A la California - Chapter XIV



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CHAPTER XIV. EARLY TIMES. 
The Days of '49 and '52.--How they Administered the Law in Tuolumne 
County, and Justice in Sierra.--Old Put and Judge Hollowbarn.--Pike's 
Sasherarer."--Peart Times on Rabbit Creek.--A Game that was Spoiled.--An 
Appeal that wouldn't hold, and Prediction that wouldn't do to Pet Upon.--
Stories of wagers.--Insulted Dignity Avenged.--Base Ingratitude.--Dead or 
Alive, Drowned or Not.--A Glass-eye Bet. 

BRAVE old days were those of '49, How mankind has degenerated since, any 
old California pioneer will tell you with a sigh. "Things was lively then, 
you bet, and one man was as good as another!" he says, with a shake of the 
head which implies volumes. Nevertheless, California was not wholly a 
Paradise even then, though it pains me to be compelled to say so. The 
fierce, aggressive energy of the Anglo-American invaders, when it 
overthrew the social habits, long established customs and local laws of 
the quiet, unambitious descendants of the old Spanish conquerors, could 
not establish a new system perfect in all its details in a day, and 
something of chaos and contusion necessarily followed. Judge Lynch 
generally did his work quickly and well, though being human, and as such 
liable at times to err, there was something a little rough in the 
operation of his decisions when a mistake did occur. An old Spaniard, 

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domiciled in a robber-infested section of the State of Jalisco, Mexico, 
once told me that he had organized all his neighbor rancheros into an 
armed corps, who, by waging unceasing war upon the banditti, had already 
almost cleared the district of the gentlemen of the road within two years. 
His plan was, whenever a number of them, two or three, were found lounging 
about the country, "without visible occupation or means of support," to go 
for them and shoot them on sight. In this way they avoided the delays and 
uncertainties of the law, and saved a great deal of unnecessary expense 
and waste of time. But, my friend, is it not possible that you sometimes 
make a mistake, and shoot a man who is not a highwayman? "Well, yes; I 
suppose we do, but the average is on the right side, however!" was his 
emphatic and self-satisfied reply. The advocate of Lynch law generally 
took the same view of the case in California, and saw the regular courts 
and written laws take the place of Judge Lynch and summary justice with a 
sigh. And, in truth, there was some ground for their apprehension that 
society might not, immediately at least, gain greatly by the change. 

In fact, if the plain truth must be told, Dame Justice in those days, as 
represented in our courts, was little better than a woman of the town; and 
she traveled so long in devious and crooked ways that she, became 
permanently disabled, and never fully recovered the free use of all her 
faculties, having a cast in her unbandaged eyes, and a peculiar shuffling 
limp in her gait as she walks, even to this hour. 

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The people of San Francisco bore with her trifling and misdoings, until 
patience ceased to be a virtue, and then, rising in their might, ousted 
the old lady by violence, and installed Dame Vigilance for the time being 
in her place. This made things lively for the crowds of evil-doers who had 
made the name of San Francisco a by-word and a reproach, and the moral 
atmosphere was so purified by the storm that, when the old dame came 
sneaking back and resumed her place in the temple, she could see more 
clearly. 

Up in the mountains it was hard to get a first-class lawyer to accept a 
position so low down as even a County Judgeship, and as for the Justices 
of the Peace--well, some of them were from rather indifferent stock, to 
say the least. "Old Tuolumne" was the great county of the "Southern 
Mines." Placer gold was found on nearly every hillside, and on the banks 
and in the bed of every stream, while every "bar" on her rivers, the 
Tuolumne and Stanislaus, was a thriving village or mining camp, where 
miners' stores and gambling tables abounded. Whisky was as free as water, 
and a fight and a man for breakfast was a part of the daily programme. 
Society became organized, and courts were established in Tuolumne county 
earlier than in most of the counties of the State; and, if the machinery 
worked a little rough at the start, it is hardly to be wondered at, 
considering the incongruous materials of which it was composed, and the 
hurried manner in which it was knocked together. 

Among the first Justices of the Peace appointed 

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in Tuolumne was Judge Hollowbarn, a shrewd, unpolished, slightly educated; 
and, as his enemies were wont to say, not over-scrupulous man from the 
mountain districts of Tennessee, "nigh unto the Kaintucky line." He was a 
natural genius; and had he come into the world a few years later, and 
taken to patriotism and politics instead of whisky and the law, would have 
become a millionaire, and made his mark in the world. He was one of the 
old school, and believed in State rights and such a construction of the 
Constitution as would least hamper and encumber him in the discharge of 
the duties of his office as he understood them. His school believed that 
all powers not expressly delegated by the Constitution to the Federal 
Government were intended to be reserved to the States as the high 
contracting parties and first repository of authority. By parity of 
reasoning he had arrived at the conclusion that the Justice's Court, being 
the first on the list and nearest the people, the source of all authority, 
was entitled to exercise all the powers not specially prohibited by 
statute. This gave him a wide range in cases both civil and criminal, and 
he played his hand for all it was worth, and literally went for everything 
there was in sight. He was also fully satisfied that what he had a right, 
as a magistrate, to do, he had also in the same capacity the right to 
undo. Thus, if he could marry a couple--and the statutes clearly gave him 
that power--it followed that he could divorce them again. It is true that 
the law conferred the power of granting divorces on the higher court, but 

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there was not a line in the "Statutes and By-laws" of the State of 
California which said that a Justice of the Peace should not have and 
exercise the same power; and until the Supreme Court decided against him, 
he meant to transact all that kind of business which fell in his way--and 
he did. The eldest Judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, or at 
least the one longest in office, was by right the Chief Justice of that 
august tribunal, and he being the first in rank by priority of commission 
in old Tuolumne, was, as a matter of course, Chief Justice of the Peace of 
the county, and the other Justices ranked as Associate Justices of the 
Peace. Could any proposition be plainer than that to the legal mind? 
Certainly not! So he regarded it, and so he, for a time, at least, half 
coaxed, half bullied, his colleagues into believing. And this was not all. 
He was satisfied that a traveling pedlar, who took his goods right to 
everybody's door, could sell double the amount on the same capital that 
could be worked off by a merchant tied down to his own store, and the same 
rule would hold good in his own business. People might object or neglect 
to come all the way from a distant mining camp to Jimtown to patronize his 
court, but if his court followed the example vulgarly ascribed to 
Mohammed, and went to the Mountain, i. e., to them, at stated intervals, 
the case might be different, and litigation would be made a convenient and 
easy, not to say popular, amusement for the entire community. Acting on 
this idea, he dubbed his court "The Circuit Justice's Court of Tuolumne 
County," and, accompanied 

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by his constable and clerk, made periodical trips through all the mining 
camps, going down the Tuolumne river and returning up the Stanislaus, 
stopping at every bar, hearing all cases at shortest notice which came 
before him, and dealing out justice, plain or fancy, according to the 
wealth and social position of the litigants, as long as there were any 
complaints preferred, or there was even a moderately remote chance of his 
services being called for. Township lines were nothing to him; no pent-up 
Utica should contract his powers. Putting up a canvas for an awning, and 
setting out his table with pens, ink, paper and a few law books, 
ostentatiously displayed thereon, he would call out in a loud voice, "Oh, 
yis! Oh, yis! Oh, y-i-i-is! This yere Honorable Circuit Justice's Court of 
Tuolumne County is now legally opened for transaction of bizness at Dead 
Man's Bar!" and then glancing around with an air of defiance which implied 
a readiness to make good his words at any sacrifice, adding, "an' any d--n 
man that says it ain't can jist settle it with me right yere!" A man of 
pluck and a "fightist from the word go," with his reputation in that line 
already well established, he seldom found anybody to contradict him, and 
for a long time he had it pretty much all his own way. But, as time wore 
on, and lawyers grew more numerous, trouble began to come upon him, as it 
is liable to come upon the worst of us. Colonel James, Major Hoyt, Sam 
Platt, and other refractory and unmanagable attorneys, badgered and 
worried the life nearly out of him. They caviled at his assumption of 
legal 

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knowledge; questioned his claims to authority in many cases, and-even 
denied the justice and legality of his decisions. The worst affliction 
came last on the list. A lawyer, familiarly known as "Old Put," with whom 
he had been on intimate terms for years, actually had the impudence to 
take an appeal to the County Court, and had one of his decisions reversed. 
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Judge Hollowbarn, when the 
notice of the reversal of his decision was served upon him, was nearly 
prostrated by the shock, and for some days he hardly raised his head to 
respond when invited to drink. But in the end his strong and vigorous 
nature reasserted itself and he rose equal to the emergency. 

A few days after the occurrence of this disaster, Old Put had a case 
before him, and the Judge went in for even. In the face of the plain 
letter of the law, the testimony, and his own precedents, he decided 
squarely against Old Put's client. Then Put boiled over. Seating himself 
on the edge of the Judge's table, he shook his fist under the nose of the 
impersonation of the majesty of the law, and proceeded to relieve himself 
as follows: 

"And so you derned old skeesicks, you have gone back on me, have you? Cuss 
you; haven't I winked at your iniquities; put up with your impudence; 
excused your ignorance; borne with your ill-temper, and furnished you with 
the best whisky and grub in camp for months and months? And now, you 
infernal old scoundrel, you propose to throw off on me! I'll have you 
broke as sure as my name is--" 

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"This yere Honorable Circuit Justice's Court for Tuolumne County is 
adjourned for five minutes, while I lick hell Out of Old Put!" roared 
Judge Hollowbarn, as he sprang to his feet, fairly purple in the face, and 
gasping for breath in his rage, shucking himself on the instant, and going 
for Old Put like a double-action earthquake under full headway. 

Old Put, surprised by the suddenness of the demonstration, sprang for the 
door, dextrously throwing a chair and a three-legged stool behind, 
Parthian-like, as he fled, and "lit out" for home on the double-quick. One 
of the stools got mixed up with the Judge's legs, and they went down 
together. Before they could disentangle themselves and the Judge had 
regained his feet, his friends, who knew well enough that Put had gone 
after his revolver, got round him and persuaded him to let the matter rest 
for the moment, having amply vindicated his honor by putting his insulting 
adversary to ignominious flight. The Judge was fain to follow their add 
ice, but he determined in his heart to have his revenge. 

Next day he was riding across the country when he suddenly come upon old 
Put mounted on horseback like himself, and armed with a double-barreled 
shotgun as well as a revolver. The Judge took in the situation at a 
glance; there was no show for talking fight under the circumstances, but 
he had his legal remedy for his wrongs, and lie determined to avail 
himself of it. Riding up to him, he demanded to know why he insulted him 
the day before. 

"Because you deserved it, you infernal old scamp!" 

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"Well, look here, Put, I'll just convince you that you are damnably fooled 
if you think you can play me. I jest fine you two hundred and fifty 
dollars for contempt of court." 

"You fine me for contempt of court? Why you natural born idiot, don't you 
know that your Court ain't in session, and you can't punish for contempt--
either felt or expressed?" 

"I can't, eh? Well, you jest see! I'll show a thing or two before I'm 
through with you!" 

And they parted without saying good-bye, each going his way in wrath and 
bitterness of heart. 

Next day the "Honorable Circuit Justice's court in and for the County of 
Tuolumne" was in session, and Old Put appeared for the plaintiff in a 
case, involving the possessory title to a piece of bottom land, on which 
an honest, rough and wholly unsophisticated son of Missouri, known as 
Pike, had been settled for a year or more cultivating vegetables, or 
"garden-truck," which he peddled around among the different mining camps. 
Some outsiders had jumped Pike's claim and held possession by force of 
arms in clear violation of right and law, and Pike had brought suit to 
eject them. When Put arose to open the case, he 'was promptly shut off by 
Judge Hollowbarn, who informed him that he was fined $250 for contempt of 
Court committed two days previously, and he could not say a word in that 
tribunal until the fine was paid. Old Put was in a towering rage, and he 
cursed and expostulated until he was black in the face, but justice 
personified by the Judge sat stern and imperturbable. 

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Let the heathen rage; was he not strong In his position, and could he not 
smile at all attempts to brow-beat or convince him? Of course he was, and 
he did. Old Put, seeing that it was useless to attempt to argue the matter 
and determined not to be robbed, refused to come down with the money, and 
drew out of the case, advising Pike to substitute Major Hoyt as his 
counsel, and go on with the trial. Pike took his advice, went on with the 
case, proved as clear as the sunlight at mid-day that he was in the right; 
and then listened in blank astonishment to a decision in favor of his 
opponents from the Judge. Thereupon Pike and his counsel withdrew and 
talked the matter over outside. The decision was clearly an outrage, and 
in utter defiance of justice and the law; but what could they do? The 
Major advised an appeal and, Pike consenting, he returned and made in open 
court his notice to that effect. 

"Not if this honorable court knows herself! That thing is played out. We 
don't allow any more appeals from this tribunal. That's our new rule, and 
we're goin' to stand by it every time after this," was the prompt and 
decided answer of the "Chief Justice." The astonished counsel attempted to 
argue the illegality of such a rule, but desisted on the threat of a fine 
for contempt of court, and, considerably crestfallen, withdrew again to 
consult with his client. Pike wanted to know if that was the end of the 
matter, and he must quietly submit to be ruined in that infamous way. The 
Major told him that there was but one way now left him to obtain a remedy, 
and as 

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he knew that he, Pike, was a poor man, he feared that it would be too 
expensive for him. Pike said, "damn the expense," he wanted justice, and 
he would have it or die. "Well," said his counsel, "if you can give the 
requisite security and get a writ of certiorari from the County Court at 
Sonora, you can have the case carried up there and tried before a jury in 
spite of the old scoundrel." 

"How much security, Major?" 

"Well, double the value of the ground; say $800 in a bond, with two good 
sureties, or the amount in dust." 

"And the other thing; what d'ye call it, Major?" 

"Why, a certiorari!" 

"A which?" 

"A certiorari!" 

Pike repeated the last phrase over several times, and in deep thought made 
his way to the nearest saloon and called for "whisky straight," of which 
he swallowed about half a pint, and then sat down to think it over. As the 
liquor, little by little, took effect on his brain, he saw his way clearer 
and clearer out of the legal muddle, and at last rising equal to the 
occasion, he started a little unsteadily to his feet, and made his way as 
straight as he was able to the court room. Entering the hall of justice 
with the light of coming triumph in his eyes, and calm determination 
depicted on his severely classic countenance, he advanced boldly to the 
Judge's table, and striking an imposing attitude, opened the campaign as 
follows: 

"Well, Judge, I've talked this yere matter over 

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with my li-yer, an' he 'vises me that if I can give the security an' 
perduce a sasherarer, I kin hev this yere case carried up ter Sonora in 
spite of yer!" 

"Yes, Pike, if you think it will pay, and you ain't satisfied with my 
decision, I s'pose you can do it, but all I can say is, I've decided 
'cordin' to law, and tried to do you justice, and you'll find that out 
when you have spent what money you have got in lawin' it, and feeing these 
infernal thievin' lawyers." 

Never yer mind what I'll spend, nor what you've tried ter do fur me, 
Judge; what I want ter know Is, will tile security on a sasherarer do it?" 

"Of course it'll do it; but, as I was sayin'--" 

"That'll do, Judge! Yer infernal old skunk, I've just got yer this time 
whar the har's short, you bet!" Here he drew a large buckskin bag of gold-
dust from his pocket, and slapped it on the table with one hand, while 
with the other he dexterously pulled from its scabbard from behind him his 
huge army-sized Colt's revolver, swung it over his head, cocking it as he 
did so, and bringing it down with a heavy thud on the table, with the 
muzzle pointing directly in the line of the Judge's diaphragm. "Thar's my 
security, an' dern yer connubiating old gizzard, WHAR'S MY SASHERARER?" 

The Judge was no coward, but he took one good look at the revolver 
pointing directly at his vitals, with its six chambers filled to the end 
with powder and lead, raised his eyes to Pike's face, and saw deadly 
determination in every curve and line and wrinkle, and--he weakened. 

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"'Tain't no use of our quarreling, Pike; you can take an appeal this 
time!" 

"Oh, I kin, kin I? Well, fer fear of anythin' happenin' ter make yer 
disremember it, yer kin jist pass them ar papers rite over heyer this 
minnit, an' the thing'll be settled!" 

And Pike, as good as his word, stood there covering the Judge with his 
"sasherarer" at full cock, until the clerk made out the document without 
any unnecessary verbiage, you may be sure; and they were duly signed by 
his Honor with slightly unsteady hand, and passed over to him. The 
precedent established in this case was ruinous to Judge Hollowbarn. He 
never fully recovered from the shock; and other summary proceedings 
following thick and fast upon if, he soon after threw up the judicial 
sponge, retired from the field, and drifted away from the sight-almost 
from the memory as well--of the dwellers in Old Tuolumne, going, none knew 
or cared where, to seek the obscurity he was so well fitted to adorn. 

Sometimes the sentiment of the community was divided between a preference 
for summary justice as administered by Judge Lynch, and respect for the 
majesty of the law, as embodied in the legally constituted courts. In such 
cases a compromise was usually agreed upon, a trial taking place with all 
the forms of the written law, but under the direction of Judge Lynch. When 
our friend from Old Tuolumne had finished his story of the Honorable 
Circuit Justice's Court, Col. Charles W. Crocker, now of the 

[image caption: A FORCIBLE ARGUMENT.]

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Oregon Bulletin, who has knocked around the Pacific Coast in all its 
highways and byways for many a year, and studied the character and 
peculiarities of its people as closely as any man living, chipped in and 
gave us, in his own peculiar and characteristic style, a story of the 
doings of himself and companions in the summary justice line, in the days 
when they had peart times on Rabbit Creek: 

The bustle among the inhabitants of La Porte, the principal mining camp on 
Rabbit Creek, as observed through the silvery gray atmosphere which 
encircled the town on the morning of the 19th of March, 1852, indicated 
that something unusual was on the tapis. Red-shirted men, whose faces were 
covered with shaggy beards, whose hair fell in tangled disorder ever their 
shoulders, and who wore their pantaloons stuffed into the top of their 
boots; who carried revolvers and huge bowie knives in their belts, and 
constantly puffed volumes of smoke from their lips, were to be seen going 
from one saloon to another, or topping for a moment on the only street of 
which he town could boast, for the purpose of shaking hands with some old 
acquaintance or exchanging a ow words. The very atmosphere seemed to 
impress even the most casual observer that something more than the usual 
dull routine of a mining camp life was bout to transpire. 

Four long weary months had dragged themselves since the snow came down 
upon Rabbit Creek 'anon, and put an end to all out-door operations of he 
miners. For four months the little town had been 

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cut off from all communication with its neighbors. The earth was buried 
deep beneath the white shroud which had so silently fallen upon it. The 
creek was bound in fetters of ice, and the piercing blast from the trumpet 
of rude Boreas, who sat amongst the crags high up the Sierras, had come 
down through the caons and gulches with a keenness that made them cut like 
a razor, and kept everybody within doors. Four months had elapsed since a 
mail had been received, and during all of that time the inhabitants of the 
camp had eaten their food, made snow-shoes, and waited patiently for news 
from the outer world. 

A slight thaw, followed by a severe "cold snap," occurring a few days 
before the opening of my sketch, had formed a thick crust upon the snow. 
This crust being sufficiently Strong to support the heaviest man, its 
advent was hailed with universal delight, because it enabled the miners to 
get abroad. The reader may rest assured that after having been held in 
snowy fetters so long, the residents were only too glad to visit the town, 
where they could spend a few hours' in the drinking-saloons and stores in 
talking over the prospects of the coming season, or visit the gambling-
house and indulge their passion for gaming--a passion that existed in the 
breast of nearly every miner in California during the five years following 
the advent of the mining population. 

The gamblers, those who dealt faro, monte, and other games of chance, and 
who followed no other occupation, were delighted with the change. For 
weeks it had been "dog eat dog" with them, and 

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now the prospect of having a few outsiders to fleece was a source of great 
gratification. In order to celebrate the event they had clubbed together. 
raised a purse of a thousand dollars, and offered it as a prize to the 
person who could make the quickest time on snow-shoes over a track to be 
designated by a committee. The contest was to be free to all who chose to 
engage in it; and it was to witness this race that so many of the hardy 
sons of toil came into La Porte, and their arrival in the village had 
caused the bustle alluded to in the opening paragraph. 

La Porte, at the time of which we write, consisted of half a dozen 
saloons, where liquor was sold and games of chance played, two or three 
stores where groceries, mining tools, etc., were kept on hand, a couple of 
blacksmith shops, a shoe shop, and a hotel. It was as flourishing a camp 
as could be found in the mines; and the miners on Rabbit Creek were as 
industrious and thrifty as any in California 

The miners as they came into the town on the morning referred to, would 
drop into a saloon, exchange a few words with the inmates, take a drink or 
two, and then go to another saloon, where the proceedings would be 
repeated. Upon the countenance of every one could be observed a look which 
indicated relief from confinement, a determination to enjoy the day, and a 
sort of I-don't-care-for-anything appearance generally. 

The attention of a group of persons standing in front of the hotel was 
attracted to a man who was descending the hill, at the foot of which the 
town was 

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built He was a tall, raw-boned man of about thirty years of age; although 
his stooping shoulders and swinging gait gave him the appearance of being 
much smaller than he really was. 

There was something in the movement of the man to attract attention, and 
as he drew nearer and a better view of his features were obtained, the 
broad, high forehead and piercing nut-brown eyes indica ed that he was a 
man equal to any emergency, and one who could upon occasion wield a 
powerful force for good or evil amongst his acquaintances. 

Gabe Husker, for such was the name of the person who had become the centre 
of attraction, was the owner of a valuable mine a couple of miles above 
the town. It was generally thought he had a large amount of gold dust 
hidden away; and this belief being shared by the gamblers, they had made 
numberless efforts to induce him to play, but so far without success. In 
fact Gabe had no love for gaming, nor liking for those who managed games 
of chance. He regarded all gamblers as thieves, and was no way bashful in 
speaking his sentiments. The gamesters, however, refused to be insulted by 
him, because they hoped ultimately to be able to succeed in their designs, 
when they would be avenged for all the insults he had ever given them. 

"Times are right peart on Rabbit Creek, ain't they?" asked Gabe, as he 
entered one of the saloons, where a number of persons were standing in 
front of a long counter, waiting for drinks that were being prepared by 
the bar-keeper. 

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"Hello, Gabe, is that you? I'm dern glad to see you!" " How's things out 
in the hill?" "Many of the boys comin' down to-day?" "By jingo, yon look 
sorter blue round the gills; come up and name yer ruin," exclaimed a dozen 
voices, and as many hands were extended to welcome the new arrival. 

Amongst those welcoming Gabe was Hank Seymour, the owner of one of the 
most valuable claims on the creek--a good natured fellow, whose worst 
enemy was his appetite; who never visited the town without getting drunk, 
and, when in that condition, and unfit for any business, visiting the 
gambling-houses and losing heavily. He had been one of the first to arrive 
on the morning alluded to, and had immediately commenced drinking. 

"Thank yer; 'blieve I will wet my sofergrass with a mite of Kaintuck wine. 
It's powerful good for a steady drink; a miserable sight better nor 
champagne and absence; sticks closer to yer ribs, and don't leave no 
headache behind. Then, again, it's a home production, and I allers allow 
that a man as don't patternize home products ain't worth shucks. So, 
barkeep, yer may jiss pass over yer corn-juice!" 

"Will you take bitters or sugar, sir?" 

"Sugar or bitters in liquor? Not by a derned sight! When I drink liquor I 
drink it for itself and not for bitters or other adjunctifications. I 
sorter imagine that yer don't reckon I'm from Pike county, Missouri, or 
you wouldn't ask me if I drank sugar or bitters in my liquor! No siree, 
Bob! I allers drinks my liquor straight!" 

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A bottle was placed before him. Pouring a glass nearly full, Gabe raised 
it in his hand, held it between the light and his eye, and after gazing at 
it affectionately for a few moments, said: 

"Here's to we inns; may we all have heaps of luck and water when the 
winter breaks." 

"We'll all drink to that!" exclaimed the miners as they raised the glasses 
to their lips and poured the liquid fire down their throats. 

"As I remarked, when I first came in, times are right peart on Rabbit 
Creek, ain't they?' 

"Yes, sorter, kind o' peart," responded one of the group. "The fact is, 
times has been infernally dull for a long while, and 'twas necessary for 
to do something to bust the shell. Things having got a bopst, there is a 
right smart chance of peartness goin' on." 

The speaker was the proprietor of a faro game, who, being anxious to 
cultivate Mr. Husker's acquaintance, sought to improve the occasion. He 
was a large-framed, bull-necked, dark-eyed, scowling-countenanced fellow, 
known by the name of Chadwick, who, tumor declared, had, since his advent 
into California, killed one or two men and robbed a great many others, but 
during his residence on Rabbit Creek he had conducted himself in a manner 
to give no offense. His features were marked with several deep scars, 
which gave evidence of his having participated in many a desperate combat, 
while the bowie-knife and revolver in his belt indicated that he was 
prepared for war at any moment. 

By eleven o'clock between three and four hundred 

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miners had assembled in the town, and all were more or less under the 
influence of liquor. The gamblers, after treating all hands until they 
began to show symptoms of inebriation, opened their little games and 
commenced winning the money of those who were foolish enough to play. 
Around each table could be seen a crowd of hardy fellows betting their 
hard-earned dust, and indulging in rude jests and boisterous laughter. The 
harsh oaths that would occasionally escape from the lips of some of the 
players, gave evidence that luck could not prevail against scientific 
attainments in the art of cheating, and that the gamblers were making hay 
while the sun shone. 

After the noon-day meal had been disposed of, the committee of 
arrangements set to work to arrange the preliminaries for the snow-shoe 
race. Judges, time-keepers, referees, starters, etc., were appointed, 
rules established, and everything fixed in consonance with the ideas of 
the majority of the committee. Then those who were to take part in the 
contest were notified to appear at the starting-post. The judges took 
their positions; those who had been absorbed in gambling forsook the 
tables, and sought places from whence a good view of the race could be 
had. 

When the hour for starting arrived the signal was given, and the 
contestants bounded off with the speed of lightning. At the last moment a 
woman appeared upon the scene and started with the others. She was 
evidently an expert in the use of the snow-shoes, and passed several of 
the contestants during the first hundred 

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yards. Those who were watching the race became fearfully excited, and 
whenever the woman would succeed in passing one of the racers, they would 
make the welkin ring with their shouts of joy and encouragement. 

"Who is she?" was asked on all sides, but no one answered the question. 

It is not my intention to give a description of the snow-shoe race, nor to 
paint a picture of the exciting contest. I only allude to it for the 
purpose of giving the reader a clue to what is yet to come. The race was 
soon over, and was won by the mysterious female, who had been materially 
aided by the wind catching in the skirts of her dress. 

Perhaps her success may partially have been caused by the gallantry of the 
other contestants, who thought it would be ungentlemanly to beat a woman. 
But of this we cannot speak knowingly. 

There were but two or three females on Rabbit Creek at the time of which 
we write, and consequently great curiosity prevailed to learn which one 
had entered the lists and carried off the prize, and no sooner had the 
contestants crossed the home mark than the crowd rushed forward and 
surrounded them. 

"Who is she?" cried a dozen voices, the owners of which were pushing with 
might and main to get a glimpse of the lady's features. The victor threw 
back the bonnet and veil that covered and concealed her features, and 
revealed the face of a man, bearded like a pard. 

"Oh, pshaw! 'taint no woman, after all!" exclaimed 

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Hank Seymour, as he elbowed his way from the center of the circle. 

"Then who in thunder is it?" asked one who was using his best efforts to 
get a sight of the champion. 

"Well I'm danged ef that ar woman don't turn out to be Jim Wilkinham, who 
lives over on t' other side of the hill," said Gabe Husker, whose 
curiosity appeared to have been satisfied. "Jim has been playing roots on 
the boys, and is a thousand dollars better off fur havin' done so. But dog 
me ef I don't think the race ought to be run over agin. I wouldn't stand 
being cheated that way ef I was one of 'em." 

At this moment fierce, angry words were heard within the circle. Several 
persons appeared to be taking part in the dispute, and again the crowd 
pressed forward to see what was the matter. Suddenly the sharp report of a 
pistol rang out, and the crowd which had formed the circle fled pell-mell. 
Turning quickly, Husker saw that a murder had been committed. The winner 
of the purse was lying motionless upon the snow, while the blood, pouring 
in a stream from a wound in his bosom, was rapidly crimsoning the ground. 
The bullet had passed through his heart, and death had been instantaneous. 
A few feet distant stood Chadwick, coolly returning his revolver to its 
resting-place in the scabbard which hung over his hip. 

"What in hell have yer been a doing?" yelled Husker as he jumped toward 
the murderer. 

"Bin a givin' a dern skunk his deserts. No dang dead-beat can ever git any 
of my money by such a 

Page 362

fraud upon the community as this one. I go fur all sich, every time, you 
bet!" 

"I guess we Il have to go fur you," said Husker, as he laid his hand upon 
the shoulder of the murderer. 

"Don't you lay yer hands on me, or by the holy St. Paul I'll put daylight 
through you," yelled the gambler as he leaped back and made a motion as if 
to draw a weapon. 

"That's played out, and it won't be remarkably healthy fur you to attempt 
to draw yer weapons on old Gabe. He has fit too many grizzlies to be 
afeard of such a catamount as you. Ef you surrender yerself into custody, 
I'll see that you have a fair, square trial, but ef you make a dern fool 
of yerself, you'll go up the flume without judge or jury." 

"I don't propose to have you interfere in my affairs, and I guess I'll 
prepare you for a funeral," cried the gambler, as he drew his pistol and 
pointed it at Gabe. 

Before the desperado had time to pull the trigger, his arms were beaten 
down and he was seized from behind by some of the miners, who soon 
overpowered and securely bound him, hand and foot, and carried him into 
the tavern, around the door of which a number of excited persons instantly 
collected. Some proposed to satisfy the ends of justice by hanging the 
prisoner at once, but Gabe, who appeared to have been intuitively accepted 
as a leader, declared that the fair name of the Rabbit Creekers should not 
be tarnished by acts of lawlessness. 

The prisoner, notwithstanding that he was bound 

Page 363

hand and foot, and entirely at the mercy of his captors, was as cool and 
collected as if he was seated behind his gambling-table, shuffling cards 
for a lot of greenhorns. He would sneeringly address those who were crying 
out for his life, and say: 

"You dern fools are a-wastin' of yer breaths. Yer can't hang me. 'Tain't 
in the cards. I wasn't born to be hung. So 'tain't no use making a fuss 
about sich a little matter, and you'd be making money ef you'd stop 
botherin' me." 

"What makes you think there is no danger of our hanging you?" asked one of 
those who had been stationed as guard over the prisoner. 

"'Cause when I was born'd, the stars showed that I was to be drownded." 

"May be the stars will fail." 

"They can't. They have shone in the heavens ever since the creation, and 
will remain thar until the end of time; so 'tis impossible for 'em to 
fail." 

"We'll see about it after a while." 

The question of how the prisoner should be tried was a difficult one to 
settle. There was no regularly instituted court nearer than Marysville, 
and to send him there and await the law's delays would cost too much 
money, occupy too much time, and be certain to result in the prisoner's 
escaping merited punishment. After the subject had been thoroughly 
canvassed in all its bearings, it was decided to organize a court, and 
have the trial take place immediately. Gabe Husker was chosen judge, 
another miner sheriff; a jury was then selected to try the prisoner, and 

Page 364

sworn by the judge to perform their duties to the best of their ability. A 
person who had witnessed the shooting volunteered to act as prosecuting 
attorney, and a gambler who had been a friend of the prisoner was sent for 
to appear and conduct the defense. 

In response to the summons, the latter entered the room where the court 
was being held, and seated himself beside the prisoner. His eyes no sooner 
rested on the faces of those chosen as jurors than he felt that the fate 
of his client was decided, and, though he labored ever 50 hard, he would 
be unable to accomplish anything. 

The preliminaries having been arranged, Judge Husker took a seat upon the 
table, and directed the sheriff to declare the court open for business. 

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes! All ye are hereby notified that this court is now open 
for the trial of David Chadwick for the high crime of murder. All 
assembled will take notice, and govern themselves accordingly," cried the 
sheriff. 

A few moments' confusion followed this announcement, during which the 
crowd endeavored to secure seats or favorable positions from which to 
observe the proceedings. Silence having been secured, the judge said: 

"This 'ere honorable court is now open for the trial of a person accused 
of the murder of a human being. I find myself in a peculiar situation, and 
must own that I have some misgivings of my ability to discharge the duties 
of that position. But I'll try 

Page 365

my level best to be equal to the occasion. We are away up here in the 
mountains whar we hain't got no Californy law, therefore I propose to put 
it to a vote whether we shall try the prisoner by Lynch law or Missouri 
law I hold in my hand a copy of the Constitution and By-Laws of the State 
of Missouri, which are good enough law for me, and ought to be good enough 
for any one. It will look better abroad ef we try the prisoner by real law 
than by Lynch law, consequently I'm in favor of usin' Missouri law on this 
trial; but having been elected judge by you, I shall be governed entirely 
by your decision. 

"Your head is level, you bet, Judge," cried one of the spectators. 

"Now all that is in favor of trying the prisoner by Missouri law say yes," 
continued his Honor. 

A tremendous "yes went up from the throats of the assembled multitude, the 
prisoner voting in the affirmative, and saying: 

"I like Missouri law better than Lynch law, cause you see real law has a 
restrainin' influence onto the jurors." 

"You have decided that this trial shall be governed by real law," 
continued the Court. "I think it would be doin' the neat thing ef some one 
would heft up a prayer as a sort o' starter. Ef any of you have had 
experience in wrestling with the Lord, I hope you won't be backward about 
volunteerin.' Tom Rayburn, yer father was an old prayer fighter; can't you 
give us a heft?" "No, thank you, Judge; the old man consumed all 

Page 366

the prayer there was in our family, and didn't leave any for his boys." 

"Bill Gillam, you used to 'tend meetin' afore you come to Californy; what 
do you say?' 

"Raly, Gabe, yer Honor, ef yer please, I don't feel ekal to the task." 

After calling upon several others with like results, Gabe knelt down and 
offered up a fervent but homely petition to the Throne of Grace for 
guidance during the trial. He prayed that the hearts of the jurors might 
be softened towards the accused, so that they might judge the prisoner at 
the bar justly, and deal with him rightly. He pleaded for courage to 
perform the disagreeable duty that had been imposed on him, and closed 
with an appeal for mercy for him whose hands were yet warm with the blood 
of a fellow-being. 

"I say, Judge, let's have something to drink afore we go any further with 
this ere show," said the prisoner; "that dern long prayer of yourn has 
made me feel as dry as a tinder-box." 

"Well, I don't keer ef I do take a little tarantaler juice to make things 
run smooth," replied the Court. 

The sheriff, without waiting for orders, hastened to fetch the liquors and 
some glasses from the bar. His Honor and the prisoner took a drink 
together, the latter saying: 

"I drink to the success of yer show; now go ahead and get through with 
this dern nonsense. I want to get back to my game."

The sheriff was going to remove the bottle, when 

Page 367

his Honor stopped him, saying, "This ere will probably be trying work, and 
I guess you had better leave liquor, I may want some more of it." 

The trial was then commenced, and conducted with perfect fairness. A 
number of witnesses testified to the shooting; in fact, the prisoner 
himself declared to the jury that he had killed the miner, and gave as a 
reason for having done so, that he had fooled everyday by putting on 
woman's clothing, exciting their curiosity, and swindling those engaged in 
the race. For his part, he thought "any dern skunk as would humbug a whole 
mining camp deserved to have a bullet-hole bored through his diaphragm." 

After the testimony had been taken, the case was summed up in short 
speeches by the counsel and submitted to the jury. A whispered 
conversation for a few moments followed, and then the verdict was 
announced. The prisoner had been found guilty of murder in the first 
degree, and sentenced to be hanged the neck until he was dead. 

"I'll bet any man in the room five to one that I not hanged until I am 
dead," coolly remarked the prisoner, when the verdict was rendered. 

"I'll take you for a half-dozen ounces," replied the foreman of the jury, 
who was none other than our old friend, Hank Seymour, "fur it's the only 
time I ever had a dead thing on you. And now, my dying nd, let me give you 
a little advice. Select the spot you want to buried in, and engage your 
undertaker. 

"Thank you for your advice, but I guess it hain't 

Page 368

any use to take it, for I tell you that I'll be riding over these 
mountains when your bones are bleaching in the wind." 

"Ef you do ride over these hills after to-day, it will be as a first-class 
ghost, for you will be a dead man in an hour from now." 

At this moment Gabe Husker approached the prisoner and said: "I hope 
you'll 'scuze me for the part I've taken in this matter, and b'lieve that 
I've only done my dooty to my feller-citizens. You have had a fair trial, 
'cording to the by-laws of Missouri, and I hope the decision is agreeable 
to you. 

"I hain't got nothing to say agin it; it's all been conducted on the 
square; nary Jack was turned from the bottom. I am satisfied with 
everything so far. But you'll be doing me a favor if you'll hurry up 
matters a little and get through with it. I am anxious to get back to my 
game. I'm losin' a heap of money through the dern foolishness of you 
fellers." 

"You had better be puttin' your cards in order for a game in the other 
world, 'cause you'll soon be a lay-out for the devil," remarked a 
bystander. 

"May be you have something to bet that my lamp goes out to-day?" 

"Yes, I have." 

"Look here, Dave, you are making a dern fool of yourself," exclaimed the 
gambler, who had acted as the prisoner's counsel. "You are a bettin' agin 
yerself. The fust thing you know you'll have so many bets out that these 
fellers will lift you outen the world fur to win their bets. My advice to 
you is to prepare 

Page 369

to shuffle. 'Tain't no use lookin' at fate with your eyes shut. These 
fellers mean business, and hav got it in fur you." 

"You are mistaken in your knowledge of the game of human natur. Thar ain't 
goin' to be no hangin' so far as I 'm consarned. Dog on it, hain't I told 
yer that a fortune-teller read it in the stars that I was born'd to be 
drownded; and, if I am to be drownded, I can't be hanged!" 

"I'm afeard the fortune-teller had lost the run of the cards when he told 
you that. Thar ain't no chance for yer neck now." 

The sheriff, accompanied by several men who had been erecting a gallows 
under a tree, which grew near by, now entered and took charge of the 
prisoner, whom they conducted to the scene where the last act of the drama 
was to be played The preliminaries were quickly made, the rope placed 
around the neck of the doomed man, and when everything was in readiness, 
the prisoner was asked if he had anything to say before he was launched 
into eternity. 

"This 'ere joke has gone far enough, and as my feet are gettin' cold, I 
wish you would wind it up. I'm tired of bein' fooled with." 

The sheriff now addressed the prisoner, saying: "You have been tried 
according to the laws of the State of Missouri; you have been found 
guilty, and the time for the execution of the sentence of the Court has 
arrived. I, therefore, must proceed to perform my dooty." 

"I say, hold on. I appeal this 'ere case to the Supreme 

Page 370

Court of Missouri," said the prisoner, "and you can't carry out the 
sentence until after the appeal has been decided." 

This change in the aspect of affairs somewhat staggered the crowd, and 
delayed the execution a short while. Judge Husker was called upon to give 
his views upon the case, and did so, as follows: 

"The prisoner was tried by Missouri law, found guilty, and sentenced to 
death by the law; and thar cannot be a doubt about his right to appeal to 
the Supreme Court of Missouri. So fur so good. But courts are always in 
the habit of goin' on until the Supreme Court issues its mandamus stayin' 
perceedin's. Therefore the sentence of this court will be carried out, 
unless properly stayed by a mandamus. Ef the perceedin's ain't reg'lar, 
they can be reviewed when the case reaches the higher court. 

The decision of his Honor was received with a shout, the prisoner said, 
"all right, go ahead." The sheriff gave the signal and the trap was 
sprung. The rope broke, letting the murderer drop in the snow beneath the 
scaffold. He struggled to his feet, returned to the scaffold, and looking 
over the crowd, said: 

"Thar, didn't I tell yer that I couldn't be hung? I claim my bets. Now, 
gentlemen, as this show is over, I thank you for your kind attendance, and 
all of you as has got any money and wants a lay-out at faro, just foller 
me and I'll give you a lively game." 

He turned to leave the scaffold, when he was met by the sheriff, who held 
in his hand a much stronger 

Page 371

rope than the one first used. This was soon knotted about the neck of the 
victim, who looked at the rope then at the faces surrounding him, but 
failed to ay sympathy for him. 

See here, gentlemen," said he, "this 'ere thing has become serious, and 
before you make another pull, give me time to change my bets. I'll copper 
the fortune-teller this time, and play him to lose, 'cause I b'leeve you 
fellers can call the turn." 

He stopped speaking, waived his hand to the Sheriff as a signal to 
proceed, and in a moment more the unfortunate man was standing in the 
presence of Him who judgeth all things. 

"Times are right peart on Rabbit Creek," said Hank Seymour to Gabe Husker, 
as they turned to leave the scene of execution. 

"Yes, right peart," was the reply. 

At this point the doctor, who had apparently been asleep for the last 
hour, rolled over in his blankets and, with a yawn, inquired: 

"And how long did you remain on Rabbit Creek after all that took place, 
Don Carlos?" 

"Oh, not long; I left the next day, I believe." 

"Well, that is just what I'd have advised you to do if I'd been there." 

"So would anybody else if they knew you were practicing your profession 
there, and I ran any risk of requiring medical advice. It is a pity that 
many of your patients don't have somebody to give them the same advice in 
season to be of use to them!" 

Page 372

Charley evidently took the doctor's attempted pleasantry a little 
ungraciously, and the subject was dropped. 

This reprehensible-propensity for betting on every possible subject is a 
peculiarity of California, and crops out distinctly on all occasions. Your 
genuine Californian, whether of Spanish origin and to the manner born, or 
Yankee by habit and only a son of the Golden State by adoption, has two 
peculiarities which strike a stranger most forcibly, next to his 
pardonable admiration for everything Californian, and, as a matter of 
course, contempt for anything which is not. He is perfectly cosmopolitan 
in his sympathy for misfortune, want, or suffering, and ready to give on 
the instant with reckless liberality, to any person or cause appealing to 
him for assistance, and is ever ready to bet his last dollar, the shirt 
off his back, or the boots off his feet, for or against any proposition on 
any subject which any person may advance in his hearing. Say to him, "Mrs. 
Smith, who has seven fatherless children, lost her house by fire last 
night," and he answers, "That is all I want to hear, bet your life, old 
boy! Here is all the loose change I have got about me; but if you cannot 
make up enough, come again and I'll give you a check!" Does he ride in a 
stage-coach over the Sierra Nevada, and in turning a short curve it misses 
stays and goes over the precipice--a by no means uncommon occurrence--he 
improves the opportunity as the vehicle goes crashing over the rocks, to 
shout in his neighbor's ear, "I go you the drinks for all hands, that over 
half 

Page 373

of us ain't killed!". This betting is confined to no class or race; it 
pervades society from its out-croppings on the surface down to the bed-
rock. It appears to be inherent in the air. Juan, the native Californian 
or Mexican, bets his week's earnings in the mine on the color of the seeds 
of a watermelon which he bought for a dime, on the result of a break-neck 
race between two wild mustangs, ridden by two wilder vaqueros, on the 
issue of a cockfight, or the turn of a card, loses, and is happy. John, 
from the Celestial Empire, bets his money, earned by the hardest kind of 
hard work, on the game of "Than," or "Tan," or on the Chinese game of 
dominoes. Jonathan, from "away down east," loses all regard for his early 
schooling, and bets his pile on anything, no matter how absurd. 

The native Indians are as fond of betting as the native or imported 
Californian of Caucasian blood. Once upon a time I found myself on the 
bank of the Colorado River, among the stalwart Mojaves, the largest and 
finest race of Indians on the continent. An old sub-chief had traded with 
a gold hunter for a Spanish jackass, known as a buro in Spanish-American 
countries, and was riding him up and down the river-bank in great state, 
as full of new-born dignity as the King of all the Mosquitoes, when he 
mounts a new breech-clout, and is saluted as "His Royal Highness, the good 
friend and ally of Her Majesty, Victoria, by the grace of God," etc., etc. 
Unluckily, at the moment of his supreme happiness, a fellow Mojave dared 
him to play a game of the swindling cribbage 

Page 374

with Spanish cards, so much affected by the red sons of the burning 
desert. The banter was accepted, down went both parties on their bellies 
in the dirt, a ring of admiring spectators was formed, and the game 
commenced. My chief lost, and In an Instant loud jeers arose on all sides; 
they resemble "Melican man" astonishingly, and have no sympathy for the 
man who gets cleaned out. Without a word, and with a face as impassive and 
devoid of expression of any kind as a side of sole-leather, the grim old 
warrior arose and walked to the spot where the buro was tied. Taking the 
cord in his hand, he solemnly lead the diminutive animal to his new owner 
and formally delivered him. Thus much for his word, but now for revenge 
for insulted dignity. As the winner stretched out his hand and took the 
rope, the loser, quick as lightning, drew a long, sharp knife, and at one 
blow cut through the buro's neck, and dropped him in his tracks, "as dead 
as Kelsey's hen," then turned away in gloomy silence and sought his first 
and ugliest wife, doubtless with the intention of giving her a good 
drubbing on general principles. 

I had at that moment a fragmentary suit of clothes in which I had just 
crossed the desert. The shirt was of many color-mostly of earthen hue--and 
the collar was as stiff with sweat and dust as a piece of sheet-iron. The 
drawers had once been of woollen goods, and had a seat to them, but from 
contact with the saddle and the great heat of the atmosphere, had done 
their work, and there was a frightful vacancy where the seat had been. The 
socks were pretty 

Page 375

much of a piece with the shirt, and the cravat ditto. A fit of generosity 
came over me. I had donned a new suit of under-clothing, and the old one 
was worthless; I could afford to be liberal. Calling a young buck, I bade 
him strip himself, put the shirt, drawers--what there was left of them--
socks and neck-tie upon him, turned the collar of the shirt up so that it 
reached nearly to the top of his head, and then turned him loose. I saw 
him going down to the encampment or rancheria all right, with two buxom 
squaws following admiringly behind him, the condition of his drawers being 
no draw-back on his appearance in that society. I felt that I had done a 
noble thing and made a fellow-creature happy. Judge of my surprise, not to 
say disgust, when I came back an hour later and found him stretched at 
full length on the dusty earth, playing cards for the various articles of 
clothing I had bestowed upon him, with a hump-backed squaw and two gallant 
young bloods belonging to the first families of the Mojaves. They had 
played everything off him but the neck-tie when I arrived, and, clad in 
that light and airy costume only, he was then gambling for that, with a 
fair chance of losing. I almost felt like giving him a new rig, but did 
not on reflection. 

I was once walking along one of the streets of that part of San Francisco 
most expressively known as the Barbary Coast, where "pirates, rovers and 
assailing thieves" most do congregate to prey upon the unwary, in company 
with a friend, a well-known physician, when we heard a shot, and saw a man 
bare-headed 

Page 376

and in his shirt-sleeves run out of a house and dash into an alley, 
pursued by a crowd of policemen and citizens who chanced to be in the 
vicinity, all joining with a will in the chase. The pursued ran like a 
deer, turned and doubled on his pursuers, and climbed fences, and went 
over low buildings into all sorts of out-of-the-way places to escape, but 
in vain. At every turn his pursuers increased in number, and he was 
constantly headed off and more nearly cornered. Several times a policeman 
raised his revolver to bring him down, but did not fire--for a wonder-lest 
he should hit somebody else; and as often the pursued would drive back his 
volunteer pursuers who were closing around him, by pointing at them a 
pistol, with one barrel of which he had just shot his ex-mistress through 
the head, and shouting to them to keep out of reach or he would give them 
the contents. Surrounded at last, he sat down in an area, placed his head 
against a fence, and putting the pistol to his head, sent a bullet 
crashing through his skull, before a policeman who was hard upon him could 
catch his hand. The doctor and myself were in the area in a minute more, 
and two men who had followed him in all his turnings were close behind us. 
The doctor stooped to raise the head of the miserable suicide, just as one 
of these men exclaimed, "He is dead as a mackerel!" "Hold on, doctor, 
don't touch him yet!" said the other, reaching out to prevent the doctor's 
hand falling upon him, and then turning to his friend, "I'll bet you $5 
that he ain't!" "Done!" said the other. "Is he dead, doctor?" "Dead as the 

Page 377

bull-rushes around little Moses!" was the doctor's reply. "Here is your 
money. Blame me, I never could win, even when I bet on a dead thing!" said 
the loser with a grim pleasantry, as he turned away. 

The writer was riding once on the Cliff House road on a pet mustang which, 
when pushed, would win a race or kill somebody in the attempt. A friend 
came up on a livery-stable nag which he fancied had speed in him, and said 
to me, "I have got all animal here that can beat yours!" Another 
acquaintance standing near, who knew both animals, replied on the instant, 
"When, where, how far, and for how much?" The race was made inside of half 
a minute by the reply, "Now, here, a mile, and for twenty dollars." I 
afterwards had some of that money. 

In the latter part of 1867, the ferry steamer Washoe was crossing the Bay 
of San Francisco to Oakland just at night-fall, when a passenger who had 
been watching a suspiciously-acting man, thinking him probably a thief, 
saw him creep stealthily to the stern of the boat, look around to see if 
he was watched, and then jump overboard. The cry, "man overboard!" was 
raised in an instant, the steamer stopped, and a boat was lowered to look 
for the drowning man. He could not be seen in the water, and the man who 
raised the cry was accused by somebody of selling the crowd; he had not 
seen anybody jump overboard at all. He swore he had, and would lick any 
man who said he did not. He found an individual ready to accept the 
proposition, and licked his man. The boat started on, and the discussion 

Page 378

waxed warmer as it got nearer the landing. At last a bet of five dollars 
was offered that no man had jumped overboard, and a taker was found at 
once; had the first party offered to bet that a man did jump overboard, 
number two would have been equally ready to bet the other way. The money 
was placed in the hands of the bar-keeper, and left there until he should 
decide who won. Next day it was discovered that A. Marius Chappelle, at 
one time one of the wealthiest men in San Francisco, impelled by the fear 
of becoming insane--a fear which was the effect of insanity itself--had 
loaded himself down with old iron, jumped overboard and gone immediately 
to the bottom of the bay, never to rise again alive, he having left 
letters on shore announcing his determination to drown himself. The money 
was paid over to the winner on this discovery being made known. 

A man known as "Little Zeke" applied one day for a position on the police 
force of San Francisco. His appearance at the police office was the signal 
for a regular burst of laughter. His face had called up a ludicrous 
reminiscence of old times. Some years ago an animated contest was going on 
between Frank Whitney and James Nuttman for the office of Chief Engineer 
of the Fire Department, and the present applicant for the silver star was 
an excited and deeply devoted partisan of the latter. Little Zeke was in a 
saloon where Whitney had his headquarters, late in the evening of election 
day, pretty well panned out and deeply dejected, but still clinging to the 
hope of his friend's election, as a drowning kitten will cling to 

Page 379

a stick. There was a rush at the door, and a friend of Whitney, half 
breathless, crowded in and announced that Frank was elected. At that, 
Little Zeke, struggling wonderfully to suppress the sobs which rose in his 
throat and would choke his utterance in spite of him, exclaimed: 

"Well, boys, I (sob) am dead busted--have treated away all my money, but 
this eye cost (sob) fifty dollars (sob, sob), and I'll put that up agin 
twenty-five that Jim Nuttman wins, after all!" 

As he said that, he ran his finger under his glass eye, and slipping it 
out of the socket, laid it defiantly down on the counter, glaring around 
at the crowd with a single optic and an unsightly hole in his head. One of 
the opposition was just hauling out his money to see Little Zeke on the 
glass eye bet, when one of Nuttman's friends came in and said: "We give it 
up--Jim's beaten!" Whereupon, Little Zeke snatched up his eye, slipped it 
back into the socket, and started out on the run, while yells of laughter 
from the crowd made the building fairly shake. 

Such are some of the eccentricities of Californians.