenced in as lively a manner as before, and on we dashed. In a brief space of time we were coming up San Pedro street at a fearful speed, followed by a pack of dogs, barking, yelping and snarling at us in a savage way. By the time we turned to come into town, about First street, their number seemed legion, "mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound." With the whole pack at our heels, we drove up to the Bella Union Hotel, now the St. Charles, our team at least a half-block in the rear of the winning party. Alas, for human folly! Where was my $50, my $5 to the driver, ditto to the Dons? It seemed to me to be ominous of future bad luck in the City of the Angels--of financial failure. Alas! Alas!

Winston and Hodges kept the Bella Union at that time. The house was a one- story flat-roofed adobe, with a corral in the rear, extending to Los Angeles street, with the usual great Spanish portal, near which stood a little frame house, one room above and one below. The lower room had the sign "Imprenta" over the door fronting on Los Angeles street, which meant that the Star was published therein. The room upstairs was used as a dormitory for the printers and editors.

Page 22

The editors were then three in number: Lewis, Rand, and Manuel Clemente Rojo. The latter edited the Spanish columns of the Star, it being published in both Spanish and English. On the north side of the Bella Union corral, extending from the back-door of the main building to Los Angeles street, were numerous pigeon-holes, or dog-kennels. These were the rooms for the guests of the Bella Union. In rainy weather the primitive earthen floor was sometimes, and generally, rendered quite muddy by the percolations from the roof above, which, in height from floor to ceiling, was about six or seven feet. The rooms were not over 6x9 in size. Such were the ordinary dormitories of the hotel that advertised as being the "best hotel south of San Francisco." If a very aristocratic guest came along, a great sacrifice was made in his favor, and he was permitted to sleep on the little billiard table. "The bar was well supplied." So said the advertisement. It was well patronized. So says this truthful historian. We registered our name, washed, and smiled at the bar. The grim, desperado-looking bar-tender by no means smiled at us. He looked as though he had not smiled since his father was hung. Mind you, now, I don't say that bar-tender's father was hung, but if he were not, he should have been before becoming the father of such an ill-looking fellow. He was a vindictive appearing man, and wore an old dragoon overcoat and a red hat; a vicuna so common in the country at the time; open-legged Mexican calzoneros, with jingling buttons from hip to bottom, and by no means immaculate under-linen; protruding from beneath his flowing robe could be seen the ugly looking Colt's revolver, while, with the red fringe-work of his Mexican sash could be seen mingled a chain of ponderous golden nuggets that hung from his fob. That bar-tender looked as though he never smiled. I am sure that no man, though he may have been never so hard up, so dry, or so desperate, would have had the temerity to take a drink at that bar without treating that

Page 23

bartender with the utmost civility. In one corner behind the bar stood a double-barrelled shot-gun, while, lying within convenient reach, could be seen a couple of "Colt's" of the old army pattern, carrying half-ounce balls, and commonly called "batteries." The bar was evidently not to be taken by surprise. I soon made the acquaintance of the junior member of the hotel firm, who was also Mayor of the city, and, like Mayors in general, he was the reverse of the grim bar-tender. He just smiled all over, and all the time. It was a perpetual smile with genial old Hodges. The bar was well patronized, so reiterates this pious chronicler, and during the hour or two that I was a looker-on, there was a continuous smiling at that bar. Although I had been two and-a-half years in the upper country, and had become familiarized with the desperado character of the people, I most solemnly asseverate that the patrons who came and went from the Bella Union bar during that time were the most bandit, cut-throat looking set that the writer had ever sat his youthful eyes upon. Some were dressed in the gorgeous attire of the country, some half ranchero, half miner; others were dressed in the most modern style of tailorship; all, however, had slung to their rear the never-failing pair of Colt's, generally with the accompaniment of the bowie knife. I will dispose of the aforesaid junior member of the hotel firm, Mayor Hodges, by saying that he is long since dead. The municipal corporation remembers him as one of its most enterprising and intelligent heads. Under his vigorous administration the authorities projected and carried to completion a public water ditch, which remains to this day a monument to his enterprise and forethought.

On the morning following my arrival in the city of the Angels I walked around to take notes in my mind as to matters of general interest. First I went immediately across the street to a very small adobe house with two rooms, in which sat in solemn conclave, a sub-committee of the great constituted

Page 24

criminal court of the city. On inquiry I found that the said sub-committee had been in session for about a week, endeavoring to extract confessions from the miserable culprits by a very refined process of questioning and cross-questioning, first by one of the committee, then by another, until the whole committee would exhaust their ingenuity on the victim, when all of their separate results would be solemnly compared, and all of the discrepancies in the prisoner's statements would be brought back to him and he be required to explain and reconcile them to suit the examining committee; and the poor devil, who doubtless was frightened so badly that he would hardly know one moment what he had said the moment previous, was held strictly accountable for any and all contradictions, and if not satisfactorily explained, was invariably taken by the wise heads of the said committee to be conclusive evidence of guilt. Six men were being tried, all Sonoranians, except one, Felipe Read, a half-breed Indian, whose father was a Scotchman; all claimed, of course, to be innocent; finally one Reyes Feliz made a confession, probably under the hypothesis that hanging would be preferable to such inquisitorial torture as was being practiced on him by the seven wise men of the Angels. Reyes said in his confession that he and his brother-in-law, Joaquin Murietta, with a few followers, had, about a year previous, ran off the horses of Jim Thompson from the Brea ranch, and succeeded in getting them as far as the Tejon, then exclusively inhabited by Indians; that old Zapatero, the Tejon chief, on recognizing Jim Thompson's brand, arrested the whole party, some dozen in all, men and women, and stripped them all stark naked, tied them up, and had them whipped half to death, and turned loose to shift for themselves in the best way they could. Fortunately for the poor outcasts, they fell in with an American of kindred sympathies, who did what he could to relieve the distress of the forlorn thieves, who continued their way-as best they could toward the "Southern

Page 25

Mines" on the Stanislaus and Tuolumne, no mining being done south of those points at that time. In the meantime, brave old Zapatero, who was every inch a chief, sent Thompson's herd back to him--an act for which I hope Jim is to this day duly grateful.

At the time this confession was made, Joaquin was walking around, as unconcerned as any other gentleman; but when the minions of the mob went to lay heavy hand upon him he was gone, and from that day until the day of his death, Joaquin Murietta was an outlaw and the terror of the southern counties. Until that confession he stood in this community with as good a character as any other Mexican of his class.

Reyes Feliz denied all knowledge of the murder of General Bean. One of the prisoners, Cipriano Sandoval, the village cobbler of San Gabriel, also, after having for several days maintained his innocence, and denied any and all knowledge of the murder, came out and made a full confession. He said he was on his way home from the maromas (rope-dancers) at about 11 o'clock one night, it being quite dark. He heard a shot, and then the footsteps of a man running toward him; that a moment after he came in violent contact with a man whom he at once recognized as Felipe Read. They mutually recognized each other, when Felipe said: Cipriano, I have just shot Bean. Here is five dollars; take it, say nothing about it, and when you want money come to me and get it." That was the sum total of his confession. All the others remained obdurate, and what I have related was the sum of the information elicited by the seven days inquisition. The committee had certainly found the murderer of General Bean.

The fact was, I believe, that Bean, who kept a bar at the Mission, had seduced Felipe's mistress, and Indian woman, away from him, and hence the assassination. Three days after my arrival the "inquisitors" announced themselves as ready to

Page 26

report. In the meantime I went around taking notes in my mind.

Los Angeles, at the time of my arrival, was certainly a nice looking place--the houses generally looked neat and clean, and were well whitewashed. There were three two-story adobe houses in the city, the most important of which is the present residence of Mrs. Bell, widow of the late Capt. Alex. Bell; then the Temple building, a substantial two-story, at the junction of Main and Spring streets; and the old Casa Sanchez, on what is now Sanchez street. The lower walls of the latter are still there, the house having been razeed. The business of the place was very considerable; the most of the merchants were Jews, and all seemed to be doing a paying business. The fact was, they were all getting rich. The streets were thronged throughout the entire day with splendidly mounted and richly dressed caballeros, most of whom wore suits of clothes that cost all the way from $500 to $1,000, with saddle and horse trappings that cost even more than the above named sums. Of one of the Lugos, I remember, it was said his horse equipments cost over $2,000. Everybody in Los Angeles seemed rich, everybody was rich, and money was more plentiful, at that time, than in any other place of like size, I venture to say, in the world.

The question will at once suggest itself to the reader: Why was it that money was so plentiful in Los Angeles at the time referred to? I will inform him. The great rush to the gold mines had created a demand for beef cattle, and the years '48, '49 and '50 had exhausted the supply in the counties north of San Luis Obispo, and purchasers came to Los Angeles, then the greatest cow county of the State. The southern counties had enjoyed a succession of good seasons of rain and bountiful supply of grass. The cattle and horses had increased to an unprecedented number, and the prices ranged from $20 to $35 per head, and a man was poor indeed who could not sell at the time one or two hundred head of cattle, and many of our

Page 27

firstclass rancheros, for instance the Sepulvedas, Abilas, Lugos, Yorbas, Picos, Stearns, Rowlands and Williams, could sell a thousand head of cattle at any time and put the money in their pockets as small change, and as such they spent it.

On the second evening after my arrival, in company with a gentleman, now of high standing in California, I went around to see the sights. We first went to the "El Dorado" and smiled at the bar. The "El Dorado" was a small frame building, a duplicate of the "Imprenta," wherein the Star was published; the room below being used as a bar and billiard room, while the upper room was used as a dormitory. The place was kept by an elegant Irishman, John H. Hughes, said to have been a near Kinsman of the late great church dignitary, Archbishop Hughes. John was a scholar, and without doubt, so far as manners and accomplishments went, was a splendid gentleman, and the whole community accorded to him the honor of being a good judge of whisky. The "El Dorado" was situated at about the southeast corner of the Merced theater.

Along toward the spring of 1853, the Rev. Adam Bland, without the fear of the virtuous community before his eyes, purchased the "El Dorado," pulled down its sacred sign, and profanely converted it into a Methodist church! Alas, poor Hughes! I believe it broke his heart. He never recovered from the blow. It broke his noble spirit, and a few years later, when a fair Senorita withheld her smiles from the brilliant Hughes, it was the feather that broke the camel's back, and the disconsolate Hughes joined the Crabbe filibustering expedition to Sonora and was killed.

From the "El Dorado" we betook ourselves to Aleck Gibson's gambling house on the plaza, where a well kept bar was in full blast, and some half dozen "monte banks" in successful operation, each table with its green baize cover, being literally heaped with piles of $50 ingots, commonly called "slugs." Betting was high. You would frequently see a ranchero with an

Page 28

immense pile of gold in front of him, quietly and unconcernedly smoking his cigarrito and betting twenty slugs on the turn, the losing of which produced no perceptible discomposure of his grave countenance. For grave self-possession under difficult and trying circumstances, the Spaniard is in advance of all nationalities that I know of.

From the great gambling house on the plaza we hied us to the classic precincts of the "Calle de los Negros," which was the most perfect and full grown pandemonium that this writer, who had seen the "elephant" before, and has been more than familiar with him under many phases since, has ever beheld. There were four or five gambling places, and the crowd from the old Coronel building on the Los Angeles street corner to the plaza was so dense that we could scarcely squeeze through. Americans, Spaniards, Indians and foreigners, rushing and crowding along from one gambling house to another, from table to table, all chinking the everlasting eight square $50 pieces up and down in their palms. There were several bands of music of the primitive Mexican-Indian kind, that sent forth most discordant sound, by no means in harmony with the eternal jingle of gold--while at the upper end of the street, in the rear of one of the gambling houses was a Mexican "Maroma" in uproarious confusion. They positively made night hideous with their howlings. Every few minutes a rush would be made, and may be a pistol shot would be heard, and when the confusion incident to the rush would have somewhat subsided, and inquiry made, you would learn that it was only a knife fight between two Mexicans, or a gambler had caught somebody cheating and had perforated him with a bullet. Such things were a matter of course, and no complaint or arrests were ever made. An officer would not have had the temerity to attempt and arrest in "Negro Alley," at that time.

I have no hesitation in saying that in the years of 1851, '52 and '53, there were more desperadoes in Los Angeles than in any

Page 29

place on the Pacific coast, San Francisco with its great population not excepted. It was a fact, that all of the bad characters who had been driven from the mines had taken refuge in Los Angeles, for the reason that if forced to move further on, it was only a short ride to Mexican soil, while on the other hand all of the outlaws of the Mexican frontier made for the California gold mines, and the cut-throats of California and Mexico naturally met at Los Angeles, and at Los Angeles they fought. Knives and revolvers settled all differences, either real or imaginary. The slightest misunderstandings were settled on the spot with knife or bullet, the Mexican preferring the former at close quarters and the American the latter.

During the years of '52 and '53, it was a common and usual query at the bar or breakfast table, "well, how many were killed last night?" then "who was it?" and "who killed him?' The year '53 showed an average mortality from fights and assassinations of over one per day in Los Angeles. In the year last referred to, police statistics showed a greater number of murders in California than in all the United States besides, and a greater number in Los Angeles than in all of the rest of California. The desperadoes set all law at defiance, Sheriffs and Marshals were killed at pleasure, and at one time the office of Sheriff, then worth $10,000 a year, went a begging; the wheels of Justice refused to revolve, no man could be found bold enough to come forward and accept the office, until Jim Thompson threw himself into the breach, as it were, and became Sheriff of Los Angeles county, when two predecessors had been assassinated within the year preceding his appointment. It is worthy of remark that Jim, being rich at the time, did not need or want the office, but accepted it solely on the urgent demand of the Courts of Justice. Robberies were of rare occurrence, money being so plentiful and so easily obtained by gambling, that out-and-out robbery was not necessary.

Within the three or four days following my arrival, several

Page 30

men were pointed out to me as being first-class desperadoes, the most conspicuous of whom was "Crooked-nose Smith," who had killed his half- dozen men in the upper country, and when he did Los Angeles the honor of his presence, he gave out the comforting assurance that he would not kill any one until just before he would depart for Mexico. "Crooked Nose" was certainly a man of honor as well as a first-class artist, for he kept his promise to the very letter. On the day prior to his departure he did us the honor to furnish a first-class gambler for breakfast. He politely apologized for the interruption he had caused in the unusual quiet that had pervaded the atmosphere of our beautiful city, by saying that he had not killed a man for six months, and he feared he might get his hand out. "Crooked Nose" was a very prince of a desperado, the admiration and envy of all of the small-fry members of the profession who had as yet only killed their one or two men.

"Cherokee Bob" was another artist of great merit, and was pointed out to me as a gentleman of great consequence; who had killed six Chilenos in one fight, and although he had been riddled with bullets and ripped and sliced with knives, yet he had never failed to get his man when he went for him.

There were many other eminent characters who proudly walked the streets with all the pomp and circumstance of being looked up to by the commonality of mankind. In the innocent simplicity of my heart, I mentally exclaimed: Surely I am not only in the City of the Angels, but with the Angels here I dwell.

Page 31

THE author felt highly flattered at not only being permitted to breathe the same air, tread the same soil, but to actually live in the same town and to meet, pass and repass, on terms of absolute equality, such distinguished men as those referred to. The privilege was certainly a great one, and the author, as aforesaid, was prone to feel and appreciate it to its fullest extent. Many other parties who had killed their half- dozen were pointed out, but, save and except one, I think "Crooked Nose" and "Bob" were the most entitled to mention. The exception above noted was a native Californian, named Ricardo Urives, who, in manner and appearance, was the most perfect specimen of a desperado I ever beheld. Ricardo could stand more shooting and stabbing than the average bull or grizzly bear. I remember that on one lovely Sabbath afternoon, Ricardo got into a fight at the upper end of the Calle de los Negros, and was beset with a crowd fully intent on securing his scalp. He was attacked in front, rear and on each flank; he was shot, stabbed and stoned; his clothes were literally cut from his body. Still he fought his way, revolver in one hand, bowie knife in the other, all the way past the old Coronel corner to Aliso and Los Angeles

Page 32

streets, where his horse was hitched. He quietly mounted, bare-headed, bleeding from at least a score of wounds. The crowd had fallen back into the narrow street, where lay some half-dozen bleeding victims to bear witness to the certainty of Ricardo's aim. The writer had witnessed the sanguinary and desperate affair from the up-stairs verandah of Captain Bell's residence, on the corner of Los Angeles and Aliso streets; and seeing that there were a multitude against one, felt greatly excited in favor of the one, and it was with a secret prayer of thanks that I saw the heroic fellow, who was so cut and carved that his own mother would have failed to recognize him, emerge from the crowded street, come to bay and drive his pursuers back. What then was my surprise to see him deliberately ride back to the place whence he had so miraculously escaped.

It seemed that he had fired the last shot from his heavy Colt, for when he charged through the street he used his revolver as a war-club, and scattered and drove his enemies like sheep. He then rode off into what is now called Sonora and got his wounds bandaged up. It afterwards transpired that he had been shot three times in the body, and stabbed all over. He then put in a full hour riding up and down Main street in front of the Bella Union, daring any gringo officer to arrest him. None being bold enough to make the attempt, the gentle Ricardo took his quiet departure for the "Rancho de los Coyotes," then the property of his sister.

Ricardo was brave, an army of one hundred thousand of his likes would be invincible. But Ricardo's courage was that of the lion or the tiger, and like those barons of the brute creation, when brought face to face with moral as well as physical courage, the animal bravery of the desperado would quail. One day a quiet young gentleman was passing through Nigger Alley, and found Don Ricardo on the war path. He was tormenting, berating and abusing every one who came in his way, and was particular in his abuse of a young Mexican, who

Page 33

seemed to be a stranger, and to be greatly frightened. The young gentleman stopped for a moment, and authoritatively ordered the domineering Don to desist. The astonishment of Ricardo was beyond description. He looked contemptuously at the young man for a minute, then quietly drawing his bowie started deliberately for him, when, in an instant, he was covered with a small revolver, and commanded to stop. "One more step," said the gringo, "and you are a dead man." With his eye he caught that of Ricardo, and gazed fixedly into his terrible, tiger-like orbs. Ricardo halted and commenced to threaten. "Put up that knife," said the young gringo. Ricardo flourished his knife and swore. "Stop that," said the gringo, with his eyes still riveted on those of the human hyena. The Don stopped. Then once more, "Put up that knife, or I will shoot you dead." Ricardo sheathed his bowie. "Vayasse," "Begone," said the gringo, and to the utter astonishment of the congregated crowd, Ricardo turned and slunk away. At this juncture Jim Barton, the Sheriff, with a party, arrived on the scene, and congratulated the victorious gringo on his achievement, and then and not until then, did the gentleman know of the desperate character of his antagonist. It was a fine example of moral and physical over mere brute courage. The young gringo referred to, then a stranger, afterward became Governor of the great State of California, and in discharge of the high trust confided to him, displayed the same degree of moral courage that first manifested itself in the motley crowd in Calle de Los Negros, and made the best Governor, possibly, our State ever had. The young gringo and ex-Governor John G. Downey are one and the same.

It will be the duty of the chronicler to make one more mention of the redoubtable Ricardo, and then permit him to hand in his checks. I think it was about a year after the great fight above referred to, which took place in the summer of 1853, that a bullet hit the Don in a vital part and sent him to "kingdom

Page 34

come." It is somewhat of a digression, but I may as well tell the story now as at any time. It was in 1851 that Jim Irvin, with a gang of desperadoes to the number of twenty-five or thirty, stopped at Los Angeles on their way to Mexico, in search of ladies fair and pastures green. Some of the gang found some friends in jail, and soon to be tried in the District Court, then sitting in the old Bella Union. Jim concluded to take the prisoners out of the hands of the Sheriff, and take them along with him, and waited for them to be brought out for trial with that object in view. It happened that a party of United States troops were temporarily camped near the city, and it was arranged that they should put in an appearance just at the time the prisoners were to be brought in. The Court opened. Jim Irvin marched in with his gang and grimly awaited the arrival of the prisoners, who were presently at hand, and at the same instant a platoon of troops drew up before the door, and an officer came into Court with the Sheriff. Jim and his gang were given permission to leave the country, otherwise they would be arrested.

"There was mounting 'mong greames of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran."

The above lines can well be applied to Irvin's gang, who were ready and willing to override the civil officers, but were quite loth to an encounter with United States dragoons. They went directly to the Coyotes Ranch, thirty miles from the city, on the road to Mexico. On their arrival in the evening, they surprised the ranch and made a hostage of Ricardo, whom they tied up and threatened to shoot unless he had the best horses the ranch could afford driven up, ready for their inspection, by daylight in the morning. All of their demands were complied with to the very letter. Supper was prepared for them, wine set out, and they were permitted without objection to appropriate what articles they chose, such as saddles, blankets, provisions, etc., and the ranch at the time was one of the richest

Page 35

and best supplied in the county. Senor Ocampo and wife were then in the city, and Ricardo was major domo, and in charge of the estate.

In the morning, after appropriating what they wanted of the most valuable horses, the gang packed up and left, immediately after which Ricardo was released. Without saying a word, or leaving an order, he mounted a horse. He had understood enough of the conversation carried on between the robbers to know that they were going to the Colorado river, and would go through the San Gorgonio Pass. He started in hot haste across the Chino Hills to get in ahead of the party, whom he had doomed to destruction. Long before the glorious orb of day ceased to cast his beaming rays on the hoary head of grim old Mt. San Bernardino, Ricardo lay in silent ambush with a chosen band of Cahuilla Indians, who, at the time, were numerous in the vicinity of San Gorgonio. They had not long to wait. About sunset the devoted party came in sight, hilarious, as only men can be who have no thought beyond the immediate present. They rode quietly into the ambush and were slaughtered to a man. The Indians, who thought it to be a perfectly legitimate transaction, gave a minute account of the affair, and said that Ricardo fought like a fiend incarnate; and while they (the Indians) fought from their place of concealment, Ricardo rushed forth on horseback, and, meeting his foes face to face, let them know that he was the avenger of his own wrongs.

The author had the gorgeous honor of eating beef stewed in red pepper, beans and tortillas, at Ricardo's table, partaking of his hospitality under his own roof-tree, and discussing this whole question with him; and, while placing him in the front rank of desperadoes, it is only justice to say that, though desperate he emphatically was, he was neither robber nor gambler, but a good-hearted, honest fellow, who just fought for the very love of fighting, for fighting was the order of the day, and

Page 36

a man who could not fight was forced into a back seat, like the poor boy at the frolic.

On the day following my arrival in this famed city of the South, then by some designated "the City of Vineyards," I betook myself to the city barber, Peter Biggs by name, afterward and during the days of the great sectional strife known as the "Black Democrat." "Don Pedro," so styled by his Mexican friends, was a famous character, and the writer proposes to do his best in conferring the meed of immortality where it so justly belongs, in trying to do justice to the memory of this illustrious and necessary appendage to Los Angeles society, who, for the period of a quarter of a century, or more, certainly made himself known and felt in certain quarters of this eminently virtuous community. Pete advertised in the Star to "shave and shampoo, wait on the gentlemen, run errands, and make himself generally useful." Pete was a Virginian, so he informed me while for the first time submitting to his barberous manipulations, and came here as the servant of Captain A. J. Smith, of the dragoons, afterwards famed as General commanding the 16th army corps of Sherman's army; that he had made a great deal of money in various speculations; that he had married a Spanish lady; that the community, "'specially de ladies and gentlemen," could by no means get along without him. He said he knew all of the ladies, and sometimes carried messages from gentlemen to them, and was always ready and more than happy to introduce a stranger to female society, and to act as interpreter when occasion demanded. At this point Pete came to a period, seemingly anticipating that the author would make some pertinent remark; failing in which, Pete broke the embarrassing silence by saying: "Would ye like to make de 'quaintance of some of de ladies?" I thereupon informed him that I had friends here who would in all probability introduce me into such female society as would be proper for one of my youth and inexperience to know, and at the same

Page 37

time informed him who my friends were, at which Pete seemed for a moment "run chock-a-block," but soon rallied and said: "You see I doesn't mean ladies ob dat high-up class; I means de kind ob ladies dat's always anxious to make de 'quaintance ob strangers; 'specially dose dats got plenty ob de spondulix."

This eminently pious historian was then a most unsophisticated youth, but he had read "Gil Blas," and lost little time in arriving at the conclusion that Don Pedro occupied the same relative position toward the resident female Angels, that the renowned Gil occupied toward the Prince of Spain.

It is said the first "corner" ever made in California, was made on tacks. A shrewd Yankee, in 1849, observing that tacks were indispensable in all mining and building operations, and that the wheels of progress would cease to revolve if the supply of tacks was cut off for even a day, went to work and bought up all of the tacks in San Francisco and all of the invoices on the way around the Horn, to arrive within the next three months. The result was he monopolized the tack trade, and sold tacks for gold, ounce for ounce, and thereby made a splendid fortune. The next and second "corner" made was in "cats," and that was made by the renowned subject of this sketch, and this is the way he did it:

In 1849, San Francisco was over-supplied with rats, without a corresponding supply of cats. The supply of cats in Los Angeles was over- abundant, while of rats there were few. It was therefore left to the fertile brain of this distinguished Virginian to equalize this great seeming inequality in the nature of things. Consequently he went to work and gathered up all of the cats he could get, either by hook or crook (rumor had it that the most of the feline merchandise was obtained by the former process) caged them up and shipped them to San Francisco. Having the only cats in market, and cats being a necessity, Pete was supreme dictator as to prices, and sold his cats, several hundred in number, at prices ranging at from $16

Page 38

to $100 each, and thereby made a handsome fortune. Alas, poor Pete! His riches soon took wings.

Like all great men of the period, Pete was addicted to gambling, and the product of his magnificent cat speculation went to fill the coffers of the gambler princes of the Bay City. It was said that Pete lost every dollar, and though broken in fortune the fertility of his resouces still stood him in hand. Two coops of cats were left exposed to the wind and weather, on the vessel, and some 100 cats were drowned. Pete sought counsel from some adventurous limb of the law, who had the vessel libeled and forced a compromise in Pete's favor to the amount of several hundred dollars. With the small portion thereof pertaining to himself, the crestfallen forestaller of the San Francisco cat market returned to the bosom of his devoted Angel, a wiser if not a richer man.

Pete was an unfortunate cuss, always in some scrape, one of which I am going to relate. It happened in 1851 that a great ball was given at the house where now stands the First National Bank. It was attended by all of the hard cases of the city, among whom was that celebrated character Aleck Bell, of whom more will be said hereafter. The ball opened, the music struck up, and Aleck presented himself before the belle of the ballroom, Dona Ramona, sometimes known as Mrs. Fremont, for the reason I believe that this well known lady of the demimonde had cast the sunshine of her maiden affection on the conquering hero, General Fremont, when he set himself up as military Governor of California. Aleck asked the honor of her hand in the opening waltz. The Senorita graciously informed the gallant Aleck that she was engaged for the first dance, but he could certainly be gratified in the second. Aleck retired to the crowd of lookers-on, highly delighted at the prospective pleasure, and awaited the coming event. Finally the music commenced, and what was Aleck's disgust at beholding the rascally Pete, in all the glory of a swallow-tailed coat, brass

Page 39

buttons, white vest and gloves, redolent with all the perfume of "Araby the blest," shuffle up to the much coveted belle of the ball-room, and with one arm encircling her spider-like waist, sail off in the whirling, giddy waltz. This was more than Southern blood could stand, and out came Aleck's Colt. The music was stopped and Aleck stepped up to Dona Ramona, and inquired of her if she "preferred dancing with a nigger to a white man." She replied that "in this particular instance she did; that Don Pedro was 'El Bastoinero,' (master of ceremonies) and she deemed it a high privilege to accompany him in the opening waltz." This was adding insult to injury. Aleck's chivalry would not permit him to lay violent hands on the lady, but satisfaction he must have. So he blazed away at Pete, who bolted for the door with Aleck hot after him. In the meantime, and on the instant, as was always the case when a row was raised, the gentlemen present commenced shooting the lights out, as a matter of amusement, in which one individual was accidentally perforated. Pete gained the street and started off like a quarter horse down Main street. It so happened that General Bean's volunteers then occupied the city, which at that particular time had on a big Indian scare. Every street corner had a posted sentinel, while small mounted parties patrolled the suburbs. Escaping from the scene of gay festivities and threatened assassination, the hapless Pete, in passing the United States Hotel corner, narrowly escaped death from the sentry, who let fly at him. At the American Bakery corner he was treated to another fusilade, which drew to the place a mounted patrol, who, when made aware of the situation, dashed off in full chase. Coming up with the unfortunate fugitive at about the point where the Round House now stands, they turned loose on him with their revolvers, but the noble "Democrat" escaped into the vineyard on the left without so much as a scratch; but, said Pete: "De good Lord knows dis chile nebber stopped running till he got to San Pedro."

Page 40

Many, at the time, thought that the poor fellow had been mortally wounded, and had got into some hiding-place and died. The whole town grieved, none more so than Aleck Bell, who had the best of feeling toward the gallant Don Pedro, and only tried to murder him in vindication of his outraged chivalry.

In a day or two, however, Pete sent a courier to the city, to the great relief of everybody, with an apology to the Americans in general, and to Captain Bell in particular, and promised that, if permitted to return, to ever after keep his place--a promise religiously kept by him so far as the Americans were concerned.

During the great civil war, like many other great men, Pete felt his allegiance to be due to his native Virginia--first, last, and always--and accordingly gave the weight of his influence to the "Lost Cause;" hence the cognomen of "Black Democrat."

Like most of the truly eminent characters of our early history, Pete died with his boots on, after having been the hero of many bloody scrimmages, and his taking off occurred in this way: Pete, in company with another gentleman, went into a restaurant in the Signoret building and ordered dinner. The Mexican waiter, while serving them, was deemed guilty of some breach of conventional good manners, and as none knew better how to wait on a gentleman, none were more exacting in demanding the utmost punctilio on the part of those who waited on him. So, for his delinquency, Pete commenced to hurl epithets, accompanied with cups, saucers and plates at the waiter, who waited until Spanish forbearance could wait no longer, when he responded by shying a carving-knife, which perforated a vital part of Pete's body and sent him to Abraham's bosom.

We all felt the loss of Pete to be irreparable. His place has not been, and probably never will be, supplied. Many mourners followed the great man to his last resting-place. His slayer

Page 41

walks our streets to-day, of course proudly conscious of having killed a distinguished character.

I believe it was about the fourth day after my arrival that the prisoners, who had been undergoing examination before the sub-committee, were brought to the Court House, where the final report of the committee was to be submitted to the great self-constituted court of justice-loving Americans.

Abbott's bath house was then used as a Court House, and a high old court it was, too, I assure you. The place was packed to suffocation, with a dense crowd outside. "Old Horse-Face" presided over the court. The report of the committee was first read on the case of Reyes Feliz, and the President then in solemn voice said: "Gentlemen, the court is now ready to hear any motion." Whereupon a ferocious looking gambler mounted a bench and said:

"I move that Reyes Feliz be taken to the hill and hung by the neck until he be dead."

"All in favor of the motion will signify the same by saying 'aye'!" said the President, gravely.

"Aye! aye! aye!" yelled the mob, and Reyes Feliz was a doomed man. The same ceremony was gone through with in all the other cases, including Cipriano Sandoval, the poor innocent village cobbler of San Gabriel.

When they came to the case of the real murderer, a motion was made that "Felipe Read be turned over to the legally constituted authorities," and, strange to say, the motion was carried without a dissenting vote. Felipe, the red-handed murderer, was accordingly turned over to the Sheriff, and immediately thereafter bailed and set at liberty. No effort was ever made to bring him to justice, and he died in his bed some years later in a natural way. So much for the wisdom of a mob.

All of this occurred on a Saturday, and the following day was set for carrying into execution the sentences of the court. By the time the town was astir next morning the ugly gallows

Page 42

could be seen on Fort Hill, with its horrid arms extended, as though defying the vengeance of man, or invoking the God of Justice. At 9 o'clock a herald paraded the streets, ringing a large dinner bell, and with loud voice summoning the faithful to the feast; and at about the same hour heavy clouds over-spread the sky, as though an angel had in charity thrown its mantle over the scene to shut out the horrid spectacle from the face of heaven, and it commenced to rain. An hour later the crowd, with the condemned men, arrived at the gallows. Old Father Anacleto, with his shorn crown bared to the storm, his sacred robes drabbled with mud and dripping with water, totally oblivious to the surrounding tumult, thoroughly absorbed in his mission of mercy, devotedly accompanied the doomed culprits, administering the sweet consolations of the church, and so, with the executioner and the doomed men, he mounted the scaffold. When all was ready, the victims were given permission to speak. All maintained a dogged silence except the poor cobbler Sandoval, who made a brief speech. He hoped the great God would pardon his murderers as he pardoned them, and said that he died innocent, without a crime. They all kissed the crucifix, the rope was cut, the trap fell, and the five men were launched into eternity. A peal of thunder announced the end of the tragedy.

Slowly and silently the crowd dispersed. The rain commenced to fall in torrents, and the grim bar-tender of the Bella Union reaped a golden harvest on that gloomy Sabbath afternoon. The murdered men were taken down and perhaps buried by friendly Christian hands, and so ended the first great lynching in this very moral and justice-loving community. I say the first great lynching. I will, however, qualify by saying that some months previous, one Zabalete had been hung by the lynchers.

The author retired early on that evening, pondering sadly and solemnly over the events of the day, and could not refrain

Page 43

from thinking that humanity would have been greatly benefitted, if about four-fifths of that mob had been disposed of in the same way as had been the hapless Mexicans who were hung.

There is an old and trite saying that "great revolutions bring to the surface great men." Such was the case in this instance. An immigrant from Arkansas had been stalking around the streets for some days previous, in a ragged and half-clad condition. Like Jonah, he perceived an opening and stepped in. He came forward and offered his services for a consideration, to act as executioner. A purse was accordingly raised in his behalf, and the great man from Arkansas became the hangman of the mob. The day following the lynching, the uncouth Arkansas man appeared on the streets dressed in the very extreme of elegant and expensive fashion. He soon there-after became the village pedagogue, and advertised in the Star "a school for boys and girls." At the next municipal election, the elegant hangman was honored by our people by being elected City Marshal, and therby hangs a tale, which I will now unfold.

About June, 1853, the southern counties were overrun by Mexican banditti, and two companies of Rangers were raised, one in Calaveras county and one here in Los Angeles. On Sunday night at about 9 o'clock, the Marshal appeared at the Ranger barracks, then located at the corner of Los Angeles and Requena streets, where Messmer's wine-store now is. He asked for a detail to go to a fandango at the Moreno House, then located at the south end of the present Brooks building, to arrest some thieves known to be at the ball at the Moreno's. The men were promptly furnished, and they started to the place of uproarious enjoyment. The Marshal, however, made an excuse to go home and get an extra revolver, and the party of Rangers, arriving at the fandango found everything so agreeable, that instead of making arrests they were immediately taken into

Page 44

custody by an overwhelming array of black-eyed Senoritas, and in the giddy mazes of the dance and under the exhilarating influences of Los Angeles wine, soon became oblivious of the Marshal, Mexican thieves, and all else save and except the wine and the women aforesaid. So the time gayly glided by until long past midnight, when the dance broke up and the Rangers bethought themselves of their mission and the Marshal. They accordingly held a consultation, and arrived at the conclusion that the Marshal had played them a shabby trick. They at once proceeded to the official residence, and found the delinquent chief in the arms of his newly wedded bride, who, by the by, had another husband, then living, I believe, at El Monte. They woke him up, and informed him that they had had a bloody fight at the fandango, that two of their number had been killed, that a large force of thieves held the fandango house, that the whole Ranger company were under arms, and that the Captain desired the presence of the Marshal, and that he would march on the fandango house, and make mince-meat of the Mexican outlaws, etc.

Notwithstanding the Rangers demanded expedition on the part of the police official, it required at least half an hour for him to make his toilet. At last, with a patient effort, he succeeded in stretching a splendid kid glove over his immense paw, and with his gold-headed cane under his arm he stepped into the street. Whereupon a couple of stalwart Rangers took hold of him by each arm, and informed him that he was a prisoner. They conducted him to the great open water ditch that then crossed San Pedro street at its junction with First. Arriving there a court-martial was organized, which proceeded to try the Marshal on a charge of treason and desertion. Of course he was found guilty, and the military code was read to him from a greasy pack of "monte cards." After defining the crime, the penalty was fixed at "cat-hauling in the public water-ditch." No sooner said than done. A rope was speedily thrown around

Page 45

the astonished representative of official pomposity, whose arms were pinioned, and the irate Rangers amused themselves until the break of day in dragging the proud dignitary up and down the water ditch, when they left him more dead than alive and retired to their barracks. At about noon on the same day the crestfallen man from Arkansas appeared at the Court of Justice J. Thompson Burrill, and swore out a warrant for the arrest of the Rangers, who were accordingly arrested, and appeared for trial on the following day. Kimball H. Dimmick, the District Attorney, appeared in vindication of the outraged majesty of the law, and Tom H--, a young merchant, appeared for the accused Rangers. Dimmick and Tom at once commenced the preliminary legal sparring. Dimmick was light on law, and Tom was heavy on big words. Dimmick finally cornered Tom on a legal proposition, and Tom could only escape by adjourning Court, which he did by capsizing the Court, bench and all, whereupon the Rangers went to work and smashed the tables, broke the chairs, and tore things up generally, the Court, constable and prosecuting witness promptly giving leg-bail, and so ended this remarkable episode. And so ended the official career of that illustrious character, born of the first great Los Angeles mob. His usefulness as an officer was at an end. The boys would hoot him on the street, and he was forced to resign.

I will now relate one more incident in the brief official career of this distinguished character, then I will consign him to the life of vagabondism that he has led down to the present day. It was in this way: About May, '53, the Los Angeles bar got on a bust, in honor of the arrival of an Iowa lawyer, General Ezra Drown. The bar smiled at the Bella Union bar, and took it straight and mixed at the "Montgomery." They all in turn treated at Aleck Gibson's and raided on Nigger alley. They serenaded on Main street, and finally brought up at Madam Barrierre's, where the White House now stands, and ordered

Page 46

champagne and cigars first, then supper, with champagne and cigars ad libitum. And then the jolly crowd appointed a chairman and commenced giving and responding to each other's toasts. On their whole rounds they were accompanied by the pompous Marshal, who pretended to afford his official protection to the roystering limbs of the law, but really to get a deluging supply of gratuitous liquid comfort.

About midnight the crowd had become hilariously noisy, and all wanted to speak at once. Lewis C. Granger had the floor, and offered as a toast, "The descendants of the French Huguenots in America." The toast was intended as a compliment to the United States District Attorney, who claimed to be of "Huguenot origin," although his paternal ancestors were thought to be of the Hibernian stock. He, however, construed the toast into an insult, and responded by hurling a tumbler at the head of Lewis C., and then the North and the South met in mortal combat. What the result might have been, no one of that crowd was sober enough to even surmise, had it not been for the interposition of the officious head of the infantile city police, whose head and tail was composed of the Marshal aforesaid, who rushed between the two combatants. Lewis C. very adroitly slipped to one side, and the furious United States legal luminary downed the Arkansas man, and chawed his nose until it resembled a magnificent pounded and peppered beef-steak.

On the following day the Marshal appeared at Thompson Burrill's Court, with his nose in a sling, and had the United States Attorney arrested on a charge of assaulting an officer in the discharge of his duty, but the thing was amicably arranged and the high Federal dignitary did the self- important Los Angeles official the honor to walk arm in arm with him to the Bella Union, where they smiled at the bar and swore eternal friendship.

The author will neither attempt to moralize or criticise, nor

Page 47

pass judgment on the action of that vigilance committee; only that in the minds of unprejudiced persons at the time, the hanging of the poor village cobbler of San Gabriel was considered an unmitigated and deliberate murder. He has ere this, in all probability, met and confronted his murderers at the judgment seat of the great Eternal, for the reason that, as the author believes, the last actor in that outrageous affair has passed away from the face of the earth. Some may have died in a natural way, many died in the gutter, others in bloody broils--they all seemed doomed to miserable ends. All have handed in their mortal checks, unless, perchance, the gay and pompous official aforesaid, the hangman, who now walks the face of God's beautiful green earth, a living and hideous mass of human rottenness and festering corruption, shunned even by the canine street scavengers, viewed not with pity, but with loathing and disgust, even by the most debased of mankind. Twenty-four years after his outrageous participation in the bloody drama above described, the hangman appeared on the streets of this fair city, an outcast from society and a begger for alms. The wheels of justice revolve slowly, but in this instance they seem to have got around with remarkable precision. For such is the last of the first great mob of Los Angeles.

For the week following these extra judicial executions the town was remarkably quiet, but on the Sunday following I witnessed a sight that if it could be seen now would fill the mind with loathing and disgust. At the time referred to, 1851-52-53, the Mission Indians were numerous. They had only been emancipated from the rule of the Mission fathers a few years prior to the advent of the Americans, and their number at the time seemed without limit.

These thousands of Indians had been held in the most rigid discipline by the Mission fathers, and after their emancipation by the Supreme Government of Mexico, had been reasonably well governed by the local authorities, who found in them

Page 48

indispensable auxiliaries as farmers and harvesters, hewers of wood and drawers of water, and besides the best horse breakers and herders in the world, an indispensable adjunct in the management of the great herds of the country. These Indians were Christians, docile even to servility, and the best of laborers. Then came the Americans, followed soon thereafter by the discovery of and wild rush for gold, and the relaxation for the time of a healthy administration of the laws, and the ruin of those once happy and useful people commenced. The cultivators of vineyards commenced paying their Indian peons with aguardiente, a veritable fire-water and no mistake. The consequence was that on being paid off on Saturday evening, they would meet in great gatherings called peons, and pass the night in gambling, drunkenness and debauchery. On Sunday the streets would be crowded from morn till night with Indians, males and females of all ages, from the girl of ten or twelve, to the old man and woman of 70 or 80.

By four o'clock on Sunday afternoon Los Angeles street from Commercial to Nigger alley, Aliso street from Los Angeles to Alameda, and Nigger alley, would be crowded with a mass of drunken Indians, yelling and fighting. Men and women, boys and girls, tooth and toe nail, sometimes, and frequently with knives, but always in a manner that would strike the beholder with awe and horror.

About sundown the pompous marshal, with his Indian special deputies, who had been kept in jail all day to keep them sober, would drive and drag the herd to a big corral in the rear of Downey Block, where they would sleep away their intoxication, and in the morning they would be exposed for sale, as slaves for the week. Los Angeles had its slave mart, as well as New Orleans and Constantinople--only the slave at Los Angeles was sold fifty-two times a year as long as he lived, which did not generally exceed one, two, or three years, under the new dispensation. They would be sold for a week, and

Page 49

bought up by the vineyard men and others at prices ranging from one to three dollars, one-third of which was to be paid to the peon at the end of the week, which debt, due for well performed labor, would invariably be paid in "aguardiente," and the Indian would be made happy until the following Monday morning, having passed through another Saturday night and Sunday's saturnalia of debauchery and bestiality. Those thousands of honest, useful people were absolutely destroyed in this way. Vineyards were of great profit in those days, and would be to-day, if we could recall the times as they were before the conquering Saxon came with his boasted perfection of laws, and his much-vaunted "advance civilization."

Surely, we civilized the race of Mission Indians with a refinement known to no other people under the sun.

The poor Indians are all gone, the crumbling walls of the old Missions and the decaying trunks of the vineyards, no longer profitable when cultivated with honestly compensated labor, stand silent witnesses of the time long gone by, when the Indian, though compelled to labor, was happy and content in viewing the groaning granaries that assured him and his an ample support.

Page 50

A SHORT time after the hanging of Reyes Feliz, Sandoval and the others heretofore mentioned, Smith was arrested at San Gabriel, summarily tried by a hastily constituted lynch court and sentenced to be hung instanter. He was accordingly mounted on a Mexican cart, which was promptly driven under one of the many great oaks there abounding, a rope was adjusted to his neck, fastened to one of the branches above, and the goad was about to be applied to the innocent oxen that were attached to the cart, when old Taylor, from the Monte, put in an appearance and interposed in behalf of Smith.

Taylor's influence prevailed, and Smith was turned over to Constable Frank Baker, I believe, who brought him to town, and he was duly lodged in jail. The city lynch court thereupon held a meeting, which was addressed by a burly looking individual, who was quite emphatic, even to eloquence, in his denunciations of the manner in which the law was administered; the great expense that would accrue to the county in the sham prosecution of felons, the over-taxed people, and all that sort of stuff. The speaker himself was a non-taxpayer,

Page 51

and those who most emphatically agreed with him being of the same class. It was finally moved and carried that Smith should be disposed of in an economical way, that is, he should be at once taken out of jail, given a fair trial, and, if found guilty, hung; if innocent, turned loose. No sooner said than acted upon. The eloquent and emphatic speaker aforesaid constituted himself leader of the mob and started for the jail, followed by the ragtag and bobtail of the gambling fraternity. The old adobe house of Dr. Bush, situated on the hill in the rear of the Lafayette Hotel, was then used as a jail, and George Whitehorn was jailer. There was a big pine log extending from end to end of the long room in the said house, with staples driven into it at intervals of three or four feet, to which were chained the prisoner, whose feet were shackled with cross chains, with a center chain about a foot long fastened to the staple and pine log aforesaid, so that the only chance of escape would have been for the prisoners to walk off with the log, and it was a great wonder they didn't do it, because they were strung out on that log like a string of fresh fish. That was a gay old pioneer jail. George made some show of resistance, but was soon overpowered, the keys taken away from him, the door opened, the staple drawn out of the pine log and Smith was marched down town and placed under guard in the little adobe house before referred to. A committee was at once appointed to take testimony, and by this time night had set in. They proved nothing whatever against Smith, although he said in old times in Sacramento, in 1850, when the great horse market was in full blast at the corner of Sixth and K streets, he used to go out and drive in immigrant stock to be sold at auction, "but then," he said, "everybody did the same, you know."

At two o'clock on the following day the committee announced themselves as ready to report, and the herald with the dinner bell went round proclaiming that there was to be a meeting of the people at the Court House.

Page 52

By four o'clock the crowd had assembled, the court was organized, and the evidence against Smith was formally read.

Then said the President: "Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?" A fellow elevated himself and said: "I move that Smith be taken to the Plaza and given fifty lashes on the bare back and then turned loose."

The proposition was voted down and Smith complacently smiled.

Charley Norris then moved that Smith be given eighty-five lashes on the bare back and be turned over to the United States officers at Jurupa as a deserter. Unanimously carried.

About this time a gambler came in from Nigger Alley having in custody a Mexican who had severely cut a pie vendor with a knife, because the boy had refused him credit. The court proposed hanging him forthwith when a chivalrously inclined gambler suggested that fifty lashes would be a sufficient punishment. So the court voted him eighty-five, and took up its line of march to Aleck Gibson's, on the plaza. An Indian then put in an appearance with an armful of stout willow switches, and the gentlemen were invited to shed their linen. Then the Mexican culprit dramatically came to the front and begged the privilege of being whipped first, saying that he was a man of honor, was no thief, had only used his knife when insulted, and he thought he was entitled to that much consideration. The gentlemen appointed to carry into execution the sentence of the court graciously granted the request, and the hidalgo, stripped, was tied up to a wooden column in front of the house and the Indian stepped forward with an air of intense satisfaction and gave the "Jente de razon" a most unmerciful whipping, to the great delight of the assembled patriots. The Mexican bore the punishment with the most stoical fortitude. He then quietly resumed his rayment, "smiled," that is, he took a drink furnished gratuitously, and remarked:

Page 53

"Now I will have the pleasure of seeing this d--d gringo whipped."

Smith, whose time had now arrived, came forward with his shackles and chains still on and said, "Gentlemen, I am an American; and it is disgrace enough to be publicly whipped, but surely you will not have a gentleman whipped by an Injun. If there is an American present who will be kind enough to come forward and lay them on, I give my word of honor not to bear him any ill-will but promise to be always grateful for the favor."

The gamblers present accordingly made up a purse of $16 and offered it to any white man who would administer the castigation. A young man who had just got in from across the plains and had evidently heard of the ounce per day to be earned in this land of gold, and this being his first chance to earn an ounce stepped forward, accepted the gold and vigorously laid on the willows, to the evident satisfaction of all concerned save Smith, who begged to be permitted to take an occasional pull at his flask, which, thanks to the generosity of old Hodges, had been well filled with brandy and gunpowder. In the meantime some gamblers who felt a disgust at the white man who would do such a service for money, prepared themselves with a strong Mexican blanket, and, seizing the whipper, they commenced tossing him up a la Sancho Panza. Every toss he went higher and higher, until he came down so hard that he broke his neck, as was at the time believed.

Some charitably disposed persons took the poor fellow, it then being night, down to Downey & McFarland's drug store, at the corner of Los Angeles and Commercial streets, and Mac went to work and straightened up and bandaged his neck. He was permitted to sleep on the floor of the drug store until morning. Mac slept in the back room. In the morning he got up with a very stiff neck, and after looking around he ventured to inquire the amount of his indebtedness. Mac,

Page 54

who was ignorant of the extent of his resources, informed him that the charge was "one ounce," $16. After fumbling around his pockets he unearthed his well-earned money and handed it over, remarking, "even change," and demurely took his departure. This was a most disgraceful affair, and I believe the foremost of the lynchers felt ashamed of it. So crestfallen did they look at what promised to be an interesting hanging that old Dimmick, the prosecuting attorney, took courage and threatened to have the leaders indicted for stealing the irons out of the jail.

It afterwards turned out that Smith, who had been turned loose with the public property hanging to his legs, found his way to an up-town blacksmith shop, and sold them to the smith, who relieved him of his custodianship of the county's property. The failure to get up a first- class lynching cast a gloom over the city, from which it did not recover for near a month, at the expiration of which time they started in one Sunday morning, two men being assassinated and three hung before the bull- fighting commenced in the afternoon.

One of the assassinations I remember to have been in this wise: Two Hidalgos were walking arm-in-arm, down Main street, engaged in the most friendly converse, when one accidentally offended the other. The latter drew his knife, and, without giving his victim the least warning, gave him a rear thrust to the heart. This happened about 9 o'clock A. M. Judge lynch was at the time holding his court at the usual place, engaged in the trial of two others, and the aforesaid assassin was at once arrested, tried, sentenced and hung before the body of his murdered victim was yet cold. He made a very interesting speech, thanked his executioners for their kindness, said it was all right, and that was the end of it.

Those were fast times, let me assure the reader--whom I have most certainly worried by this time. But the fact is the object of this story being to show how the Angels amused

Page 55

themselves in those happy days, and let the subject be pleasing or the reverse, it must, forsooth, be told.

The last gala day referred to, I believe, happened about the latter part of December, 1852, and was followed by a man getting married. "Nothing strange in a man's getting married," the reader will say; but there the reader is mistaken, and I will proceed to explain:

George Thompson Burrill, the "over punctilious man," so-called by our lamented local historian, came to Los Angeles from Chihuahua, accompanied by a full-breasted, square-rigged, fast-sailing sort of craft, if the reader will permit a nautical expression, called Dona Concha.

The over punctilious judge was a man of great gravity; tall, lean and dignified, clean-shaved face, except the upper lip, which carried a moustache which would have made a graceful pendant for a Pasha's banner. The Judge also brought with him one of those abominable, sleek, hairless dogs, that, in lieu of children, received the united affection of the dignified Judge and the frail Concha. The Judge was very fond of Dona Concha, as he was also fond of the dog. The frail Concha divided her affections between the Judge, the dog, and Henry Lewis, Gabe Allen's partner in the old Star Hotel that stood where now stands the Lanfranco block. Like all true lovers, the Judge was blinded by his affection, and to gain a little relaxation from the cares of public office, left the frail Concha in charge of his domestic world, and the hairless dog, and betook him to San Pedro to sniff the breeze fresh from the briny billows. Very soon after the Judge's departure, Dona Concha, arrayed in the very extreme of Chihuahua fashion, made an assignation with the connubial Lewis at the Parochial Church, and Father Anacleto promptly united the devoted lovers in the holy bonds of matrimony. Somehow or other Nigger Alley got wind of what was going on, and Nigger Alley was not on the marry. Nigger Alley didn't believe in such nonsense, and

Page 56

when the happy couple emerged from the sacred precincts, they were confronted with the outraged denizens of Nigger Alley, fully bent on mischief. The frail fair one escaped the fury of this anti-nuptial mob and took refuge in the church. Henry succeeded for a time in eluding the grasp of the outraged Democracy and in reaching, and almost getting through Nigger Alley, having been unfortunately headed off from Main street. One division of the mob followed in hot pursuit, while the other flanked around and cut off the possibility of egress from the narrow street. Henry, driven to the wall, took refuge in Tao's gambling house, on the old Coronel corner, and attempted to barricade himself therein; failing in which he surrendered at discretion and offered to stand the liquor for the whole crowd, which only tended to further infuriate the outraged decency of the classic quarter, and they let into poor Henry with eggs, rotten apples, and every conceivable offensive missile. In the meantime tar and feathers were called for, but by some fortunate circumstance the poor fellow was enabled to escape through the back door and over walls to Main street, and thence to the strongholds of his own castle.

The population, that is to say the Nigger Alley portion of it, felt itself disgraced. The idea of one of them, and Henry was one of them, marrying, was an absurdity, an insult not to be tolerated. The Star Hotel was ruined, and to save its credit, Henry was forced to withdraw from the co- partnership.

The Los Angeles world was on the qui vive to know the result when the Judge returned, anticipating blood, murder and dire vengeance. In due time the Judge did return, and old S--tt appointed himself a committee of one to break the doleful news to the unfortunate man. The stage drove up to the Bella Union, and S--tt saluted the Judge, and inviting him to smile at the bar, took him delicately to one side and said:

"Thompson, did you hear the news?"

Page 57

"What news?" said the Judge.

"It is so dreadful I am afraid to tell it," said S--tt.

"Does it concern me? Has any one sued me?" said the Judge.

"Worse than that," said old S--tt.

"Out with it," said the Judge.

"Well, then, if I must I must," said old S--tt. "Well, then, this is what is the matter; the whole town has been in an uproar. While you were absent, Dona Concha ran away from your house and married Henry Lewis."

"Did she take that little dog?" gravely inquired the Judge, while quietly sipping his cock-tail.

"What dog?" said S--tt.

"Why; little Santa Ana," replied the Judge. "To tell you the truth, I had evil forebodings concerning him, and I must go and see about the dear little fellow. Adios!" and the man of punctilio was gone, and so is the story.

The most noted character, probably, in all California at the time referred to, '51, '52 and '53, and especially in the Southern counties, was Jack Powers. Jack was an Irishman by birth, and came to California with Stephenson's New York Volunteers. When I arrived in Los Angeles Jack was here, although he properly resided in Santa Barbara. Jack was a great gambler and when he walked through a crowd of gamblers it was with the air of a lion walking among rats. Gifted with mental qualities of the highest order, with the manners of the true gentleman, with a form and face physically perfect, with a boldness and dash that made him a leader among men, Jack Powers, under favorable circumstances might have attained to the most honorable distinction; as it was, he wielded a great influence not only among the gambling fraternity and the Spanish population, over whom he lorded it, but he made his influence felt at the State Capital, where he was held in high esteem by a succession of Governors, having been on the warmest

Page 58

terms of friendhship with Governors McDougall and Bigler. At San Francisco Jack was the acknowledged peer of the most prominent, and had he aspired to political preferment, he could have chosen between a seat in the National Congress and the helm of State.

Jack was a power in this land. In Los Angeles Jack ruled the gamblers. In Los Angeles the gamblers, to the number of about four hundred, absolutely ruled the roost for a succession of years. Jack was not a politician however. Jack was a first class sport, owned his own ranch, kept hounds, fast horses and a large number of retainers, and was a lord in the land. Jack wielded such a power that at one time he maintained an army of followers at his own expense, and boldly defied the authorities. As before stated, Jack owned a ranch, which, like all other ranches at the time, was swamped in litigation. The Sheriff held a writ of ejectment against Jack which was resisted; an attempt was made to arrest him in Santa Barbara; his friends rallied to his support and the attempt failed. Jack and his friends then seized the only piece of artillery in the town and took up their line of march to Jack's ranch, some miles distant. W. W. Twist, the Sheriff, also one of Stephenson's Volunteers, summoned the power of the county, attacked Jack, and attempted to take the gun away from him. The Sheriff was defeated, some two or three persons being killed and others wounded. Jack safely reached his ranch, provisioned and fortified it for a siege. He had one sure enough cannon; he took the stove-pipe from his kitchen, mounted it, cut embrasures through the thick walls of his house, made many Quaker demonstrations, and, although besieged for days by the foiled Sheriff, he successfully defied the laws, and the Sheriff was forced to raise the siege. This occurred in January, 1853--and for a long time thereafter when Jack would visit the capital of the county, he was followed by a troop of retainers that assured his freedom from arrest.

Page 59

Nordhoff refers to an interview and conversation between himself and Ned Beale in regard to Jack Powers as one of the robbers of early times, and although Jack was the lord and head of all the bad characters in the southern counties, the writer who knew him well, has no hesitation in saying that he believes Jack Powers to have been as incapable of personally committing a robbery as either of the gentlemen referred to as discussing his character. Jack, however, outlived his influence; or, better say, he outlived his followers. In 1856, when the blood-hounds of the San Francisco Vigilance Committee pursued Ned McGowan to Santa Barbara, Ned was only saved through the influence and shrewdness of Jack, who necessarily fell under the baneful influence of the great Vigilance Committee. In 1857 Jack stood almost alone; his followers had fallen off; the influence of the gamblers had gone. Standing in fear of the law, that in the zenith of his glory he had defied, he concluded to fly the country he could no longer rule. He accordingly emigrated to Sonora where those gentle and practical people, who so summarily disposed of poor Crabbe and his followers, converted Jack to the most profitable possible use as they thought, that is to say, they chopped him up and fed him to their pigs! Alas, poor Jack! He was full of a noble generosity, and deserving of a better fate.

A great many sensational scribblers have tried to hold Jack up as an out- and-out highwayman; others have maintained that he was the veritable Joaquin Murieta; but neither is correct. He was, as I have described him, a man born to be prominent in that sphere of life to which fate may have assigned him.

The venerable scribe who writes ancient history for us says: "In February, 1845, a bloodless battle, of three days' continuance, was fought between Governor Micheltorena, at the head of the troops which accompanied him to California from

Page 60

Mexico, and General Jose Castro, at the head of citizens and residents of the Southern part of California."

Although this military chronicler was too young, and too far removed from the battlefield referred to, and personally knew nothing about that grand, historical event, the truth of history demands that he should take issue with the old gentleman who gave to the world the above scrap of history, and maintain on the best of hearsay evidence that it was not a bloodless battle, but on that memorable occasion the virgin soil of San Fernando was moistened with the blood of slaughtered innocence. This is the way this most veracious writer came to know something about the great battle of Providencia, fought on the Providencia Ranch, some ten or eleven miles up the Los Angeles river.

Some few weeks after my arrival at the Angels, an enthusiastic citizen said to me:

"Los Angeles has a history, sir. It always was an important place, sir."

"It seems to me," I replied, "that Los Angeles is making a history very fast."

"Los Angeles for half a century, sir, has been the hot-bed of revolution, sir," said the citizen.

The writer then inquired of a very honorable kinsman, who had dwelt many years in the hot-bed, to see what information he could elicit on the question of revolution, and lo! I struck a perfect historical bonanza. First of all, he told of the great revolution against Micheltorena, in which he had individually participated.

To commence, then: Castro pronounced. That is to say, he called the Governor hard names; called his chivalrous followers vagabonds and cholos, and then wound up with a grand flourish about "Independence, God and Liberty," and the revolution was on its legs.

The Governor held his court at Monterey, and when informed

Page 61

of Castro's pronunciamento, took immediate steps to squelch the rebellion. He at once mobilized his regulars and called on old John Sutter, who responded with a force of drilled and disciplined Indians. He also organized a Gringo contingent, composed of the American settlers in the Sacramento Valley, in and around San Jose San Francisco and Monterey-- mostly the same men who, a short time thereafter, raised the "Bear Flag" and defied all Mexico. With this respectable following the valiant Governor buckled on his armor, mounted his little prancing mustang and marched in hot haste to subjugate the rebellious angels.

In the meantime, Castro was alive to the immense responsibility he had assumed--the responsibility of rebelling against the most enlightened and most powerful nation under the sun. He sounded the clarion note of war; he floated his banner to the breeze; he marshaled around him an angelic host who swore to carry that banner on to victory, if they had to ride through blood to their bridle-bits. He also mustered to his support the Gringo element of the southern counties, and when the news was brought in that the invading army had broken camp at San Fernando, the great hero of the revolution marshaled his chivalric followers and marched forth to meet the tyrant and conquer, even if forced to sacrifice the last Gringo in his army.

To the American reader who is unfamiliar with the Spanish language, it is about time to explain the meaning of the term Gringo. "Gringo," in its literal signification, means ignoramus. For instance: An American who had not yet learned to eat Chili peppers stewed in grease, throw the lasso, contemplate the beauties of nature from the sunny side of an adobe wall, make a first-class cigar out of a corn husk, wear open-legged pantaloons, with bell buttons, dance on one leg, and live on one meal a week. Now the reader knows what a terrible thing it was in early days to be a Gringo.

This meek and humble historian has felt all the mortification,

Page 62

humiliation and disgrace of being a Gringo. If the reader has been so spared, then the writer congratulates him--because it is an awful calamity to be a Gringo.

Castro put his Gringos on the skirmish line. Micheltorena not to be outdone in patriotic sacrifice and first-class general-ship, put his Gringos on the skirmish line, and but for a fortuitous circumstance it would have been Gringo meet Gringo, and the tug of war. The armies had commenced strategic movements; the skirmish lines had advanced and the ball was about to open, when a voice spake from the skirmish line of the Governor; both lines advanced under cover of the trees and underbrush that abounded on the battlefield. The voice spake as follows: "Hello, Read, is that you?"

"Why, yes, McKinley, is that you?" Then another voice: "Well, by Jove, here's Laughlin, and there's Graham! What, Bell, are you here, too? and so the two skirmish lines met and recognized in each other old friends-- fellow countrymen in a foreign land about to murder each other, all for God, Liberty and the Constitution. Then said one of Castro's Gringos to one of the Governor's Gringos, all having shook hands and sat down to see what the difference between them really was, "What in the name of the great grizzly brought you here to fight us?"

Said the Governor's Gringos: "We are fighting for the Constitution. Why are you arrayed against the Government?"

Then said Castro's Gringos, all at once: "We don't care a d--n for the Government, or for Castro either; but we know that if Micheltorena enters Los Angeles we, the foreigners, will have to pay the fiddler in the way of sacked stores and forced loans. And now you see what we are fighting for."

"They are right," said all of the Governor's Gringos. So the result was the two skirmish lines concluded to withdraw from the conflict and let the descendants of the glorious conquistadores fight it out in their own way, and that the united

Page 63

Gringos would see that, whichever army prevailed, no stores should be sacked, or that no forced loans should be levied on any foreign resident of Los Angeles. This unlooked for union gave to the contending factions a different complexion, and these united Gringos withdrew to a sylvan retreat on the banks of the river, and the commissary mule of the Los Angeles Gringos, well packed, among other good things, with a good supply of Wolfskill's best wine, was brought up, and the two skirmish lines resolved themselves into an old-fashioned picnic and patiently awaited the results of the day. Little was done on that day. The next morning, however, the battle began in regular Mexican style. Castro opened with artillery; the Governor replied with his heaviest metal. The battle raged with terrific fury for two full days, until finally blood was spilled, honor was satisfied, God and Liberty had vindicated itself. The Constitution was safe. Manuel Micheltorena, General of Brigade, and Governor of Alta California, lost a mule killed in that terrific three days' conflict, and what more could be expected? He did his duty like the brave General that he was. The best blood of Mexico had appeased the wrath of the rebellion, (certainly the best blood shed in that battle); the Governor agreed to withdraw from the country and the revolution was a grand success.

Another grand flourish of trumpets, an invocation to God and Liberty, and Don Pio donned the official toga, and became the dispenser of unnumbered leagues of the grand domain of California. Many of our best citizens sigh for the good old times, when revolutions were cheap, and there were no taxes to pay; and the writer respects the wisdom of the philosophical Spaniard when he vigorously maintains that the revolutions enjoyed under Mexican rule, were far preferable to the high taxes under the Gringo Government.

Here comes another revolution anterior to the one above

Page 64

related. The following I borrow from the writings of Charles H. Forbes, Esq.:

Bandini's revolution speaks successfully for itself.

In the year 1830 General Manuel Victoria was sent from Mexico to relieve General Jose Maria Echandia, who was then acting as Comandante of the Californias.

In the year 1831, owing to the arbitrary rule of Victoria, a few citizens in San Diego, viz.: Don Juan Bandini, Don Pio Pico, Don Jose Antonio Carrillo, Abel Stearns and seven others, matured a plan to overthrow Victoria's government, and for that purpose held several meetings. At their assemblage on the 29th of November, 1831, at the house of Bandini, they armed themselves, and in the evening surprised the guard at the Presidio (Fort) of San Diego and took possession thereof, with all arms, ammunition and cannons, and made all the soldiers prisoners. Don Jose Antonio Carrillo, with five men, was left in charge of the Presidio, and Bandini, Pico, Stearns and the four others went to the residences of the officers under Victoria, took them prisoners and brought them to the house of Don Pablo de la Portilla, who was then Comandante of the Presidio under Victoria, and he too was made prisoner. All being together, the plan was read to them, and on their promising on their honor not to oppose the Bandini party, they were allowed to go to their respective houses. On the 1st of December, 1831, General Echandia was asked to take the head of the little party against Victoria, which he accepted, and spoke at some length, explaining the injustice of Victoria. A salute was fired from the Presidio, which was responded to by all the American shipping in the bay.

On the 2d of December, 1831, Don Pablo de la Portilla and all the other officers joined the little party, and on that very day Don Pablo was sent with twenty-five men, well armed and equipped, to take possession of the Pueblo de los Angeles. On the 5th the rest of the party--Bandini, Pico, Stearns, Echandia,

Page 65

soldiers and citizens--left San Diego to join Don Pablo, and on the following day, the 6th, a courier met them with a letter from Don Pablo stating that he had taken possession of the Pueblo de Los Angeles, put the Alcalde, Vicente Sanchez, in double irons, liberated all of the prisoners, and that Victoria was at San Fernando with forty men. On the 5th Don Pablo de la Portilla met Victoria near the pueblo; and when in hearing distance Victoria ordered Don Pablo to come to him, to which Don Pablo responded by ordering Victoria to halt. Victoria, enrage, said, " A mi no se manda hacer alto," "I am not the man to be halted," and gave orders to his men to charge and fire. Noticing some reluctance on the part of his men he said that he was not accustomed to fight with men that wore petticoats. Whereupon the brave Captain Don Romualdo Pacheco, father of Ex-Governor Pacheco, answered that he did not wear such appendages, and drawing his sword called to his men to follow him. Jose Maria Abila then sallied forth from the San Diego side and, with a small derringer, shot and killed Captain Romualdo Pacheco, and with his lance wounded General Victoria, throwing him off his horse.

One of Victoria's soldiers shot Abila, bringing him down, when another of Victoria's men advanced to finish Abila, but before he got to him Abila drew another derringer an shot him, bringing him down. General Victoria then finished Abila with his sword.

At this stage of the battle the San Diego forces retreated back to Los Angeles, and on arriving there disbanded, with the exception of a few who remained with Don Jose Antonio Carillo at the "cuartel" soldiers' quarters. Later in the evening Victoria arrived and halted in the upper portion of the Pueblo. As soon as Don Jose Antonio Carrillo knew of the arrival of Victoria, he in person commenced to beat the drum as if calling the soldiers together. On hearing

Page 66

communication to Don Pablo de la Portilla, stating that he was ready to turn over the "mando" to him. And here ended Victoria's government. Don Romualdo Pacheco was buried on the 6th of December, in the Catholic Cemetery, and Abila on the 7th.

Upon the arrival of Bandini, Pico, Echandia, and the rest of the party from San Diego, about the 8th or 9th, Don Pio Pico was proclaimed Governor, and took the oath of office in the plaza, in front of the old church, one of the men entering the church by the round window in the front and bringing out the crucifix for the purpose.

Don Luis Zamorano, who at this time was in Monterey, upon hearing of the defeat of Victoria, raised a party against the San Diegans, proclaimed himself ruler, and sent down to Los Angeles one hundred and sixteen men under the command of Lieutenant Juan Maria Ybarra, who took possession of the Pueblo de Los Angeles.

The San Diego party having left for San Diego soon after the defeat of Victoria, Ybarra had no opposition, but upon hearing of Zamorano's movements they were not idle. They began to gather up their forces, and under the command of Captain Barroso, sent about fifty men, with orders to station themselves at the San Gabriel river, at the place called Paso de Bartolo, and await re-inforcements, as they should be sent to him.

Bandini, Pico and two or three others soon followed, and as they came along gathered up all they could, sending couriers to the mountains to get the Indians to join them, to which they responded, gathering in great numbers. Before the arrival of General Echandia the forces at San Gabriel river were about 1,300 or 1,400 strong. Of these about 300 were white and about 1,100 were Indians, all of them mounted and with lances and bows and arrows.

On the day previous to the arrival of Echandia from San Diego, a communication was sent to Ybarra by Captain

Page 67

Barroso to the effect that if he (Ybarra) should not vacate the Pueblo de Los Angeles by nine o'clock next morning he should be obliged to do it by force of arms. Ybarra heeded the order, and left that very night for the north to report to his chief at Monterey. Gen. Echandia, Bandini, Pico and Captain Barroso entered the Pueblo de Los Angeles with flying colors, and this revolution was a success.

From my historical bonanza other matters were extracted, the most important of which was the fact of Holy inspiration being the cause that induced the founding of the beautiful city, subject matter of the following story, the truth of which is beyond the power of contradiction:

Two months and a hundred years ago three Spanish Dragoons, followed by an Indian leading a sumpter mule, ascended the highest hill or bluff overlooking the present site of Los Angeles, and the Rio Porciuncula, now called Los Angeles river. Having attained the rugged summit, the three soldiers dismounted, and at the order of Sergeant Navarro, the elder, unsaddled and picketed their horses, placed their lances "en pavellon," over which they threw their blankets and thus formed a sort of tent. The sumpter mule having been relieved of its burden, and a "bota" of vino Catalan having been taken there-from, the Sergeant drew from the pocket of his doublet a small silver cup, filled it, and quaffing the delicious fluid of Catalonia passed the bota and cup to Corporal Quintero who, in like manner, passed the canteen and cup to the soldier, Bannegas, who having followed the example of his superiors, the three seated themselves on their "armas de pelo," cigarritos were produced and the Sergeant with his mecha struck a light, and in silence they smoked. The beauty of the scenery that surrounded them was beyond the power of description. Their faces were turned toward the dark and craggy mountains that overhung the San Gabriel mission, whose white walls and red roofs could be seen in the midst of the sea of sylvan green that

Page 68

surrounded it. The plains and rolling hills had discarded their mantle of green and donned their sere robes of summer. Gazing toward the sun, which had now marked the first segment in the circle of its journey, plains, hills, forests, lakes, rivers, valleys, and towering mountains in splendid panorama met their wondering vision. To the rear of where the three warriors sat and intermediate to the line that marked the verge of the unknown sea in crescent shape lay in silent beauty the shimmering waters of a beautiful lake sheltered from the rude blasts of the ocean by a rampart of kind and protecting hills. To the left for leagues could be traced the serpentine windings of the river, as it swept through the valley toward the western horizon. Obliquely to their rear and looking southward to the sea the waters of the Porciuncula swept by like a silver stripe in a ribbon of green, shaded by the umbrageous white-armed sycamore and the more verdant cottonwood, under whose protecting shades gamboled countless herds of deer and antelope, while still beyond are to be seen rocky islands in the ocean posted like knights in armor guarding the portals of Paradise.

Having in silence taken in this vision of beauty, Corporal Quintero was the first to speak. "Sergeant," said he, "my old and tried friend, at first I greatly marvelled at your leading us to this fatiguing summit, but I now thank you for it. You have been here before, and we having shared with you the hard knocks of many campaigns, you wished to share with us the pleasures of this foresight of Paradise. When did you first discover this magnificent view? It exceeds in beauty anything I ever beheld, even in our beautiful Spain."

"My friend," answered the Sergeant, "it is a strange tale, but true. In a dream, or vision, I beheld this Terrestrial Paradise. Thirty years ago, when yet a boy, before I had buckled on the armor of Spain, approaching my native city of Granada, I stopped to rest on the famous summit called 'The Moor's Last Sigh,' and while drinking in the magnificence of Granada,

Page 69

the beauty of the Vega and the silver sheen of the Guadalquiver in its serpentine winding, I fell into a sound slumber, and in my dreams was transported to this very spot, and instead of my armed comrades, as now, our Blessed Lady, the Angel Queen, stood beside me in a halo of glory, and, after pointing out the surrounding loveliness of Nature, she indicated the spot below us whereon I should found a city that in time should rival and eclipse in magnificence and beauty our famed Granada. That the valley before us would in wealth and productiveness exceed the Vega, and the river that sweeps the valley at our feet would become the theme of song and story even as the sweet Guadalquiver.

"'Found thou here a city,' said the Queen, and in a radiance of glory she ascended from the earth and left me alone. I awoke and found it to be a dream--no! a vision! Such a vision as that of St. John. The vision as we now behold it, save the presence of the queen, has ever been before me. While tossed on the waves of the ocean, I could see it. It was before me on the battlefield, in camp, at the guard post, on the march, ever present, asleep or awake; and now, Corporal, with the help of Our Lady, the favor of God, the permission of Don Felipe, and the assistance of the most reverend, the Father President, I am going to found the city NUESTRA SENORA REINA DE LOS ANGELES. Long have I served the King; thou, Corporal, thou, brave Bannegas, hast grown gray in his service; to-morrow, comrades, let us to His Excellency, Don Felipe de Neve, beg our discharge, gather the few that are free, procure the proper authority, and found a city for Our Lady. I comprehend your thoughts, comrades. I know we are poor. Imperial Rome had a small beginning; so will ours, but there must be a starting point for every enterprise; ours will have the special protection of our Lady Queen, the favor of God, and will grow to be one of the brightest jewels of the earth. Comrades, shall we proceed?"

Page 70

The Corporal and Bannegas having become possessed of the spirit of the inspiration, with the Sergeant, pledged themselves to the enterprise, and having enjoyed a hearty repast and agreed upon the point whereon to locate the city of Los Angeles, they saddled their horses, struck their tent, and the Indian having repacked the sumpter mule, the small cavalcade took up its line of march to San Gabriel.

On the day following the meeting on the bluff, after mass, guard-mounting and the other military duties at San Gabriel, the good Sergeant Navarro followed by the corporal and Bannegas, presented themselves before Don Felipe de Neve, Governor and Military Comandante of California, laid before him their plans and begged their discharge from the military service of Spain. They, in addition to long service in other parts of the world, had been ten years in California.

At first the Governor was disposed to discourage the foundation of a city, and inquired of the Sergeant where he would procure his "Pobladores."

The Sergeant was prepared for the question, and informed him that himself, the Corporal and Bannegas made three. Then he counted five others at San Gabriel, two at San Diego, and two at San Juan Capistrano, all of whom would join in forming the settlement. The Father President of the missions was then consulted, who having promised material and spiritual aid, on the 26th day of August, 1781, Don Felipe de Neve signed the order directing the foundation of the pueblo, and on the 5th of September, one hundred years ago, the war-scarred veteran, Navarro, bearing the image of Nuestra Senora La Reina de Los Angeles, followed by Corporal Quintero with the unfurled banner of Spain, Bannegas carrying the cross to be erected on the Plaza of the new city. Then came the nine other founders followed by the women and children to the number of thirty-six. The mission fathers, the neophytes and nuns of San Gabriel were present, the Governor and military, less

Page 71

the guard, were on the ground to add to the pomp and ceremony of the occasion.

Mid the blare of trumpet, beat of drum and the chant of the priests, the cross was erected, Mass duly solemnized, the Plaza was marked out and the procession of priests, nuns, soldiers, women, children and Indians marched in joyful, yet solemn procession to celebrate the birth of the new city, Queen of the Angels, after which the Governor, the military, the mission fathers, the neophytes and nuns departed for the mission, leaving the brave Sergeant, the Corporal, the soldier Bannegas, their nine coadjutors, their wives and their children in quiet possession of the new born city.