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ONE of the warriors of antiquity in proffering to tell of the seige of Troy said, "I will tell you of what I saw, and of what I was." In writing this book of reminiscences the author has endeavored to write of what he saw and avoid making a hero of himself. But in the following sketch he cannot avoid appearing as one of the principal actors, and begs the reader's forbearance for thus doing.

When in San Francisco, reader, go thou to that sombre-looking old building, at the corner of Washington and Kearny streets, late the "Hall of Records," pass its portals, ascend to its topmost floor, go from room to room, descend from floor to floor until you reach the basement and hear the heavy rumble of wheels above you, and then inquire something of the past history of the old house, and should the walls answer you, as every particular stone and brick that go to form its massive walls could, they would tell strange stories of "El Dorado," the greatest gambling hell that the world ever saw. Each brick would tell of strange characters, of disappointed fortune seekers who, as a last venture, would tempt the fickle goddess in the gilded halls of the gilded pandemonium; of fugitives from justice from all climes under the sun, including the Jew from Palestine and the Aztec from the valley of

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Mexico; of discarded lovers who sought to forget the dreams of early youth in the flowing bowl, and the painted harlots who floated around in a blaze of sparkling jems and a cloud of rustling drapery, of ladies of foreign accent, of former rank in the old world, who sat behind a mountain of gold and tempted the visitor with lansquinette, or the former Spanish peasant girl who assisted the New Orleans gambler, at his game of rouge-et-noir; of the Hidalgo who manipulated his monte cards behind a bank of a hundred thousand dollars, of former ministers of the Gospel of Christ, who sought the ruin of souls in their games of faro; of the roulette man, with his wheel of fortune and his vociferous clamors of "Give us $5 on the Eagle Bird and go home with your pile in the morning."

"The rondo man," "keno," and I was going to say the "three card monte-man, " but let me say (the speaking bricks, I mean), there was too much grandeur in the El Dorado to permit of so thieving a game as the last mentioned, which emphatically belongs to modern times. The bricks will also tell you of the prosperous merchant arm-in-arm with the professional "capper" approaching the green baize-covered table with intent to win enough for his remittance by to-morrow's steamer. Did he succeed? Oh no! At first he won, then lost, lost, lost! till all was gone, and with his brain maddened with wine and frenzied with despair, he seized a bag of $50- ingots, or slugs, brained the gambler in his seat, escaped from the room and was never after heard of. The thousand-tongued bricks will tell of thousands of fortunate gold-seekers on their way to sweethearts, wives and happy homes, who passed the fatal portal (which should have borne the inscription that Dante saw over the gates of hell) and were fleeced of their gold, and went forth to join the great column of disappointed forty- niners whose wearied footsteps have traveled all the unexplored regions of the universe in search of a "New El Dorado," and whose fated bones have whitened on the deserts of the great

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interior of Arizona and of Mexico, or have mouldered in the tropical damps of Central and South America. Like the Wandering Jew, they march, march, march! There is an inward monitor of discontent that urges them on in search of the "New El Dorado." Will they ever find it? Oh, no! not on this side of the river.

Of all that wandering class who were tempted into the "El Dorado" by the fickle goddess, but few are left. They reveled in the halls of the gilded king for a night, and that one night sealed their doom, and made them wanderers upon the face of the earth.

Diagonally across from the "El Dorado" was Palmer, Cook & Co.'s Bank. It is of '54 I write. One night I went into the "El Dorado," and in passing around I found at one of the tables an old and intimate friend, with whom I had explored the regions of the Klamath, the Trinity, and of Scott River, in '50 and '51. My friend, by name Clayt Sinclair, now a resident of Little Rock, Arkansas, was engaged in heavy betting at monte, was greatly excited, and had won heavily. We had not met for two years. He was rejoiced to see me, and ceasing to bet, and pushing over his pile of gold- dust and slugs to the dealer, said, "Take care of my money for a minute," left his seat, and taking me by the arm, led me to one side, and excitedly exclaimed:

"By Jupiter! Horace, I have won $20,000, and am in a streak of luck."

"How much did you commence with?" I inquired.

"Five thousand dollars," said he, and continued, "Do you play?"

"No," said I; "you know I could never learn."

"Good," said he; "I have $25,000 on that table in dust, slugs, and certificates of deposit. The bank has $100,000, and I am going to break it or lose my $25,000. Now," he continued, drawing forth and handing me his pocket-book, "here

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is a bill of exchange for $5,000. Should you remain with me, don't you return my pocket-book under any consideration until you see me on the steamer to-morrow. I am going home, and my ticket is also in the pocket- book." After vainly endeavoring to persuade him to take his money and retire with me, I promised at all hazards to hold on to his pocket-book, and he returned to his betting.

I soon seated myself beside him. We were both mere boys in age at the time, and he went to betting with a continual run of good luck until he had won over half the bank's capital, and then his luck began to change, and in three hours he didn't have a dollar left. With the mien of a maniac he turned to me and demanded his pocket-book. I didn't have it; I had quietly stepped up to the "Old Union," at Merchant street, and placed it in the hotel safe. I so informed him, omitting to designate the place I had left it.

Clayt was as wild as a Comanche. Finally he sobered down into a moment of thought, then hastily taking a magnificent sparkling pin from his bosom, said to the gambler:

"I gave $1,000 for this pin to-day at Joseph's, on Montgomery street; lend me $500 on it."

"Let me see," said a female voice, with a broken Mexican accent, from an adjoining table, and Clayt, without rising, turned in his seat and held the blazing jewel up until it caught the glare of the brilliant gaslight, and sent forth a spray of dazzling gleams that nothing but a pure diamond will do, when, in a twinkling, the pin was snatched from his grasp, and away flew the form of a Chinaman, bearing with him Clayt's last gambling stake, and I in hot pursuit. That Chinaman flew as on the wings of the wind, and so did I. Once or twice John was tripped up, but not caught. Out of the main hall into and through a back room, where a party were engaged in playing a game of short cards, I still ran after him, with a hurrahing crowd at my heels. John seemed to know the way, and

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soon gained a pair of stairs that led from a lunch-room into the basement. Through the crowd of free-lunchers I bolted, and down-stairs we went, I and John all in a heap--the pursuing mob having momentarily lost the clue in the lunch-room. I thought I had him, but in a moment I was beset by a crowd of pig-tails that seemed perfectly wild with terror and excitement. The thief darted forward into and through a kitchen, and disappeared through the door, uttering a kind of yowl, which was neither a howl of rage, of defiance, or of joy, but seemed more of a signal than anything else. There must have been twenty Chinamen in that kitchen when I entered, many of whom disappeared before the baffled crowd of pursuers came in. I had fortunately seen the door open and shut at the further end of the kitchen, and was vainly endeavoring to follow, when several Chinamen interfered to prevent me, insisting that the fugitive Chinaman had doubled on me, and had gone out up the stairway through which we descended.

By this time the kitchen was filled by the crowd from the gambling room, with two or three policemen, who, learning the circumstance of the robbery, commenced searching the Chinamen present, while I quietly stood guard at the door, feeling that I had cornered my man. The Chinese steward informed the policemen that he very well knew the Chinaman I had so rashly pursued down stairs, that he had escaped from the kitchen by the way he came in; that he resided in a house on Dupont street, and that he, the steward, would conduct the officers thither and would guarantee his immediate capture, at the same time opening the door of the store room, through which I had seen my man disappear. To my surprise the fugitive was not inside. The room had neither door nor window, except a securely- fastened grated door that opened opposite the street-grating above, as a ventilator. There was little or nothing in the room, save a pile of sacks of rice in one corner. The steward entered with a candle and the policemen

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had their laugh at me, and said I was mistaken, that the Chinaman had outflanked me, and that they would go with the steward to Dupont street and capture their man. So the door of the store room was closed and the crowd commenced leaving the kitchen.

I called one of the policemen to me and asked him if he would not go to the police headquarters and ask Jim McDonald (afterwards Chief of Police) to come around. He did so, and in a few moments McDonald was on hand, accompanied by Lees (then without fame). I stated privately to them that the Chinaman was in that room and that he had not escaped. Lees at once took the matter in hand and ordered all the Chinamen then present, except the steward, to the lock-up--cleared the kitchen of the crowd and then proceeded to investigate. It was then two o'clock in the morning.

First, said Lees to the steward, who spoke English: "How many men have you employed in the kitchen, and what are all of these Chinamen doing here?"

"Oh," answered John, "we have one cook, one dishwasher, four men to tend lunch."

"That makes six," said Lees. "What were all the others doing here?"

"They my cousins," answered the steward.

We then re-opened the store-room --the steward greatly embarrassed.

"Why have you so much rice and nothing else?" queried Lees.

"Chinaman heap eatee lice?" said John, Lees at the same time cutting the bamboo strapping of a rice bag, and at the same moment the steward dashed his candle to the ground, bolted through the door, which he tried to close after him. McDonald was too quick for him, however, and in a twinkling they had the darbies on him and he was properly secured; then relighting the candle Lees proceeded, and found the rice bag to

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be filled with earth. Then another, and another, all filled in the same manner.

"By Jove, Mac," said Lees, "we've got the biggest thing out. I see through the whole thing. You take this fellow to the lock-up and return immediately with every man you can bring. See that they are well armed. Myself and this young man will stand guard until you return. Are you armed?" said he to me.

"No," said I.

"Well, Mac, give him your revolver, he may need it. Oh, we've got them. Don't delay, Jim," said Lees, "hurry back," and away went McDonald with his prisoner.

"What is it?" said I, mystified at Lees' confident manner.

"Why, it is this," he answered: "About a week ago, at 4 o'clock in the morning, I stopped on the crossing between Palmer, Cook & Co.'s corner and the corner opposite, and was listening to a noise I heard in the direction of Pacific street. Everything was still, and I distinctly heard picking, as though miners were at work directly under my feet. I remained and listened until daylight, and have watched the thing ever since. They have worked to the sidewalk on the Kearny street side of the bank. They are burglars tunneling to the bank vault, and we are now guarding the mouth of their tunnel. We have bagged the batch, young man. Ah! here comes Jim," and McDonald entered with half a score of policemen with lanterns and each man armed with a pair of navy sixes.

Removing the pile of rice bags, sure enough we were at the mouth of the tunnel, which proved to be about two feet wide and high enough to admit a man's entering on his knees and elbows.

"Here goes," said Lees, and into the tunnel he went, revolver in one hand and lantern in the other. Pretty soon we heard his voice, a short struggle, the smothered detonation of a pistol shot, and while breathless with suspense, Lees came out

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backward, dragging with him a wounded Chinaman--Lees himself being badly injured by a punch with a crow-bar. The steward was then sent for and ordered into the tunnel to bring out the miners, with the admonition that if he failed, fire and smoke would be used. In a moment he returned, followed by four or five as villainous a looking set of Mongolians as ever crossed the bay to San Quintin.

As they came out they were ironed and searched, the wounded one having concealed--in the folds of his pig-tail--Clayt's diamond pin. We had made a night of it. By the time the Johns were safely locked up we had no further use for candles--it was broad daylight. But Lees continued his investigations. Under the stairs, down which I had come all a-heap with the Chinese thief, we found a securely-fastened closet containing the most perfect set of burglars' tools that could possibly be imagined. Old policemen said "nothing Christian halfway came up to it." Nor was this all. We found a half-dozen circular saw-mills, ingeniously contrived machines used for hollowing out fifty-dollar ingots and twenty-dollar pieces.

In a minute one of the mills would cut out the middle of a coin, leaving just enough to hold it together, when the hollow would be run full of lead, and the edge creased and galvanized, and the deception was so perfect that over $20,000 of the 20's alone had been passed on the banks.

The banks had now opened, and the Palmer, Cook & Co. Bank Managers were sent for; the tunnel was examined and found to be neatly timbered overhead and to reach within twelve feet of the bank vault. Lees gained great eclat, and deservedly so, in the matter. I saved Clayt's diamond cluster- pin, his ticket and his $5,000 home stake.

By the time the excitement was well over, and I, with Lees and McDonald, came up stairs, we found poor Clayt looking dreadfully bad; hadn't had his breakfast, and not a dollar in his pocket. I showed him the pin, introduced him to

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McDonald and Lees, and we all went to a back room in the "Union" to have a quiet cock-tail, for, be it known, gentle reader, notwithstanding I hadn't learned to gamble, I could then drink like a ward politician. It was now noon. The steamer had left at 10 A.M. Clayt would have to lay over two weeks. He had $5,000 left, thanks to his fortunate meeting with myself. We went to Garrison and stated the circumstance to him, and he endorsed the ticket for the next trip via Nicaragua.

Clayt swore off gambling, but insisted on my exercising dominion over his funds until he was safe on board the steamer, which of course I did, and when on board I handed him a bill of exchange for $4,000 (having changed the $5,000 bill for $4,000, taking out the $1,000 for his personal expenses), and retaining the cluster-pin, which he insisted I should have as a remembrance of our adventure at the "El Dorado."

Clayton Sinclair, who was well connected, reached home in safety, married and settled down, and ten years after our strange meeting in the great San Francisco gambling hell, I met him on the tented-field in the Army of the Southwest--both serving in the Grand Army of the Union.

Lees is known to fame, and deservedly so. As for McDonald I never knew what did become of he, since '56, when he was Chief of Police in San Francisco.

The Chinamen, to the number of some ten or a dozen, went over the bay.

The hollowed out coins caused a grand sensation in banking circles, and a general overhauling of coins. As before stated, $20,000 in 20's were found, and to the Chinamen, I believe, we owe this adroit method of mutilating the coins.

I omitted to say at the proper time that in the mining operations the rice bags were used to pass out the earth from the tunnel, and would be carried away and disposed of by the outside Chinamen.

It was General Richardson, United States Marshal, who

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came down to Los Angeles in '53 for the great Ohio mail robber, heretofore spoken of. In November, '55, this same Richardson was killed on Montgomery street, San Francisco, between Clay and Merchant, by Charles Cora, who in May, '56, was hung by the Vigilance Committee, in company with Supervisor James P. Casey, the murderer of James King of William. Cora was a bred and born New Orleans gambler. The General was an old faro dealer, and the two had been intimate. Richardson had attained political position, but still continued his intimacy with his former gambling friends, and one night, in company with Cora and others, had been on a drinking bout, had made the rounds of the gambling houses and other places of dissipation, and were leaving the Bank Exchange, when Richardson conceived that Cora had given him some offence. On the day following the United States Marshall attempted to slap the gambler's face, and was shot dead on the spot. An excitement ensued. The Bulletin was in full blast, and that sort of business had been made to seem odious, and Cora would have been peremptorily disposed of but for the fortunate diversion of the public mind in another direction, which was, that at this very juncture the "Allies" in San Francisco were celebrating the fall of Sebastopol, and made a most brilliant display and procession, which, for the sight-seeing mercurial public, was an equivalent for a first-class hanging, and poor Cora was respited until a companion de voyage was found, and he was sent off in high official company, after having slain a high federal functionary. Cora was married on the gallows--a little piece of social comedy permitted by his executioners--a foolish thing, neither tragic, dramatic, melo-dramatic, or farcical. All there was in it was that a harlot with whom he had been living desired to inherit a large property owned by Cora, in which she succeeded.

It was strange, but nevertheless true, that during the Crimean war Young America gave the full weight of his influence

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and sympathy to Russia, and although at the time but few Russians were in San Francisco, when the grand procession of the "Allies" marched through Montgomery street, on their way to South Park, cheer upon cheer went up from the sidewalks for Russia, and at early gas-lighting an immense meeting was held in front of Montgomery Block, which was addressed by Elkin Heydenfeldt and others. Resolutions were passed sympathizing with Russia; bands of music were procured, and an immense procession formed and marched to Russian Hill, on Folsom street, to serenade the Czar's Consul, and to present him with a copy of the resolutions. Bill Ross, formerly of Los Angeles, was chairman of the meeting, and Albert H. Clark and the author were of the Committee to wait on the Consul, who lived within hearing of the music of the "Allies" at South Park The joy and gratitude shown by the Russian Consul on that occasion repaid us for the little outburst of Young American sympathy, not taking into account the magnificent improvised collation hurried up by the grateful recipient of our serenade.

In the meantime the "Allies" were not having it all their own way at the Park. They had built a huge miniature Malikoff of pastry and confectionery, which at a given signal was to be charged upon by the different divisions of the "Allies." Now it so happened that Charley Duane organized a big crowd of hard hitters, took position, and when the signal was given flung to the midnight air a Russian flag, carried the Malikoff by storm, and planting the banner of the Czar thereon, held the fort until rolling stock could be procured to carry away the captured candies and cakes forming the bastions and turrets of the Malikoff.

Having mentioned the Union Hotel, it may be quite proper to say that, in '53 and '54, the Union was California's crown of glory. Every man visiting San Francisco could be found at some time during the day at the Union. Everybody went

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there; the chivalry of the times had rooms in the house. What memories cluster around thy name, Oh! Union! In the zenith of their popularity those princes of good fellows, Myron Norton and Frank Ball, could always be found at the Union. Cobarrubias there held his levees, and in thy halls the grey-eyed man, Crabbe, and Bulbon, concocted their schemes of conquest. Broderick, Bigler, Ned Marshall, Henry S. Foote, all of the statesmen of the day, the Army and the Navy, patronized the Union. It was a great place for planning, for getting up corrupt schemes of legislation to rob the people and feather the nest of the schemers. Political appointments were discussed and fixed up at the Union; "slates" were there made out, and conventions attended to. Senatorial candidates had to run the gauntlet of the Union, likewise Collectors of Customs, and all appointments, Federal, State and municipal, were discussed and disposed of at this famous place. When the Legislature would be in session at Vallejo, Benicia, or elsewhere, or when on wheels, the members thereof could always, on a Sunday, be found at the Union, in conference with the "lobby." It was at the Union, in '54, that Charles P. Duane and Jack Watson, of Los Angeles, so amused the guests and frequenters in a most lively skirmish with navy sixes. The Union was the fastest place in the world. What the rental of the house was I never knew, but this I vouch for as being true, that in '54 the little cigar stand at the entrance, just large enough for one man to stand in, rented for four thousand dollars a month.

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SOON after the massacre of John Glanton and his party, the military post of Yuma was established. A Lieutenant was the first to command at this hottest of all places. It was certainly a Botany Bay to the poor soldiers, who were doomed to roast and swelter in this fiery furnace. It is said that soon after the establishment of the post a soldier spread his blankets on the sand, in the cooling shade of a cottonwood, and dropped off into a deep slumber; the sun wore around, the soldier continued to sleep until it struck him, and then he slept the sleep that knows no waking. When his comrades found him he was roasted and baked as though he had been grilled over a hot fire. They buried the poor fellow with all the honors of war, and tried to console themselves with the certainty of his having found a better place. But one night, at the hour when ghosts do walk abroad, the sentry at the guard house challenged, "Who comes there?" "A frind, Patsy McNerny, without the countersign," was the answer. "Corporal of the guard!" yelled the terrified sentry, on recognizing in the apparition the comrade who had been broiled on the sand a few days before. The Corporal appeared, and was informed by the apparition that he had been three days in hell, and the change of climate was too much for him, was too cold, so the devil, in sympathy, had furloughed him long enough to come back and get his blanket.

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The Lieutenant commanding wisely made money during his brief authority at the crossing of the Colorado. At the time great numbers of Sonorenos were returning home with large quantities of gold extracted from the California mines. The Lieutenant halted them as they went by with the information that he was stationed at the crossing for the purpose of collecting the Government dues on the exportation of gold from the United States, and thus possessed himself of possibly half as much gold as had fallen to the lot of the renowned Jim Savage. When the news of this transaction reached the War Department the head thereof, doubtless envious of the good fortune of this banished son of Mars, instituted inquiries, which coming to the ears of this modern Croesus, he promptly resigned his commission, married an angel, settled down, and became one of the cow kings of a cow county.

Although it was worth a man's life to attempt to cross the Colorado desert without being well provided with beasts of burden inured to travel, with well filled water casks, and with guides familiar with the lay of the land, as the drifting sands obliterated all traces of the road, and the danger of getting lost was imminent. Notwithstanding all this, soldiers deserted from Yuma and struck out for the cooling zephyrs of the country " inside." In 1852 a party of deserters from Yuma were pursued and overtaken on the desert by the commanding officer, whose name I now forget. The result was a terrible fight, in which the commander and his guard were slaughtered to a man and their bodies left to parch and blister on the heated desert sands until a few days thereafter they were found, taken to Yuma and decently disposed of. Many unfortunate travelers in their anxiety to get " inside" have perished on the burning wastes of the great desert. Losing their way they would wander here and there, following the apparition of a lake and green trees caused by that curious phenomenon of the desert called mirage.

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In laying the rails of the Southern Pacific Railroad the tracklayers found a large number of skeletons of men, women and children whose bones lay in the exact position in which they had fallen and died--for be it known, reader, that no wolf or vulture ever penetrates the fiery basin of the Colorado. On this discovery being made known, the "journey of death" of these unknown travelers suggested to the poetic mind of Kercheval the following terrible legend:

LA JORNADA DE MUERTE.

They had journeyed long and far,
Toward the sinking evening star,
From the far Missouri's shore,
With their cherished household store,
Turning from the Eastern gloam,
Dreaming of a brighter home,
Where the Western ocean laves,
Fairest land with softest waves.
Manhood strong in hopeful years,
Woman with her smiles and tears,
Youths and maidens in the flush
Of life's morning, crimson blush,
Childhood in its joyous glee,
Heedless of the years to be,
Silvery age and beauty fair,
Strength and weakness--all were there;
Father, mother, husband, wife,
All that tell of hope and life.
Leaving home's soft hallowed gleam,
For a brighter, golden dream,
Snapping all the ties that bind,
Turning, leaving all behind.
Loosing all love's links at last,
Garnered memories of the past
Of the consecrated years,
Altars reared 'mid smiles and tears,
Tender voices, pleading eyes,
Graves of loved ones--all the ties
Fond and tender round us cast,
That may bind us to the past.
Where the savage bands hold sway,
Onward, westward, journeyed they,

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Through the land of lance and bow,
Of the fierce Arapaho;
o'er the lonely, lonely miles,
Through the treacherous defiles,
Shrouded, dark, and murder-dyed,
Death and danger side by side;
Through the dread Apache lands,
Through the Gila's weary sands,
'Neath its sighing cottonwood,
Westward, till at last they stood,
Weary-worn and travel-sore,
On the Colorado's shore.
Hazy dimness like a pall,
Quivering, overshadowed all;
On the river's farther shore,
Desolation spread before.
There the desert's fiery breath,
Furnace-fanned and fraught with death,
Ever casts its withering spell,
Dark as sin and hot as hell,
There the shriveled zephyr flees
o'er the grave of perished seas,
'Neath the glow of fiery skies,
Hopeless, moaning, faints and dies.
Where the blasted levels lay,
Slow they took their weary way,
Through that awful desert-sea,
Hopeful of the days to be.
But a little--they should rest
At the portal of the West--
Of the earthly Paradise
Overached by softest skies.
Hour by hour they strove and toiled,
Thirst-beset and furnace-broiled,
All a night and all a day,
Toiling on their weary way;
Still another cruel night,
o'er that awful desert blight,
Every vein a stream of fire,
Burning with a hot desire;
Strength and courage almost spent,
Saddened by some dread portent
Of a dark and direful end
That they might not comprehend;
Slow their drooping beasts they urge
Toward the dim horizon verge,

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Till each black and swollen tongue
From the fevered lips outhung.
Slowly sank the fervid sun
When that day was almost done;
But a darker, deathlier pall
Gathered threatening over all.
Sudden swept the whirlwind's breath,
o'er that dread expanse of death,
And the burning sands arose,
Drifting like the wintry snows,
With their smothering, blinding wrack,
Over fading trail and track,
Like the mad waves tempest-tost,
Till all things were hid and lost.
Utter woe with ruin blent,
When that blast of hell was spent,
Beasts lay dead and dying there,
Death, and horror, and despair,
Like an awful nightmare pressed
Dark and heavy on each breast.
Slowly passed the night away,
And another burning day
Found them of all hope bereft,--
Not a drop of water left,
Not a beast to give them aid,
Not a shrub to give them shade;
All around a dazzling gleam,
Death and horror reigned supreme.
Long they wandered where the sands
Scorched and seared like burning brands,--
Where the zephyrs faint and die,
On the plains of alkali;
But no crystal fount or stream,
Gladdened with its silvery gleam--
Scarce a hope its glimmer lent,
Strength and courage almost spent.
Sudden cried a drooping child,
Starting with a gesture wild,
As her face despair forsook,
"There is water, mother--look!
See! a lake spreads far and wide,
And the green trees fringe its side."
Lo! before their longing eyes
Spread a dream of Paradise,
Stretching brightly far away,

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Mirror-like the waters lay.
Never fell the sun's hot kiss
On a fairer oasis
'Mid the burning wastes of sand
Of swar! Afric's lonely land.
Glancing in the sun's bright beams,
Flashing far their dazzling gleams,
Like a diamond's radiant light,
Lay the waters pure and bright,
And encircling, close and fond,
Rose the emerald hills beyond.
Swiftly o'er each burning brain,
Rushed the flood of hope again.
Soon their weary steps should rest
In that Eden of the West,
And their burning feet might lave
In the cooling, crystal wave.
Long that gleam their steps pursued
o'er the awful solitude,
Still evading with its glow
Every footstep, fast or slow,
Ever mocked their longing eyes
With its glint of Paradise;
Like the glitter of a star,
Seeming never near nor far.
Ever from their burning feet
Seemed that vision to retreat,
From their ardent longing haste,
Till it vanished o'er the waste,
Melted into dimness gray,
Faded, fled and passed away.
Still they struggled, staggering, blind,
Doubt before and death behind;
Still pursued each mirage bright,
Till it faded from their sight,
Baseless as a midnight dream,
Or the gorgeous rainbow's gleam.
Years and years had sped and gone,
Gloom of eve and flush of dawn,
Silent each succeeding each,
Never woke by human speech;
Never human footstep fell
Faint to break that ghastly spell;
In the desert's fiery breath,

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Silence, mystery, awe and death,
Brooding ever still the same,
When the mighty builders came,
Laying down their iron track
o'er the desolation black,
With resistless Titan tread,
Heedless of the wastes outspread,
Clasping firm the iron bands,
Linking lands to sister lands,
When they paused at what they saw,
With a mute and trembling awe.
Ringed around in circle white,
Holding each to other tight,
Bleaching skeletons lay there
With their empty sockets' glare,
Vacant staring, westward turned,
Still as when the eyeballs burned,
With that last despairing look,
When life's quivering pulse forsook.
Not a rav'ning beast or bird,
Fleshless limb or trunk had stirred;
Not a hungry wolf might dare
Thus to brave the desert's glare,
In that waste of terror wide--
Thus they lay as thus they died.
o'er those men of iron fell
Tearful pity's tender spell,
As they gazed with halting breath
On that circle dread of death,
And they left them to their sleep
In that stillness lone and deep,--
Awed and fearful turned away,
Turned and left them as they lay,
With a whispered, trembling prayer,
In that awful silence there--
Left them with a shuddering thrill,
Firm in death, united still.

In 1853, and for many years thereafter, Doctor Wozencraft urged upon the Government the advisability, practicability and necessity of reclaiming the Colorado desert, by the introduction of water, through irrigating canals, from the Colorado River. A great many theories have been advanced as to the causes that produced this wonderful basin of burning sand, and the

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philosophical mind of the author could reach no further than to believe that whenever or however the infernal place had been formed, nature was certainly in a very bad frame of mind--an ill-humor, out of sorts; or that if ever contemplated in the "plan of creation," the Creator had overlooked or forgotten to give the finishing touch to this part of his work, or had let out the contract to a sub-contractor, without taking a sufficient surety bond.

The Government made several reconnoisances of this disjointed part of creation; one by order of Jefferson Davis, Secretary of War, in '53, and made under Lieutenants Parke and Williamson. The military command of the reconnoisance was under General George Stoneman, then a Captain. This scientific reconnoisance failed to discover anything other than the Colorado desert, which looked as old as the hills which surrounded it. The object of this survey, however, was the examination of the most available pass to San Diego for a southern transcontinental railroad. Notwithstanding thousands of people had journeyed through this frightful basin, and the Government had sent a scientific commission to examine it, nothing peculiar was observed concerning it until about 1865. A young surgeon of volunteers passed over this desert on his way to Arizona. The western rim of the basin at Carizo Creek is composed of almost perpendicular cliffs of soft red rock, and high up on the sides thereof you can see, as plainly defined as the cornice on the Capitol at Washington, the water level of a former sea or lake. The Doctor, observing this, concluded that this basin of burning sand must have at some former time been filled with water. This was the discovery of a scientific circumstance. Journeying through Arizona, the Doctor discovered evidences of a former dense population of civilized people. This was another scientific circumstance. He further observed remains of ancient forests. Here was another scientific circumstance. The acute scientific eye of the Doctor noted many other

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circumstantial evidences of that devil's land having once been God's country. That, to have supported a dense population of civilized people Arizona must have been a fertile land; to have produced and grown forests it must have had moisture, and from the lack of moisture the former forests died out, and from the same cause the fertile fields of the former inhabitants became the sterile wastes that so blast the eyes of those who now traverse them; that the unfortunate inhabitants had from these causes died of famine, or had in a body left the country. What could have been the cause of all this, reasoned the scientific mind of the Doctor? He saw the effect, and there must have been a cause. This the learned gentleman readily traced to the drying up of this inland sea. Keeping his own counsel, when the Doctor returned to the Colorado river he observed that when the river was very high, it had cut a slough through its porous bank, and that the water rushing through discharged itself into the desert. Here was a discovery deduced from scientific observation, that would stand second only to that of Columbus, in his, at the time strange assertion, that one could go east by sailing west, or the immortal Doctor Money's discovery of the " Zwirro Zwirro," a curious plan of which may be seen on the file of records of Los Angeles county.

"The dessicating climate of Arizona, New Mexico and Chihuahua (thus reasoned the Doctor), shall be moistened; trees shall be made to grow on plains, where Gila monsters and rattlesnakes do now die of thirst; Arizona shall be repeopled, and the joyous laugh of the happy husbandman shall resound where desolation now reigns supreme. A desert of greater territorial extent than that subjected to the dominion of Christ by the great Conquistador shall be made to blossom as the rose. Cortez tumbled down the heathen temples of Anahuac. This discovery will cause to be erected thousands of Christian spires pointing heavenward, where now the owl keeps silent because of there being nothing at which to hoot."

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Was not this a grand conception? "A plan of creation" as was a plan--the outcroppings of a sublime creative genius?

"All this change shall be wrought by deepening that overflowing artery of the Colorado River, and filling the desert basin with fresh water."

"This will produce moisture. Moisture is all that is necessary to restore these desert lands to their former fertility."

All of these scientific reasonings and discoveries the Doctor gave to the world through the medium of the Overland Monthly. So astounding was this to the savánts, that some up-country college conferred on this remarkable discoverer (who was to confer on mankind so great a blessing at so little expense) the degree of Master of Arts, and all angel-land rejoiced thereat.

The all powerful Star of the Angel City demanded that the thing be done, and without delay. That a company be organized to shoulder their shovels and go down, deepen that natural ditch and turn the water in and refill the basin. That the basin should no longer be called the Colorado desert. That the maps should be changed and the Colorado desert should be forever after ca led, named, designated and known in honor of the discoverer as

"THE WIDNEY SEA."

The angel world agreed with great unanimity as to the feasibility of the scheme. About this time a party of surveyors were sent from San Francisco to survey the flat lands at the mouth of the Colorado, and it was rumored that the party had gone down to fill the desert with water. This filled the angel mind with indignation. This was our discovery and we were going to have all the honor thereto belonging. If necessary force should be used to prevent this outrage threatened by our great northern rival. It so happened that one of our most prominent angels had a brother who was in charge of that band of up-country surveyors, and he wrote to him a feeling letter to

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find out what they were about. In due course of time the gentleman in charge of the survey (the brother of Captain Alfred James, the Register of the Land Office at Los Angeles) answered the inquiry frankly and assured us that he had no designs whatever on our "Widney Sea," which gave us great relief, for in all truth we were always jealous and suspicious of San Francisco.

Many of our more practical angels now began to interpose objection to filling the "Widney Sea" with water and thereby changing our heavenly climate to one of moisture and malaria. "Any change in Arizona," said they, "would be for the better; but no change could improve the perfection of climate and beauty of scenery in our angel land." Others argued that with the remarkable fertility of our soil a moist climate would produce an unnatural vegetable and animal growth, that our boasted orange groves would be ruined, that the trees would attain the size of the sequoia gigantea and the fruits thereof would be larger than the largest Monte pumpkins, that our harmless little snakes would become boa constrictors, and the little horn frogs grow as large as a Florida alligator, and the gophers and squirrels that now so vex us would obtain the size of elephants and grizzly bears. Still others maintained that by making this great inland sea, serious complications would arise; that the Government had granted the right of way across the Colorado desert to three or more railroad companies, and in its might would interfere and stop us in our aims; that it would not permit us to interfere with railroad construction to the Pacific ocean. These questions became as serious, bitter and uncompromising as the controversy between the "Big Endians and Little Endians" of Gulliver's travels, and delayed the consummation of the little job until the Pathfinder was sent out by the Government to be the gubernatorial head and ruler of the gentle Arizonians, and on his way thither laid over in the Angel city to review the scenes of his former triumphs

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and glory. Here he was interviewed by those in favor of filling the "Widney Sea" with fresh water. He accordingly, after a careful examination, determined that the thing could and should be done, and about 1879 went to Washington to solicit government aid thereto. The practical mind of all this suggested to General Geo. Stoneman an arithmetical computation as to the amount of water and the length of time necessary to fill our "Widney Sea," and he gave to an audience of astonished angels the result of his calculation in a public lecture in the words and figures following, to-wit:

"Much has been said of late regarding a great geological basin, lying between the coast range of mountains in California and the Colorado river on the east. This basin is represented as being three hundred miles long, fifty miles wide and three hundred feet deep--about the size of Lake Erie. We are told that Governor Fremont, of Arizona, has just returned from Washington, where he has been for the purpose of inducing Congress to lend the aid of the Treasury to enable some one to fill this basin with water. The Governor has been, during his checkered life, engaged in some grand and conspicuous enterprises, but in this case he has evidently laid his plans before he consulted his figures. Let us make the calculation for him. To fill such a pond in one year, supposing the bottom to be water- tight and evaporation entirely checked, would require a small stream twenty miles wide, twenty feet deep, with a current of three miles an hour. To fill such a lake by a stream one thousand feet wide, ten feet deep, and running at the rate of three miles an hour, would take two hundred years. After this lake was filled it would require a river two hundred and fifty feet wide, ten feet deep, and running at the rate of five miles per hour--about the size of the Colorado river at ordinary stages--to compensate for evaporation at the rate of eighteen inches per year. Archimedes, you know, said that he could move the world, only give him a fulcrum. Fremont says he can make sea, only give him plenty of greenbacks. The one is about as impracticable as the other chimerical. When he makes his estimates he will come to the conclusion that long ere he can fill his basin with water, the great Engineer of the universe will have filled it with the sands of the desert, driven down by the ever- prevailing winds of the north. In the meantime it will probably be used for the purposes intended by the Almighty--the occupation by the horned toad, rattlesnake and Southern Pacific Railroad."

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We were somewhat chilled by this cool disposition of our hopes; so much so that we have thence hitherto kept our peace on the subject, and it is with deep chagrin that we confess the mortifying fact that General Stoneman knocked the bottom out of the

"WIDNEY SEA."

Many, many long years or centuries ago--long before the Conquistador, with his steel-clad followers, met in mortal combat the effete warriors of Aztec land, conquered their capital, and extended the dominion of Spain to the northern confines of civilization in the new world--yes! tradition hath it, that where the Colorado desert reigns in its awful solitude, a great sea of fresh water existed, having no connection with the great ocean, with the most beautiful river discharging its constant flow therein. This beautiful inland sea was studded with islands of tropical beauty, with evergreen forests, filled with birds of brilliant plumage and of sweetest song. That the crystal waters of this sea, or lake, were alive with beautiful fishes, colored with sunlight and tinted with the hues of the rainbow, and myriads of aquatic fowls covered its placid bosom. Forests of magnificent trees descended from the mountain crests and kissed the limpid waters at their feet, and broad and far-stretching savannas were spread out like carpets of variegated colors, over which ranged countless herds of antelope, and gamboled the elk and the deer. On the western shore of this great lake dwelt in all human happiness and prosperity the powerful Mojaves, while the eastern bank was dominated by the warlike Cocopahs, who collected an annual tribute from the more refined and less warlike Mojaves. Among other things, and most grinding of all, the gentle Mojaves were bound to furnish annually a large number of their most beautiful virgins to supply the harem of the licentious Cocopah King. Many times the Mojaves discussed in solemn council the question of resisting this humiliating exaction, but being admonished by

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the power, warlike and ferocious character of the terrible Cocopahs, the matter was always postponed until a future and more favorable time.

At last an old king of the Mojaves, whose policy had been one of peace and submission, died, and was succeeded by his son, a man of high mettle, who had trained himself and the subjects of his father in the arts of war. A very short time after his accession to the throne, the Cocopah Commissioners appeared at the Mojave capital to receive the annual tribute, which the young king flatly refused to pay, sending a message to the Cocopah despot that he could not send warriors enough to carry away even one Mojave maiden; that the men of Mojave wanted the daughters of the kingdom for wives, and as such were able to defend them.

Terrible was the wrath of the Cocopah King at receiving this unheard of defiant message. He at once ordered the great war drum to be beaten; that its reverberations might be heard on the utmost confines of his dominion; that his warriors might assemble at his capital on the shores of the great lake. The Mojave King in the meantime was wide awake to the responsibility he had assumed and resolved to at once cross the water and attack the despot in his capital. No time was lost in preparation; a flotilla was launched, and the very flower of the Mojave chivalry, with their heroic King leading the van, crossed over the smooth waters of the lake and fell upon the Cocopah capital with such terrific fury that their warriors fell before them as reeds fall before the fierce norther. The survivors fled to the forest like startled antelope, leaving the proud city of the Cocopahs with all its treasures the spoil of the conqueror. Returning to his capital the Mojave king was received with great rejoicing by his exultant subjects. But his great victory only impelled him to greater exertion; his success he well knew was not owing to strength or superiority of prowess, but to the superlative audacity of the attack. He knew full

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well of his utter inability to maintain an aggressive war, so he made vigorous preparations for defense.

In due course of time the pent up Cocopah storm burst upon the well prepared Mojaves, and deluged their beautiful land with blood. After conflicts unparalleled in fierceness, the invaders were driven across the Silver Lake, and the Mojave King was again victorious. Now followed a war on the lake, sometimes with advantage to the Mojaves then to their enemies; they strove for the possession of the emerald islands of the Silver Lake. At last dominion over the lake was won to the Cocopahs and the Mojaves beaten--but not defeated--abandoned the conflict on the water and retired to their defensive works on the main land. By this time--and the war had raged for years--the Cocopah King had enlisted under his banner the fierce Yumas, the rich Pimas and the powerful Maricopas, and assembled an army that in numbers was beyond the powers of computation. When the valiant Mojave King received information of this formidable alliance he gave up all hope of successful defense, but resolved to bury himself and people in the ruins of his country rather than submit. He would have fain carried the war into the Cocopah country, and have battled this mighty host on their own land, but his fleet was gone, his treasury was depleted, the flower of his warriors were dead, but the oracles of the Mojaves still assured him of victory, and when the flotilla of the invading host appeared upon the bosom of the beautiful lake, the defiant Mojave king with the remnant of his army grimly awaited their landing. On they came! Their great war canoes in numberless lines extending to the right and left as far as the eye could reach.

It was a beautiful day and the sun gleamed and glittered on the water rippled by the numberless paddles of the great fleet as it swept in the majesty of might over the mirror surface of the tranquil lake. The advance line is now midway from the middle of the lake to the Mojave shore, when there appeared

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in the far horizon, ominous spiral columns of revolving clouds. They came sweeping over the surface of the placid waters in gyrating circles, the smaller columns uniting with and being absorbed by the greater, around which they all revolved, and by the time they neared the left of the lines of the great flotilla, they had all united in one grand gyrating circular column of great height. Now the astonished Mojaves can hear the thunder of its march, can see the disturbed waters as they form in grand and foaming crests as the monster sweeps along with a terrible roaring sound. Now it strikes the flotilla, and the great war canoes in thousands disappear in the foam and spray of wind and water met in terrific conflict. The great whirling, foaming and awful monster of destruction now settles down over the very center of the lake, and the flotilla of the invading host spins around and around until the last one is drawn into its devouring embrace. But still it gyrates and increases to such immensity of size that the sun is obscured and darkness falls upon the face of the earth. A great tornado strikes the terrified Mojaves and fells the forest around and over them and kills and destroys them in great numbers, and a stupor of terror overcomes the survivors, who lie thus they know not how long. The King is the first to arise, he beats his war drum to call his warriors around him; only a few answer to the call, the many having been crushed by the fallen forest. The sun shines brightly and the king and the survivors of his army look toward the beautiful lake, and lo! it has disappeared--it has been dried up. The emerald islands are gone, and nothing remains but the white sand glittering in the bright sunlight. The King looks around; all is desolation, and he thinks a general ruin has fallen upon the world. He turns his face away from the dried up lake, and followed by his surviving warriors he wends his way toward his capital which he finds in the valley of perpetual bloom as he left it, and when the astonished Mojaves are informed of the terrible doom that fell

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upon their enemies, and notwithstanding the drying up of the beautiful lake and the loss of so many of their warriors, they rejoice, glorify their King, and are happy.

About the time of the excitement about the "Widney Sea," Captain Joshua A. Talbot (a veteran explorer, whose fame as such has not been confined to the Pacific slope, but has crossed the Andes of South America, and descended into the valley of the mighty Amazon, and gone over the sea to Australia), in one of his many explorations, journeying on the desert, came upon the hulk of a ship half buried in the sand. The Captain and his followers were speechless in the intensity of their amazement. They looked at each other, then looked at the ship. They gazed at the ship, and then looked inquiringly into each other's eyes; and then they commenced to walk around and clamber to her long-deserted deck, and examine this wonderful discovery. The rigging, of course, was gone. The masts were worn down to short and rounded stumps, as were the bulwarks, almost even with the deck (so said the discoverers), all caused evidently by the raspings of time and drifting sand. The depleted water vessels of the Captain and his comrades admonished them that further delay would be at the risk of their lives, and they reluctantly abandoned their prize, and pushed on to the next watering-place, and thence to the angel city, and reported the discovery, and filed their claim to all the treasure therein contained. Uncle Josh (so called) and his fellow-explorers at once became heroes, each the centre of a circle of anxious inquirers. Uncle Josh was of the opinion that the vessel was a Spanish galleon, and was undoubtedly laden with doubloons, and that at the lowest possible calculation there were millions in it.

This opinion was dissented to by some of the more nautical of the discoverers, who maintained that the build of the ship resembled a Chinese junk, while an Italian insisted that it was in his opinion an ancient Roman war galley. These various

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opinions gave rise to a learned newspaper controversy as to the origin of the ship, and how she came to her present place of repose. One more practical reasoned that "the vessel was one lost from the first expedition of the Conquistador to explore the Sea of Cortez; that a strait connecting the 'Widney Sea' and the Sea of Cortez had been closed by a violent storm that the vessel was abandoned by her crew; that by evaporation the cut off sea had dried up and left the ship dry on the sand." Another produced abundant authority to prove that the ship was one of a Tartar fleet driven to our coast; that in the year 1280 Genghis Khan, the Great Mogul, after having subjugated China, fitted out an expedition of 240,000 men in 4,000 ships under his son Kublai Khan for the purpose of conquering Japan. While this expedition was on its voyage to that country a violent storm arose and destroyed a great part of the fleet and drove many of the vessels to the coast of California, and Uncle Josh's prize was surely one of that fleet. A very wise angel waited until all of the others had their say, and then he settled the question and produced such unimpeachable authority that all save Uncle Josh gave it up.

This sabe lo todo argued "that the strange ship was without the shadow of doubt one of the ships that carried a part of one of the lost tribes of Israel that found their way to and peopled California. As authority he referred to the Book of Mormon, the revelations of Joseph Smith, Brigham Young and others of the Latter Day Saints of holy inspiration, and as further evidence he pointed to the singular physiognomical resemblance between our Jewish population and the aboriginal inhabitants."

This elaborate fulmination of the learned man was deemed conclusive, and we all gave it up except the gallant Talbot, who stood by his former opinion and put his faith and his money in a train of jackasses laden with water casks, shovels, axes, crowbars, cold chisels and canvas bags wherein to carry

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away the doubloons, and followed by his fellow discoverers set out for the desert to loot his prize.

For once in his life the sapient veteran was mistaken, but what of that? He paid for his mistake. The ship of the desert turned out not to be a Spanish galleon; neither was she a Roman war galley; not a Chinese Junk or one of the lost fleet of Genghis Khan; nor the luckless craft that brought the lucky Hebrews to this happy land; but the ship of the desert turned out to be a craft formerly built by Messrs. Perry and Woodworth, of Los Angeles, to be used in explorations on the Colorado river; that her motive (mule) power gave out on the desert and she was abandoned to become a theme of discussion for men of learning and of Science.

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IN AUGUST, 1850, with three companions, I was encamped under that old, historical oak tree on the levee at Sacramento, just below the foot of J street and almost overhanging the landing of the steamers New World, Senator and McKim.

My story commences on a beautiful Sabbath afternoon, and of course many of our readers will remember how a Sunday afternoon looked in the "Crescent City" in the summer of 1850. To those who don't know, I am going to inform them as best I can.

In the first place, imagine yourself at the "Humboldt," away out on J street--a grand rag palace or gambling hell, literally swarming with gamblers and desperadoes of all classes and nativity, with brazen-faced, gaudily-dressed, painted and powdered harlots, who sat beside the gamblers at the monte-banks, faro-tables, rouge et noir, lansquinette, roulette, rondo and other games; but I hereby bear witness that these games were played at the "Humboldt" with a greater degree of fairness, integrity and honor than could have been found in any other country on the face of the earth, because if a man was caught cheating he was killed on the spot-- that such contemptible thieving as three-card monte, chuck-a-luck, and such kindred

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games, were no more tolerated at the "Humboldt" at that time than they would be in the grand reception-rooms of the Palace Hotel to-day; and I will say as much for the "New Orleans," "Woodcock" and the "Empire" (the latter was kept by Butler, brother to Benj. F. Butler, of Massachusetts) at Sacramento, the "El Dorado" and "Bella Union," of San Francisco, and all other first-class gambling houses at the time. The California gambler in those days was a magnate in the land, and had as much honor or more at stake in the fair-dealing of his bank as have our State and national rulers, our modern bankers, our revenue collectors, and all our officials at the present time in the honest discharge of their duties. The first- class gambler at that time was a man of integrity--a dignitary. A miner who came to Sacramento or San Francisco with a hundred or five hundred ounces was just as safe to deposit it with any of the great gamblers, at those noted places of pioneer times, as one is to-day to intrust his money for safe-keeping to the bank of California.

My intent, however, is not to dwell upon the good qualities of the great gamblers of "the days of gold," but to give the reader an idea of how things were in Sacramento thirty-one years ago.

Of course there was a first-rate band of music at the "Humboldt," as at all others. Passing down J street, in every block you found gambling- houses in full blast, but all of inferior note, until you reached the "Empire," near the levee, which was in all respects the peer of the "Humboldt." The music in these places, the clinking of great piles of $50 gold slugs, the noise of the bags of gold-dust as the reckless miners would throw them upon the table and "go their pile" on the "eagle-bird," or bet a hundred ounces on the turn of a card, and the constant cry of the roulette-man of "Make your game, gentlemen!" "Away she spins!" "Double O, red!" caused a great din and clatter, and to add to the noise and confusion of the

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whole street, from the "Humboldt" to the "Woodcock," old Joe Grant, of sainted memory, went roaring along: "The New York Herald, Louisville Journal and Missouri Republican! only a half-a-dollar apiece! Who wants to go to 'Frisco? 'Ere's a ticket on the Senator! Don't go on the McKim; if you do you'll get drowned! She'll be sure to sink 'fore she gets there! Buy your tickets for the Senator!" The Joe Grant here referred to was an Illinois man, and the pioneer news vender and steamboat runner at Sacramento, and afterward became the proprietor of the famous Knight's ferry--the same man supposed to have been General U. S. Grant, who in fact was not in California until, I believe, '54. The street was thronged with men of all colors and classes, on foot or on horseback, and with pack- mules, going to or coming in from the mines, with a general pushing, jamming and crowding of everybody. This is about as it was on a Sunday afternoon at the time referred to. And now about the two-hundred-pound diamond.

I had passed up and down the street, had visited the "Humboldt" and "Woodcock" and "Empire," and had returned to our camp under the big oak, and was sitting with my back resting against its huge trunk, engaged in reading, when I was politely accosted by a venerable-looking man, genteelly clad in miner's costume, who begged to know what I was reading. On being told that the book which I was reading was a copy of the Bible, he manifested much surprise, and gravely shaking his head, said:

"Strange, indeed, a boy of your age engaged in reading the Holy Book, when surrounded by so many temptations to evil."

He then went on with a strange lecture on the danger to youth and inexperience in this wonderfully wicked land, where every thought, wish and desire were for gold, gold, gold. He essayed to give some good advice which I reverently listened to. His manner was grave and dignified. His language, although

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partaking of a foreign accent, was more than good: it was elegant. The old man remained conversing with me for a full hour, and on taking his departure invited me to visit his camp on the edge of the wood, at about the foot of P street.

Accordingly, on the following day I made the visit, and found him beautifully tented under the boughs of a great spreading oak, with everything pertaining to his camp the very perfection of neatness. Within three days the old man and myself became very intimate. I had informed him where I was born and reared, of my ancestors, and many other frivolous trifles.

On the afternoon of the fourth day of our acquaintance, after partaking of the good cheer of his well-stocked larder, he gravely informed me that he had something of importance to communicate. He said that he had been for some time seeking for one in whom he could repose enough confidence to confide a great secret. He was satisfied as to my moral integrity, and felt safe in confiding to me a secret that would make me far richer than the whole Rothschild family, and that he knew of the existence and location of a diamond of two hundred pounds weight. My credulity was somewhat staggered, and the old man seeing it, said:

"My young friend, be patient until I am done. This diamond is no new thing."

I thought it must be very old, judging from its size, but I was patient and said nothing.

"This diamond was once the property of King Solomon," my venerable friend continued, "and I will show you a book that proves it."

He thereupon unrolled a bunglesome package and drew forth and held up before my astonished gaze an ancient and mysterious looking book, printed in strange characters.

"Now," said he, "be silent and I will tell you all about this book and how it relates to the diamond. I am a Christian,

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though descended from the Jews. My most remote ancestor, who wrote this book, was chief jeweler to the wise and rich King Solomon."

"Good Lord!" said I, "that book was not written when Solomon was king?"

"Did you not promise to keep silent," said he, quickly, "and not interrupt the thread of my story? But to satisfy you, I will say that the book has been renewed every two hundred years since the original copy was made, and this book was written one hundred and ninety-eight years ago by my great- great-grandfather. Had I not found the diamond, it would have become my duty to reproduce this book two years hence and transmit it as a legacy to my descendants in the same manner that it has been handed down to me for so many thousands of years. Now, are you satisfied?" said he.

"Perfectly," said I.

"My most remote ancestor," he continued, "was Lord Chief Jeweler to the great Jewish king, and went on one of the great expeditions to the Land of Ophir in search of gold. And this is Ophir!" said he, with a great emphasis, "and this book gives a much better and more minute description of the general topography of this country than any and all the modern books now extant. My great ancestor was at the head of a grand and separate division of the great expedition, whose special province it was to search for precious stones. The ships of the Jewish gold and diamond- seekers entered the Golden Gate, and established a city for the base of supplies at the place now called Vallejo, and the most eligible site on the bay at present," continued the old man. "The description in this book of the bay is perfect. They also had a depot at the place where we now camp. The gold miners spread out on the mountain slopes in about the same manner as they do now. The seekers for diamonds did the same, went further, but found no diamonds. In this book they describe every

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mountain gorge and river bed where their search extended. Finally they went beyond the great snow-barrier to the deep lake, and they found diamonds in abundance--the largest of which is the one now in question. My great and remote ancestor concluded to appropriate it to himself, as an official perquisite, he therefore concealed the diamond on the very summit of a great solid mound of time-enduring granite, on the margin of the great deep lake, and retraced his steps to the sunny side of the mountains, intending to return with a few chosen servants and secretly remove the great treasure. Arriving at the city on the bay, my remote ancestor found that the great and wise king had ordered the expedition to return forthwith, and that the whole grand gold and diamond-seeking enterprise in the land of Ophir was to be abandoned for ever. My unfortunate remote ancestor, having lost his great diamond and the chance of ever possessing it, set himself to describe the place where it is now concealed, and this book is the result of his wise and prudent forethought. With this book I was enabled to pursue my way to the lake and find the very granite cone whereon lies and has lain the greatest treasure the world has ever known for so many centuries. It now lies on the summit of and in the very centre of that same granite cone, that is now worn down by the action of the elements almost to the level of the water in the lake. I have been there and have seen and handled it. I have examined it and know its immense value. I was taught to read this book, and have taught my children to read its world-forgotten characters. But none of the descendants of the original writer knew of or found the land of Ophir, wherein slept the great diamond. One year ago I was lapidary for the Czar of Russia--for that trade has been the hereditary calling of my family-- and seeing daily accounts of the wonderful discoveries of gold in this remote and unknown land, and becoming more and more interested I sent to New York for the best description of

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the country, and obtained a copy of 'Fremont's Explorations.' On reading it the thought entered my mind that this might be Ophir. I compared the two books. I studied them until convinced that the mysterious secret of the great diamond was at last laid bare, and I made immediate preparations to visit this country. The first thing to be done was to copy a description of the country and the location of the great diamond, to be left with my family in case I should perish in the enterprise. So here we are, and if you will join me we will eat our Christmas dinner in St. Petersburg, and be far richer than all the crowned heads of Europe."

The old man had become excited; his eyes glowed with an unnatural lustre, and his whole fame was in a tremor of excitement. His agitation was so great as to almost alarm me. Finally he quieted down, and I inquired of him how in the name of common sense we were to dispose of so immensely valuable a treasure. He said:

"In this way we will take it to St. Petersburg, and there, in my own laboratory, will cut it up. I will first polish up a diamond larger than the Kohinoor, and sell it to Queen Victoria. Then we will offer on to Louis Napoleon a little larger; and then we will go from monarch to monarch, offering to each successive one a diamond still a little larger. Then we will offer diamond necklaces in the same way, and we will get all the crowned heads of the world ambitious to outstrip each other in their display of diamonds. We will create the greatest excitement in the courts of Europe ever known, and in five years we can have all the money in the world, and mortgages on all the kingdoms of the earth.

"What in the world will we do with such immense riches?" said I. "What use will it be to us?"

"Ah!" he replied, "I have it all planned out. We will purchase Jerusalem and all Palestine--Egypt included--from the Grand Turk, and pay for the same in diamonds; restore

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the Holy City of Jerusalem to its former splendor; rebuild Solomon's temple, or build one of greater magnificence; recall and gather in the Jews, and re-establish the ancient kingdom of Judea."

"Where will we get our king?" I modestly inquired.

"Get our king!" said he, haughtily. "He who restores a lost kingdom should be king, should he not?"

"Oh, I beg pardon!" said I. "Then you intend to be king of the Jews yourself?"

"And why not? Who would have a better right?" he replied.

I was about to say: "If you attempt to play me that way, old fellow, when we are full partners, then you will be mistaken, because I think I would like to go into the king business myself;" and I smoothed back my long locks and imagined how grandly my head would look beneath a crown.

Smothering my ambitious aspirations, however, I meekly inquired what disposition he would make of his California partner when he got to be the greatest king on earth--the successor of the mighty Solomon.

"Well," he replied, "you shall have the place nearest the throne. As I have two beautiful daughters younger than yourself, who will become the greatest princesses in the universe, I will permit you to take your choice of the two, and then you will be closely allied to the royal family.'

The idea then suggested itself to me as to who would take the other, and that royal relationship might thereby be complicated. I thought, of course, in restoring the ancient kingdom the ancient laws would also be restored, and a man be permitted to take more wives than one; that I might make a sure thing as to my succession to the throne by taking both of the king's beautiful daughters. Being young and modest at the time, I had not sufficient courage to broach the delicate

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subject to the great embryo king of Jerusalem. So ended the discussion.

We poured out a tin-cup of strong coffee, and I requested the old man to look at his watch. To my great surprise it was two hours past midnight, and we had been eleven hours discussing the question. I swallowed my cup of coffee, wished the old man "good night," hurried away to my camp, turned in, and was soon in dreamland. Among other foolish things I dreamed I was at the great City of Jerusalem; that I was the Captain of the King's Host, and I had mustered in martial array all the Jews of Chatham street, to be reviewed by my old friend the king, who passed along the line with an immense diamond on his head.

I woke up feverish and excited. My comrades had breakfast ready. A pint of strong coffee restored my nerves, and I set myself to work to digest the old man's offer. The first conclusion that I came to was that the old man was crazy; but then his intelligent manner, dignified bearing and grave demeanor went to ignore any such proposition. Then I thought of that mysterious book, and of his saying he had seen and handled the diamond. There was certainly something in it. I believed it and would join the old man and go for the great diamond. We would purchase Palestine and Egypt, and--what? At this point I burst out in a laugh, when old Patterson, who was frying some flap-jacks at the fire, turned to me and said: "I don't see where the laugh comes in. Can't a man flip a flap jack out of the frying pan without being laughed at? Suppose you try it." I thereupon took the frying-pan and went to frying flap-jacks, all the while deliberating on the diamond question.

I was full of the same spirit of adventure that a few years later sent me off filibustering. I was not given to hard work, and really expected to stumble on a magnificent fortune without any particular effort on my part; but buying Jerusalem

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and collecting all the Jews together was too much for me--it was more that I could stand. I tossed a flap-jack over my head, brought the frying pan down on the fire with a smothering crash, and said: "He's as crazy as a loon, d--d if he ain't!"

"What's the matter?" said old Patterson. "Does the flap-jacks fluster ye, or did you get smoke in your eyes?"

"No," said I; "I just decided a question, that was all;" and I commenced cleaning the frying pan with a bunch of hay that lay conveniently near. I had decided that the old man was certainly, to say the least, a monomaniac on the diamond question. I firmly resolved to at once pack up with my comrades, who were all ready, and set out for the mines, and let the old man manage his great plan of corralling all the money in the world in the best way he might. I would have nothing more to do with it. At sunset on the same day we pitched our camp at Sutter's Fort, on our way to Hangtown (Placerville), and by the time winter set in the old man and his two- hundred-pound diamond had passed entirely from my memory.

In December the El Dorado war broke out, and General Winn called for volunteers to put down the Indians--principally the Mocosumnes--who were depredating on the miners. We raised a battalion around Coloma, Hangtown and Weaver, and boldly marched to the front. The detachment that I operated with was sent out on the immigrant road toward Carson Valley. On our first day's march we met one Indian, who killed our commander, Lieutenant-Colonel McKinney, which brought the whole command to a halt, and on the morning following small scouting parties were sent out in various directions. Myself and four others went up the Carson Valley road. We proceeded some ten miles, and made our camp to rest and make coffee. We had scarcely halted, when not two hundred yards from us we heard a savage yell and a gunshot, and up the road we went in the direction indicated. In a

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minute we were upon half-a-dozen Indians, in the very act of scalping two fallen white men. We drove them away, and secured the two pack-mules belonging to the two fallen miners, one of whom was found to be stone dead, shot through and through with arrows. The other was full of arrows, but still alive. The first man who reached him called for water. I immediately responded with my canteen, and when in the act of giving him the water I discovered, to my horror, that it was my old firend of the two- hundred-pound diamond. I felt the blood rush to my face when I saw that he recognized me.

"It is all right," said he. "You thought me crazy. I don't blame you. The diamond is on the black mule."

Without speaking another word the old man expired, with an arrow in his heart.

In the meantime the mules had been secured, and we all--except one who stood on guard--collected around the two murdered men. My mind went like a steam engine, and all about the diamond, which had turned out to be a reality.

One of the mules was packed with camp equipage, including a pick, axe and shovel, and it was concluded that two men should go to work and dig a grave--one to continue on guard, while myself and the other would take the two mules to our camp down the road and cook some dinner.

When Hugh McKay and myself went to unpaek the black mule we found a heavy bulk of great weight, wrapped in blankets and balanced in the very center of a Mexican aparejo (pack saddle.) As we went to take it down, it came down with a fearful weight, and Hugh said:

"Gold! so help me God!"

As he said this he made a movement as if to open the package, but I restrained him and said:

"Hugh, that old man up there, was a friend of mine. This is not gold. Wait till the boys are all here, and then we will open the pack. You may take my word for it, however,

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that I know what is in it, and it is of greater value than a hundred mule loads of gold. Promise me to wait until the boys get here, and let us go about getting dinner. I will gratify you, however, with the information that that bundle of blankets contains a diamond of two hundred pounds weight, and our scouting party of five will go full partners in it."

In an hour the boys had performed the last sad rites to the two unfortunate men, and returned to camp. Hugh and myself had dinner ready, which the three dispatched with great relish; Hugh and myself were too much excited to eat, but managed to swallow a cup of coffee.

Immediately after dinner I proceeded very briefly to inform the boys of all I knew about the old man and the great diamond, and we at once proceeded to gratify our curiosity and calm our excitement by beholding the great treasure that had tempted the cupidity of the Lord Chief Jeweler of the mighty King Solomon. Finally it rolled out in all its great beauty. It was hectagon in form, with pointed edges. I didn't faint, but my knees smote each other, my vision grew dim and my mind wandered. I was recalled to consciousness by Jim McCormick, who profanely remarked:

"Sold! Sold! Sold! It is the biggest piece of crystalized quartz I ever saw!"

In my indignation I was about to strike him to the earth. Three of the five comprising our party, who had been a year in the mines, confirmed Jim's opinion. In the old man's bundle we found many curious papers and the mysterious book, which puzzled us all. We agreed to bury the diamond, however, until we could learn something of the contents of the book--for, after all, we might be mistaken. Another grave was dug and the diamond buried. A cedar tree was cut and smoothed off, and an appropriate head- board made and put up. We then took up our line of march for the main camp, some ten miles distant.

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In three weeks the war was over, and we all returned to our winter quarters. After much discussion on the matter it was determined to send the mysterious book to the Smithsonian Institute and ask them to inform us, if possible what it was. We did so, and in due course of time we received the gratifying information that it was an old Hindostanee surveyor's manual.

This story will not seem strange to those who were in the mines in '49 and '50, when the country was wholly unknown, and parties mining in a canon knew nothing of the country beyond. Strange ideas possessed the mind as to the theory of gold deposits, the general opinion being that there were great golden fountain heads in the Sierras, whence the gold came down in the mountain torrents and lodged in the ravines and bars. Many persons disdaining ounce diggings wasted their time searching for these imaginary fountain heads where they expected to find inexhaustible quantities of the precious metal. Being unfamiliar with mines and mining it is not to be wondered that strange freaks possessed the minds of the early gold hunters.

A great many finding those beautiful specimens of crystalized quartz believed them to be diamonds, and were hard to persuade to the contrary; still others believed the deep holes in the river to be filled with gold. A fretful, feverish state of mind pervaded the whole body of gold seekers which would cause them, on the most absurd rumors, to abandon profitable diggings and go off with a rush in search of imaginary treasures, the wildest of all being the Gold Lake excitement in the summer of '50.

About the month of June a man came into a camp near Grass Valley, and secretly informed a party of miners, of his having found a lake high up in the Sierras where gold was as plentiful as cobble-stones on the river bars; that he desired to secure the co-operation of some reliable men to get out and

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dispose of as much gold as they needed, invest the proceeds, which, he said, must be done with the utmost secrecy, as when the secret got out gold would be of less value than copper or lead, the quantities in sight being absolutely incalculable. Of course he had little trouble in enlisting a party, as his discovery was in perfect harmony with the fevered imaginations of the average gold hunter. The party procured mules and pack saddles, with large canvas sacks in which to bring away the gold. Notwithstanding the greatest secrecy attended their preparations and departure, the secret leaked out, and an excitement followed that spread like contagion. Every mining camp in the whole gold region caught "the Gold Lake fever," and there was a general rush for "the grand fountain- head, found at last." The excitement was not confined to the miners. It set San Francisco, Sacramento, and all the other trading towns, wild. Mules, pack-saddles and outfits ran up to fabulous prices; a mule, pack- horse or a burro would sell for a thousand dollars, and within a month's time fifty thousand men were penetrating the canons and scaling the mountains in search of Gold Lake.

The original party, with the lucky discoverer, went hither and thither, failing to-day, but "sure to find it to-morrow." Their provisions gave out, but still, under the guidance of their insane leader they continued their search until at last worn out, exhausted, dispirited and famished, the party hung their crazy guide and abandoned the search.

So insane were the people on the existence of this Gold Lake that thousands continued the search until the storms of winter drove them back to the foothills and valleys. Many were lost by falling over precipices, and some remained until snowed in and were never more heard of.

The poet Kercheval who was one of the searchers for the imaginary golden fountain head, declares the truth to be that the insane man who started the excitement and was guide

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to the first party was not hung, but the prevailing opinion at the time was in the affirmative.

The humorous Frank Ball shut up shop in San Francisco and followed the Jack-o'-Lantern, and on his return made a very graphic song about the wild rush for Gold Lake. I regret my inability to reproduce it. However, while the memory of that funny fellow is before me, I will relate a circumstance and a song that gave Frank a fame that filled the land from our golden shores to the Atlantic seaboard, and also filled his pocket.

The great fire of May, '51, laid San Francisco in ashes. The Custom House was burnt, but the treasure in the vaults, more than a million dollars, was uninjured. A distinguished South Carolina politician, the Hon. T. Butler King, was Collector, and having secured a building on the corner of Kearney and Washington streets, removed the treasure from the burnt Custom House at the corner of Montgomery and California streets thereto. The manner in which this transfer of the "deposits" was made created the greatest merriment in San Francisco (always merry, even when the bulk of her population had to sleep on the bare ground, with the dome of heaven for a covering). The King summoned to his assistance as many persons as he could get, and arming them with old muskets, cutlasses, swords and pistols, placed the money on a big wagon, and seating himself on the summit thereof, with a half-dozen pistols in his belt, a cutlass lying by his side, and an old flintlock musket in one hand and a club in the other, he bade his treasure team to move on, and his guard to march. Now the truth of the matter was, that in daylight one man with a dray would have been just as safe in carting that coin along Montgomery street as though he had been guarded by a regiment of regulars.

The proceeding was so ridiculous that Frank took in the whole spirit of the thing, and made a song about it, which he

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sang in the places of amusement with immense applause. He next made a caricature, had it lithographed, and published on sheets with his song, and sold them readily at one dollar a copy, selling five hundred in one night. I cannot give the caricature, but the following is the song:

"THE KING's CAMPAIGN; OR, REMOVAL OF THE DEPOSITS."

"Come listen a minute, a song I'll sing,
Which I rather calculate will bring
Much glory, and all that sort of thing,
On the head of our brave Collector King.
Ri tu di nu, Ri tu di nu, Ri tu di nu di na.
"Our well-beloved President
This famous politician sent,
Though I guess we could our money have spent
Without aid from the general government.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"In process of time this hero bold
Had collected lots of silver and gold,
Which he stuck away in a spacious hole,
Except what little his officers stole.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"But there came a terrible fire one night,
Which put his place in an awful plight,
And 'twould have been a heart-rending sight,
If the money had not been all right.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"Then he put his officers on the ground,
And told 'em the specie vault to surround,
And if any 'Sydney Cove' came round,
To pick up a cudgel and knock him down.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"But the money had to be moved away,
So he summoned his fighting men one day,
And fixed 'em all in marching array,
Like a lot of mules hitched on to a dray.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"Then he mounted a brick and made a speech,
And unto them this way did preach,--
'Oh, feller-sogers, I beseech
You to keep this cash from the people's reach.
Ri tu di nu, &c.

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"'For,' said he, ''tis well convinced I am,
That the people's honesty's all a sham,
And that no one here is worth a d--n,
But the officers of Uncle Sam.'
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"Then he drew his revolver and told them to start.
But be sure to keep their eyes on the cart,
And not to be at all faint of heart,
But to tread right up, and try to look smart.
Ri tu di nu, &c.
"Then each man grasped his sword and gun,
The babies squalled and women run,
And all agreed that the King was one
Of the greatest warriors under the sun.
Ri tu di nu, Ri tu di nu, Ri tu di nu di na.

One night Frank was invited to a hugely aristocratic wine party, and sang his song mid roars of merriment. After Frank was through he was duly presented to "the King,"--the first knowledge that he had of the great man's presence. "The King" took Frank to one side and said: "Mr. Ball, would you like to have a sinecure position at the Custom House?" "Why, certainly," said Frank. "Well, you call at my office to-morrow, and get your commission." Frank called, took the hint and ceased to sing "The King's Campaign."

But some of the Custom House greenies seeing that Frank had won a fine position by singing his song, took it up to sing themselves into a higher place, when lo! the King cut their heads off as though they had been so many cabbages. As simple as it may seem the song ruined King politically for life. He was laughed out of the San Francisco Collectorship, returned to South Carolina, where I believe he tried to be elected to the United States Senate. His enemies sent to San Francisco, procured the "King's Campaign," scattered copies of it broadcast over South Carolina, and T. Butler King was laughed out of politics. Frank Ball left Los Angeles a couple of years ago and went to Massachusetts to comfort an aged mother in her declining years.

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IN reviewing the misfortunes that have befallen this sunny land, the burdens it has carried, its giant efforts to shake off the "Old Man of the Mountain" who had so firmly seated himself astride the youthful pilgrim at the early stage of its journey that he thought he could there remain forever; in the face of all the adverse circumstances, to see the progress Southern California has made, the position she now occupies strikes one with wonder and amazement. Take a bird's-eye view of the country from San Andres (where Joaquin Murietta in '53 made his first bloody sally) to San Diego, and what a change!

On seeming desert plains we find the most prolific fields of grain, orchards of the most luscious fruits, vineyards laden with commercial wealth; and where coyotes fought over the carcass of some unfortunate elk, antelope or deer, the merry laugh of happy children is heard in boisterous merriment at their relief from the monotony of the school-room. In groves of umbrageous beauty, where pursuing Vigilantes strung up captured bandits, now pointing Heavenward we see the spires of Churches; and instead of the hoarse curses of angry men, we hear the sweet songs of praise to "Him from whom all blessings flow." In the canons and most inaccessible fastnesses of

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the Sierras, where the robbers of early times found secure retreat, with no enemy near to make them afraid, unless, perchance, the grizzly bear, we now find the happy "bee man," with his millions of co-workers, collecting their tribute from the sweets of the floral kingdom. Over mountains where toiled the galled and jaded pack-mule, under the lash of the cruel arriero, now thunders the iron horse, with emphatic admonitions that the age of barbarism has gone by forever, and that man must bow his haughty neck to the mandates of civilization, or must go hence and further on.

San Diego of yore, with nothing but bailes, fandangos, bullfights, monte, and John Phoeix gentlemen, to amuse her--slept in the sleepy hollow of forgetfulness, and pined for nothing but RAILROAD--has found the full fruition of her dreams, and has become a city in reality, and not one on paper and of expectations.

Where thirty years ago the vaquero corraled his lowing herds now reigns in regal splendor San Bernardino, the Southern Sierra Queen. Bakersfield, the beautiful, now rears her spires from the plain where three decades past roamed in undisputed ownership the subjects of the Tulare King. San Luis Obispo that in '53 was powerless to pursue a half-dozen bandits who had with impunity murdered her defenseless people, is now rich, powerful and progressive. Santa Barbara, what shall I say of this old place of Spanish aristocracy, that in '53 allowed Jack Powers to ride rough-shod over her? That, now she is the Southern coast beauty, rich, prosperous and happy, and in her strength could repel the assaults of an army or an armada. The very spot where the rich Ranchero, Don Jose Sepulveda, gave the grand rodea twenty-eight years ago is now the centre of the most progressive and wealthy region on the Pacific coast, surrounded by those prosperous towns, Anaheim, Santa Ana, Orange, Westminster, Tustin, and the old San Juan Capistrano, Norwalk and Downey. On the smooth plain

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where Bill pursued and captured Lanfranco's phantom, farmhouses, fields and orchards in rural beauty kiss the rising sun. At the place where the lordly Viejo Lugo rested in his declining years we now find the moral village of Compton; and near by, where on the first of January, 1853, the desperado, Ricardo Urives, gave the author his New Year's breakfast, we find a Methodist camp-meeting ground. Of LOS ANGELES! what shall we say of thee, imperious beauty? Shall we say that the dream of thy founder, Navarro, has in thee been realized? No! not yet; but his dream is rapidly nearing a complete realization. Los Angeles does not yet rival Granada of old, neither doth her valley equal the famous Vega. The Moors were four hundred years in rearing to her sublime grandeur their cherished western capital and in making their beautiful Vega the world's Eden.

With our railroads, our electricity, our steam power and our other improvements, we ought to accomplish in fifty years as much as did the Moors in their four hundred, and we may safely count that within the lives of the present generation the dream of Navarro will have been fully realized. What shall I say of the pioneers of thirty years ago? This:-- That few are left. Many having accumulated a sufficiency of gold returned to former homes, others who had failed in their expectations, went further on to new and more promising fields of adventure and have disappeared; still others having failed, failed and failed, and again failed, are broken in spirit and only await the summons to that unknown land where gold is not holden to be the only standard of excellence; while still more--the many, alas, too many!--having been too weak to withstand the dissipations and temptations of the fast times, became the prey of the fell destroyer, and are now as though they had never been. And yet of the pioneers, many have passed through the fiery ordeal of early times, and, like pure diamonds, have come out with increased brilliancy, and now stand as a corporals guard

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over the graves of the grand army of Argonauts that has been swept away. A parting word to those who are left. Let us discard past differences, jealousies and dislikes, and knowing each other so well, close our eyes to mutual faults, forget past differences, and standing together as brothers, obey the behest of the Master and "LOVE ONE ANOTHER."

The California Spaniard has been more unfortunate, if anything, than the average Argonaut, having as heretofore remarked, lost his land and his general wealth. For this he has blamed the Government of the United States, and feels that the Government has been false to the treaty of Guadaloupe Hidalgo, and has virtually confiscated his land. With the highest possible esteem for the California Spaniard, for his bravery, patriotism and superlative goodness of heart, his vivacity, innate talent and Christian virtue, I beg to radically differ with him and tell him that he is mistaken, and, that the United States Government is not to blame for his misfortunes. The following well written complaint I clipped years ago from one of our papers, by whom written I never knew. As it reflects the general spirit of the people in their land misfortunes, I give it, and will then give my opinion thereon:

"Now these were early days; we were all young, full of vigor and enterprise, ready to undertake anything regardless of the dangers or fatigue attending it. There was an irresistible charm in our society of these days. There was no great concentrated wealth; no pauperism; taxation was nominal, and the Church, under the Mission Fathers, accustomed to dispense charity instead of receiving it; there were no exactions in this line. The land from Mount Shasta to the monument established by Weller on the southern boundary, was owned by the native Californians. They were a simple but dignified people, and reserved almost to stoicism.

"The young adventurers were of the very best of the American and European race, well educated and accustomed to good

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society. It did not take long to gain entree, and when they did, the hospitality extended to them was unbounded. Parties and balls were a constant occurrence, attended by the citizens of all ages, so that great propriety and genteel demeanor characterized these happy reunions.

"About this time was established the United States Land Commission, where all the good people that we found here were compelled to come forward and show cause why they should not be dispossessed of their broad acres and cattle on a thousand hills.

"Well, then their trouble commenced. Lawyers had to be feed, cattle to be sold to pay fees. And when the Commission decided the land was theirs by grant and by treaty stipulations, well, then, they drew a long breath and said, 'thank God; we are safe.' But by and by there was a notice served upon them, that their cases were all appealed to the District Court of the United States. Then lawyers had to be hunted up again, more cattle sold, and when the cattle gave out they had to divide the land with the lawyer, or mortgage the premises. Well, after years, the District Court decided that they owned the land by valid grants and treaty stipulations. So our poor Californians drew another long breath, and re-uttered another prayer to God in thanks for their second deliverance. But again they are notified that the United States District Attorney has taken an appeal to the United States Supreme Court. More lawyers, more sales of cattle, more sub- division of the land with the lawyers, and more mortgaging. Well, they have to fight in Washington, and when they were so fortunate as to get a favorable decision from that tribunal, or a dismissal by the Attorney- General, they are informed that a patent must be procured. In order to do this the Surveyor-General must segregate the land from the supposed public domain. There is no appropriations made for surveys of private land claims, so they have to furnish the coin. The

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survey is made. The Commissioner of the General Land Office rejects, then there is another appeal to the Secretary of the Interior."

"More lawyers, more fees, more sub-divisions. The learned Secretary rejects the survey and orders a new one. The new one goes back, a patent issues, signed by the President of the United States, with the great seal of the nation. It is filed in the proper department. Some other fellow files objections to the patent. The Commissioner, of his own volition, retracts it, and writes across its face, 'cancelled.' More sending back, more laws passed governing surveys of private land claims in California, more publications and more filing of surveys and plats, until finally the original possessor does not own one inch of his patrimony, the squatters and the lawyers and the California interest having used him up.

"If Lucifer had designed the legal confiscation of the Californians' estates, it could not have been more ingeniously accomplished. Cromwell's confiscation in Ireland was bold, manly, cruel and harsh. It did not pretend anything but what it was--the deprivation of the Irish of their estates for religious and political reasons.

"He had examples set him in Spain, France and Austria, and he followed them with a vengeance. Under the sneaking color of law the poor Californians, in the nineteenth century, by the great, the magnanimous, the just and the mild citizen-loving Republic, were robbed of estates worth more millions by ten than all Cromwell's confiscations. It is not ended; these cases are yet unsettled. Senator Benton, in his seat in the United States Senate, twenty-six years ago, foretold the hard-ship and outrage of this Bill of 1851, to settle private land claims in California.

"If the title of the Act read, 'An Act entitled an Act to confiscate the private lands belonging to the inhabitants of

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California,' nobody would be deceived, and the authors would have the merit of candor and frankness.

"The Star was here shining upon the introduction of this outrage; it is still looking upon its wholesale destructive effects.

"We might be permitted to paraphrase the lines of Campbell, and say:

'Oh! mighty Heaven, ere justice found a grave,
Why slept thy sword, Omnipotent to save?'"

As heretofore written the Californian was so full-handed and happy that he gave no heed to the sore foot and the rainy day, and when he needed money it was more convenient to go to the money-lender than to deny himself imaginary necessities, and thus he gave "the old man of the mountain," the usuer, Shakespeare's Shylock, an easy seat astride his neck and was never able to shake him off.

The California Spaniard was so over-generous that he would thus raise money for his friend in sums great or small, according to his ability. He knew not the value of money or the crushing power of compound interest; ten per cent and three per cent per month interest compounding monthly had no terrors for him, because he knew not of its consuming force. Then came a year or two of drought, which found him in debt. His cattle were swept away and the Basque sheep herder came in and rented his land, but his rental would not pay his interest. Taxes, always high, increased with his increasing inability to pay. He could not sell his land because of his imperfect title and his mortgage, and all that was said about his difficult and expensive litigation was in measure true. Money he must have and his only recourse was "the old man of the mountain," with his tightening grasp. Is it to be wondered at that the poor California Spaniard, wholly ignorant in the ways of the world and the money-lender, was ground to powder as between

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the nether stones of a mill. But still the Government of the United States was not to blame, and I will now endeavor to show exactly wherein the blame should lie and who should bear it.

Now for a scrap of warlike history. In 1846 Don Pio Pico, a man of great ability, was Governor. He was of peculiar hostility to the United States aggression, and when he found that California was sure to fall into the hands of the American, and after California had actually fallen, the Governor employed all the clerical force of the country to fill out grants as fast as he could sign them, granting away in the name of the Mexican Sovereignty, to his kindred and friends all the land worth the having, from Shasta to the monument erected by Weller to mark the line between the United States and Mexico. Having thus granted all the land in California the Governor hied himself to Mexico to procure ante-confirmations of his ante-dated grants of the gringo conquest. Unfortunately for the Governor and his grantees a batch of this handiwork while on its way to Mexico fell into the hands of the gringos and was sent as a curiosity to the Government at Washington, which becoming thus apprized of this mammoth land swindle, after due consideration enacted the law of 1851 "for the settlement of private land claims in California." By this measure the Government seemed to feel that the conquerors have rights which the vanquished ought to respect, and to distinguish the bona fide from the fraudulent California land grant, subjected them all to a rigid judicial investigation, and those that were good were confirmed and patented to their owners, and those that were fraudulent were rejected.

Now, let me ask all true men of the Spanish-American race, where the blame should rest, if any there were? Surely not on the Government, and the able writer whose article I have reproduced argued from passion and not from the truths of history.

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Here is another batch of land-claims history, and the dramatis personce, actors therein:

In 1843, Santa Ana was President of Mexico. Under him Manuel Bocanegra was Minister of Exterior Relations, etc., equivalent to our Secretary of Interior. At the same time General Manuel Micheltorena was Governor of California, Manuel Jimeno was Departmental Secretary, and Manuel Castanares was Administrator of Customs at Monterey. About the same time there was a Frenchman on the coast as a trader and smuggler, a former gunsmith of the City of Mexico named Jose Y. Limantour. In 1851 this Limantour appeared in San Francisco and presented to the United States Land Commissioner for confirmation his claims for one hundred and thirty four leagues of the best and most valuable lands in California. Also, for the Farallones Islands, the islands of Yerba Buena, Alcatraz, Point Tiburon, and four leagues of land taking in the City of San Francisco, with all its houses, churches, prisons, markets, public buildings, streets and wharves. The Land Commission rejected Limantour's claim for the one hundred and thirty-four leagues, but confirmed all the others, and from their decree of confirmation the Government appealed to the United States District Court of California, Hon. Ogden Hoffman, Judge; Pierre Della Torre, United States Attorney, and Edwin M. Stanton appearing for the Government.

In this great trial, which took place in San Francisco in 1857, was exposed the most ingenious, well-digested and rascally conspiracy for gobbling up not only what was left of the public domain of California, but every important island and point of land in and around the harbor of San Francisco, necessary to the Government as military defences, and the city of San Francisco itself, as before stated. This trial occupied the Court for months, and it was therein proved, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Limantour came from the City of Mexico in '51, laden down with land

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grants, all nicely fixed up, and made to appear to gringo vision in all respects as the bona fide grants made to the honest and bona fide settlers theretofore on the public domain of Mexican California. Unfortunately for the conspirators and their claims, Edwin M. Stanton was not a gringo, neither was Ogden Hoffman, and the fraud was so laid bare that the gang of conspirators were fain to flee the country to escape the punishment due their crimes. The claims were rejected and no appeal was ever taken to the Supreme Court of the United States.

These signed, sealed and delivered land grants, brought from Mexico by Limantour, were left blank to be filled in wherever a good scope of country could be found to scoop, the biggest one in extent being eighty- five leagues of redwood timber in Mendocino county, and one of the lesser was six square leagues at Cahuenga, in Los Angeles county.

To prove these claims a great many dignitaries came from the City of Mexico, including Santa Ana's ex-Secretary, Bocanegra, who swore to the absolute genuineness of Limantour's claims, and Manuel Jimeno and Castanares to prove the genuineness of Micheltorena's signature. Many of the dignitaries of California, including Governor Pio Pico, were witnesses to prove the regularity of the proceedings in respect to Limantour's grants; all to no purpose. The fraud was made so apparent that there could not exist a reasonable doubt in the minds of any reasonable person, and doubtless were convincing to the conspirators themselves. It was perfectly astonishing to see the minuteness of proof produced. For instance, to impeach Castanares, who testified that in February, 1843, he had met Limantour in the City of Mexico, who handed him some documents from California; the whereabouts of Limantour was proved during the month of January preceding the March following, and until July, where he was on each and every day; the day he was at Guadalajara, when he arrived

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at and departed from Colima, the time he remained at Tepic, when he was at Mazatlan, when on the ocean, and when at Monterey; all of which proved conclusively that Limantour could not have been at the City of Mexico at the time Castanares swore he met him and received the California dispatches from Micheltorena. When this trial was going on the author occupied a room on the first floor of the popular and venerated Union Hotel, on the corner of Kearny and Merchant streets, San Francisco. The Limantour crowd was there, including Santa Ana's ex-Secretary, Manuel Bocanegra. One morning at about 4 o'clock a tremendous hullabaloo was raised. Cries of Police! Armas! Assassins! Fuego! Sin Verguenza! and the devil seemed to be turned loose among the Mexican lodgers at the Union. Police headquarters adjoined the Union and by the time I was half dressed and in the hall, the place was full of police, and we were soon able to understand that a vile, cold-blooded and cowardly attempt had been made to assassinate "His Excellency, Don Manuel Bocanegra;" that he had retired without fastening his door; that the assassin had entered and had driven his blade through blankets, sheets and mattress and had hastily fled, supposing of course he had finished up the Mexican ex-Secretary, who had in person witnessed the grants of Limantour and attached the nopal seal thereto, and had come all the way from the City of Mexico to give his testimony thereon and thereof and thereto concerning, and so forth, and so on. And now the minions of the Government had attempted to get him out of the way in order that poor Limantour might be defrauded out of his ownership to San Francisco and all else thereabout worth the having, or the looking after. This attempt upon the life of this respectable witness produced a most profound sensation, but only among Limantour's adherents and only for a day or two, as the matter being placed in the hands of the detectives in less than a day they found out where the assassin's blade had been

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purchased, and that the vendee thereof was none other than the body servant of the illustrious Bocanegra himself, who being in interest with Limantour had made this silly diversion, anticipating great gain and sympathy thereby in making it seem that the Government had gone into the business of procuring the assassination of witnesses against it. It was the silliest thing ever attempted in America and deceived no one, not even for a minute. How these fellows got away from San Francisco without arrest and prosecution, I could never understand; yet they did.

The article quoted in this chapter, as I said before, reflected the general spirit of the country, and was not in harmony with the truth. The argument of the grant holder was that under treaty stipulations the Government should have confirmed at one fell swoop all the land claims in California, from the dome of Shasta to the border of Mexico. Let this legal Ranger suggest that, had the Government done this, there would not have been land enough in all California, Oregon and Nevada to have filled those grants. For instance, I know of a citizen of Los Angeles who was never known to have an honest dollar, or an acre, who attempted to set up a claim to three hundred leagues in and around, and about and beyond the Soledad Pass. I think there were about twelve hundred ranchos in California ranging in size from one to eleven leagues. Most of the claimants were honest in the presentation of their claims; yet many of them, when examined and surveyed, were found to be greatly in excess of their legitimate and honest rights; and to sum up this business, had not the Government of the United States subjected all these California land claims to the most rigid legal scrutiny, then the Government of the United States would have been highly remiss in its duty to its own citizens who purchased California with their most precious blood and treasure; and the California Spaniard, we are permitted to hope, will not let the fires of resentment be fed on such

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nonsensical drivel as that quoted, but will agree with the author, that by the Government he has been treated exactly as it has treated any other citizen, and if anyone is to blame for the difficulties he encountered in procuring confirmation to his land, then let it rest upon the shoulders of those high Mexican dignitaries who, after California became the property of the United States by conquest and purchase, attempted in Mexico to cheat the Government out of its honestly acquired rights.

There is not a squatter in all California that ever got one acre of an honest Mexican grant, unless he purchased and paid for it; while the truth is that squatters, or more properly speaking, American settlers on the public domain, were defrauded, by millions of acres of the public domain having been taken in by the fraudulent surveys of otherwise honest Mexican land claims; and this being true we will consign the subject to the grave of forgetfulness; with still a parting word to the young men of Spanish blood, and that is: Pine not over grandeur gone, of misfortunes past. The country has been unfortunate; the American pioneers also have been. We have all started on a new race of progress, and whenever you have entered the lists with the gringo, you have proved yourself at least his equal. In the law, in politics, in science, in agriculture, and in all the arts progressive you have shown that the blood of the Cavalier manifests itself, and shows whence you came. Your Pacheco, by well directed effort became Governor of his native land, and now has a seat in our National councils; your Estudillo and your Coronel became Treasurers of State; your Sepulveda became one of the highest Judges in the land, with aims still higher; your Del Valle is the pride of the country, honored by all. We opine that these eminent men did not cry over grandeur gone, but that they buckled on the sword of the new dispensation, and taking their stand in the ranks of American progression resolved to carve their way onward and upward. Have they succeded? They have. Then,

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muchachos, emulate their virtues, their determined efforts, their industry, and let your own brave hearts be your future fortune.

Reader, this book of reminiscences is drawing to a close. It has been written in the author's own way. I know that many of the pioneers will find fault with it. One will say to another: "Why didn't he tell about that great fight wherein this, that or the other was killed?" The other responds, "And he didn't say a word about this one, that one and forty others having been hung."

The author repeats again that he had no desire to write of things of an unpleasant or horrible character, and those things which he was bound to relate in order to bring out the salient points in our pioneer history he did with a great degree of reluctance, and then avoided details, which if given, and all should have been told, forty years of labor would not have sufficed therefor. Most of the pioneer characters mentioned herein have disappeared, most of whom have crossed the line.

In an early chapter mention was made of Lewis C. Granger and his encounter with the fighting Federal dignitary at Madame Barriere's. To have there dropped Mr. Granger would have been wrong, he having been one of the ablest and best of our pioneer lawyers, and one of the most generous of men, and withal a most classical scholar. I do think that Lewis C. Granger would work harder, go farther and experience more pleasure in sevring a friend and in doing an act of generosity than any man I ever knew. He left here and went to Butte county in '57, where he now resides, surrounded by a numerous family, children and grandchildren. I take great pleasure in paying this humble tribute to his general worth and great goodness of heart.

William C. Getman, a Lieutenant of the Ranger Company, was from Fort Plain, New York, was a soldier in the war with Mexico, and was struck and most severely wounded with a grape-shot in storming the Belen Gate at the City of Mexico.

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A most gallant and noble fellow. In '58 he was Sheriff of Los Angeles county, and was killed by a crazy man. He sleeps in Fort Hill cementery.

Myron Norton, so frequently mentioned, was a member of the Constitutional Convention of '49, was on the Judiciary Committee, and afterward Judge of the Superior Court of San Francisco, a most able man, now on the down grade of life, retired from business, contented and happy. He used to ride with the Rangers.

Bill, or Gillermo Pacha, when not on service at the United States Surveyor General's Office, or in the field, may be seen on our fashionable streets, to all appearances as great a ladies' man as thirty years ago.

John O. Wheeler is now Clerk of the Los Angeles branch of the Supreme Court of California.

The surviving members of the Ranger Company have been heretofore properly accounted for. Captain Hope sleeps in an unmarked grave in Fort Hill cemetery. He also was a veteran of the Mexican war.

Reader! We have ridden together on a pretty long campaign. We have returned to our barracks. Our mustangs are tired; our canteens are empty; our arms, saddles, bridles and spurs are hung up for the night. The bugle has sounded the "tattoo." We are fatigued and sleepy. Now we hear the signal to "extinguish lights;" and

QUIET REIGNS SUPREME!