Days of '49/Appendix

Captain Sutter made the statement that scientific men, trappers and Indians had blindly trampled over the gold fields for many years, to Dr. J. Tyrwhitt Brooks, who was in San Francisco at the time of the discovery. Dr. Brooks' diary was published in London, 1849, under the title of "Four Months Among the Gold-Finders."

The date of the gold discovery is unknown: "Marshall himself was uncertain about the exact date. At various times he gave three different dates—the 18th, 19th and 20th, but never moved it along as far as the 24th. In the past thirty years three different dates—the 18th, 19th and 24th—have been celebrated as the anniversary of Marshall's gold discovery. The evidence upon which the date was changed to the 24th is found in an entry in a diary kept by W. H. Bigler, a Mormon, who was working for Marshall on the millrace at the time gold was discovered. The entry reads: 'January 24. This day some kind of metal that looks like gold was found in the tailrace.' On this authority about ten years ago the California Pioneers adopted the 24th as the correct date of Marshall's discovery."—A History of California. By J. M. Guinn. 3 vols. Los Angeles. 1915. p. 157.

"Doctor Sandels, a very able mineralogist.... Seeing him so much interested in minerals, and so unwearied in his researches thereabout, Sutter said to him one day, 'Doctor, can you not find me a gold mine?' Placing his hand upon the shoulder of his host, the Doctor replied, "Captain Sutter, your best mine is in the soil. Leave to governments to provide the currency.' This was in 1843." p. 51—California Inter Pocula. By Hubert Howe Bancroft. San Francisco. 1888. p. 44 seq.

"Chemists, geologists, mineralogists, and old miners, have not done better than ignorant men and newcomers. Most of the best veins have been discovered by poor and ignorant men. Not one has been found by a man of high education as a miner, or geologist."—The Resources of California. By John H. Hittell. San Francisco. 1869. p. 273.

Gillespie, a '49er, knew Marshall at Coloma, and one day while making a pencil sketch of the mill, Marshall came by, stopped and gave him an account of his experiences which were written down at the time by an artist.—"Marshall's Own Account of the Gold Discovery." By Charles B. Gillespie. Century Magazine. Vol. xix.

The statement that Marshall caused Hargraves to return to Australia, where he discovered gold, and the conversation between them is taken from California Inter Pocula. p. 64.

Parson's Life of Marshall, and Theodore H. Hittell's History of California, 5 vols., San Francisco, 1897 give an account of Marshall's unfortunate life.

"In 1841 Marshal Soult, Minister of War under Louis Philippe, appointed M. Douflot de Mofras, an eminent French savant and diplomat, to make a thorough exploration of California, and to prepare the way for France to acquire possession of the country. It is known that secret agents of that government resided in California from the time of M. de Mofras' visit until it fell into the hands of the United States."—The Natural Wealth of California. By Titus Fey Cronise. San Francisco. 1868.

M. de Mofras reported that both England and the United States were plotting to obtain possession of California, and wrote a book to instruct French officers how best to accomplish the same object.

Also, History of California. By Hubert Howe Bancroft. 7 vols. San Francisco. 1884-1890. Vol. iv has chapters on the plans of European countries to obtain possession of California.

Commodore Sloat, learning that hostilities had begun between the United States and Mexico, arrived at Monterey, then the capital of California, July 7th, 1846, "took possession of the country and raised the American flag on his own responsibility. These decisive steps on the part of Commodore Sloat were not taken a moment too soon, as on the 14th of July the British man-of-war Collingwood, Sir George Seymour commanding, arrived at Monterey, intending, as Sir George acknowledged, 'to take possession of that part of the country.'"—E. E. Dunbar, The Romance of the Age. p. 29 seq.

"It is a remarkable circumstance that out of a fleet of 760 vessels from American ports that sailed around Cape Horn to San Francisco in 1849-50, not one was wrecked or sustained any serious disaster on the long and tempestuous voyage. Yet this fleet was largely composed of old vessels that had long been regarded as unseaworthy, and in many instances had been condemned, but which had been patched up and pressed into service again to meet the exigencies of the occasion. Many and many a ship entered the Golden Gate with pumps which had been almost constantly manned to keep it afloat, and many and many instead of coming to anchor were run directly upon the mud flats of Mission Bay, where they ended their sea-going days by being transformed into storehouses, hotels, or boarding houses.... It is an interesting circumstance that every one of these vessels entered the harbor of San Francisco and found an anchorage without the aid of a pilot. It is none the less singular, perhaps, that not until after a pilot system was established was there a single wreck to record of vessels entering or attempting to enter the Golden Gate."—"Cape Horn and Co-Operative Mining in '49." By Willard B. Farwell. Century Magazine. Vol. xx.

"At this time the cholera and Panama fever were raging in full force. The unacclimated Americans were dying in every direction."—Adventures of a Forty-Niner. By Daniel Knower. Albany. 1894. p. 37.

In Panama—"Once seized with sickness and without a faithful comrade, a man's chance for recovery was small; for already a coating of callous indifference to the suffering of others seemed to be enclosing the hearts of many of these adventurers, and a pale fever-stricken stranger was too often shunned like a leper."—Bancroft's California Inter Pocula. p. 186.

"... at one time more than 500 (vessels) could be counted. Possessed no less than the passengers by the gold fever, the crews rushed away at once, carrying off the ship boats." Bancroft's History of California, vol. vi, p. 167.

"The morning of our arrival, eighteen of her (U. S. Ohio) men had contrived to escape, carrying with them one of the boats, under fire of all the government vessels in the harbor."—El Dorado. By Bayard Taylor. New York. 1850.

"The harbor presents for miles an unbroken forest of masts; ships from every country and nation lie here idle and worthless, with no prospect of ever leaving; many must go down at their anchor, for there are not enough men unemployed to work a twentieth part of them."—Personal Adventures in Upper and Lower California. By William Redmond Ryan. 2 vols. London. 1852, p. 401.

"The prices of goods were so fluctuating that business was really a gamble. One week a staple article would soar 200 per cent. above its original selling price. The following week perhaps the same article could not be sold at any price because of a glutted market."—California: Men and Events. By George H. Tinkham. Stockton. 1915. p. 116.

"Great quantities of goods were piled up in the open air, for want of a place to store them ."—Taylor's El Dorado, p. 55.

"Men dart hither and thither, as if possessed of a never resting spirit. You speak to an acquaintance—a merchant perhaps. He utters a few hurried words of greeting, while his eyes send keen glances on all sides of you; suddenly he catches sight of somebody in the crowd; he is off, and in the next five minutes has bought up half a cargo, sold a town lot at treble the sum he gave, and taken a share in some new and imposing speculation. It is impossible to witness this excess and dissipation of business, without feeling something of its influence. The very air is pregnant with the magnetism of bold, spirited, unweary action."—Taylor's El Dorado, p. 114.

"When tobacco was down, a man desirous of building a house on made ground tumbled in boxes of it, enough to form a foundation. Before the house was built tobacco was $1 a pound, worth more than a dozen such houses. Wanting a cross walk, one threw in a sack of beans, which shortly after were worth thirty cents a pound."—California Inter Pocula, p. 349.

Bancroft in his History History California, vol. vi, p. 198, describes the the building of a sidewalk out of tobacco, and says that barrels of beef, sacks of beans, tons of iron goods, were also used to fill up mudholes.

"More than one instance is recorded of property selling at $40,000 or more, which two years before cost fifteen or sixteen dollars.... Well known is the story of Hicks, the old sailor. The gold excitement recalled to his memory the unwilling purchase in Yerba Buena of a lot, which on coming back in 1849 he found worth a fortune. His son sold half of it some years later for nearly a quarter of a million."—Bancroft's History of California, vol. vi, p. 192.

"Lumber was then bringing $500 per thousand feet, and not long before it brought $1500."—Taylor's El Dorado.

The Parker House, hotel and gambling house, rented for $180,000 per year. Bancroft's History of California, vol. vi, footnote 23, p. 188.

California Inter Pocula, p. 666: "In 1849 almost every house and tent, public and private, received lodgers for pay. A regular lodging house consisted of one room with shelf like bunks ranged round its sides, each of which held a straw bunks mattress reeking range with filth and vermin, and a pair of musty with blankets. Cots occupied the enter of the room, and sleeping center places of were chalked out on the floor."

"By the middle of 1849 lumber was $600 per 1000 feet and a brick house could be estimated at $1 for each brick." Bancroft's History of California, vol. vii, p. 104.

. Ryan in his Personal Adventures (Appendix) reports: "Large quantities of soiled linen are sent to our antipodes to be purified. A vessel just in from Canton brought 250 dozen, which were sent out a few months ago; another from the Sandwich Islands brought 100 dozen; and the practice is becoming general."

The instance of a man in business in San Francisco in '49 who had had a partner for two months without learning his full name—Pioneer Times in San Francisco. By William Grey. San Francisco. 1881. p. 85.

"Walking through the town the next day, I was quite amazed to find a dozen persons busily employed in the street before the United States Hotel, digging up the earth with knives and crumbling it in their hands. They were actually gold-hunters, who obtained in this way about $5 a day. After blowing the fine dust carefully in their hands, a few specks of gold were left which they placed in a piece of white paper. A number of children were engaged in the same business, picking out the fine grains by applying them to the head of a pin, moistened in their mouths. I was told of a small boy having taken home $14 as the result of one day's labor.... The presence of gold in the streets was probably occasioned by the leakings from the miners' bags and the sweepings of stores."—Taylor's El Dorado, p. 60.

"This (The Hounds) was an organization of young men for the declared purpose of assisting each other in sickness, or when peril of any kind threatened any of its members. It had been imperfectly organized in the beginning of the year, and was virtually a gang of public robbers. The members assumed a kind of military discipline, under the guidance of regular leaders, who wore a uniform, and occasionally, but only on Sundays, paraded the streets with flags displayed and drum and fife playing. They attacked the tents of inoffensive people, chiefly foreigners, and if they could not extort money from the owners or inmates by threats, tore them to the ground, and stole or destroyed money, jewels, and everything valuable on the premises. These outrages, perpetrated usually at night, when the more peaceable citizens had retired to rest, were so frequent that the 'Hounds' became a terror to all well-disposed people of the town. They invaded the stores, taverns, and houses of Americans themselves, and rudely demanded what ever they desired ... latterly adopted the name 'Regulators,' committed the most violent and cruel outrages in open defiance of the law and common humanity."—Annals of San Francisco. New York. 1855. p. 227.

(The Annals were written and compiled from San Francisco newspapers and personal observation by men who had lived in the city during the time of which they wrote.)

"The State's Attorney of San Francisco states that in four years twelve hundred murders have been perpetrated, and only one of the criminals was convicted."—The Land of Gold. By Hinton R. Helper. Baltimore. 1855. p. 253.

"From 1840 to 1854 inclusive, 4200 murders were committed in California. In San Francisco there were 1200 and only one conviction."—Bancroft's History of California, vol. vii, p. 215.

"Homicide was too common to excite much comment, and as almost no attempt was made to enforce the law by regularly appointed officials, men almost ceased to take it into consideration. Principals in a quarrel were shot or stabbed to death (and bystanders who failed to get out of the way quickly enough accidentally killed), without society holding any one responsible."—History of California: The American Period. By Robert Glass Cleland, New York. 1922. p. 294.

"... almost before the last throb of pulsation had beaten, and as the body still warm with animal heat, was being removed, the blood-stained villain (the gambler) audaciously resumed his position at his infernal altar, surrounded by an inhuman crowd, who pressed forward to the game, nowise constrained by the consciousness that they were standing in the undried gore of a fellow creature."—An Excursion to California. By William Kelly, 2 vols. London. 1851. Vol. ii. p. 247.

"On the slightest occasion, at a look or touch, an oath, a single word of offense, the bowie knife leaped from its sheath, and the loaded revolver from the breast pocket or the secret case, and death or severe wounds quickly closed the scene. The spectators often shared in the same wild feelings, and did not always seek to interfere. The law was powerless to prevent such personal conflicts. Men thought as little of their blood and lives as of their money, and to gratify high swelling passions would readily waste them all alike."—Annals of San Francisco, p. 356.

"Now and then the games were momentarily interrupted by the crack of a pistol, and the loungers became a little demoralized as the ball whistled past their ears and lodged in the wall. If a man was killed or wounded, he was taken out, but the nature of the affray was left to be learned from the morning papers, and in a few minutes all was as before. "California Inter Pocula, p. 710.

"Amidst all the din and turmoil of the crowd, and the noisy music that issues from every corner, two or three reports of a pistol will occasionally startle the stranger, particularly if they should happen to be in his immediate vicinity, and a bullet should (as is not uncommon) whistle past his head, and crack the mirror on the other side of him.... After the first discharge the excitement settles down and the suspended games are resumed."—Mountains and Molehills. By Frank Marryat. New York. 1855. p. 45.

Lola Montez, Countess of Lanseldt, favorite of the King of Bavaria, was well known throughout California during the gold days. She died wretchedly in a New York tenement house.

"On the steamers coming out, the frail, fair one was often shown all the delicate considerations due to the fine lady of immaculate morals; the officers of the ship were always at her command, and if a favorite of the captain, she was assigned a seat at his table. On her arrival, merchants and judges were among her associates. There was little social caste or moral quality in those days.... Later, families were brought out, virtue and domestic honor gained the ascendency, and indecency slunk away and hid itself."—California Inter Pocula, p. 309.

Helper, though he wrote his his Land of Gold with the idea of warning people away from California, said said: "I may not be a competent judge, but this much I will say, that I have seen purer liquors, better cigars, finer tobacco, truer guns and pistols, larger dirks and bowie-knives, and prettier courtesans here, than in any place I have ever visited; and it is my unbiased opinion that California can and does furnish the best bad things that are obtainable in America."—p. 67.

According to Dr. Knower in his Adventures of a Forty Niner, p. 146, the sort of speculation by which brokers kept the money received from the sale of goods consigned to them was not uncommon. He instances the case of one man who had about all the consignments of shipments from Liverpool to sell on a commission of ten per cent.; but instead of remitting the capital to the owners, and being satisfied with his commission, he used it in buying property, and in erecting buildings in San Francisco. "... the great fire destroyed all of his buildings and he was a ruined man."

Helper in The Land of Gold, p. 142, says that merchants swindled the consignors by keeping the money and writing that the goods were destroyed by fire.

Bancroft in California Inter Pocula, p. 705 seq., supplies this description with detail: "The character of the typical gambler of the flush times is one of the queerest mixtures in human nature. His temperament is mercurial but non-volatized.... Supreme self-command is his cardinal quality; yet, except when immersed in the intricacies of a game, his actions appear to be governed only by impulse and fancy. On the other hand his swiftest vengeance and cruelest butchery seem rather the result of policy than passion.... He is never known to steal except at cards; and if caught cheating he either fights or blandly smiles his sin away, suffers the stakes to be raked down without a murmur, treats good-humoredly, and resumes the game unruffled. United with the coolest cunning is the coolest courage. He is as ready with his pistol as with his toothpick, but he never uses it unless he is right; then, he will kill a man as mercilessly as he would brush a fly from his immaculate linen.... He accustoms himself to go without sleep, and if necessary can go for several days and nights without rest.... He deals his game with the most perfect sang froid, and when undergoing the heaviest losses there is no trembling of fingers or change of expression .... His brightly polished weapons are always at his elbow ready for immediate use.... He is studiously neat in his habits, and tends to foppishness."

"In the forenoon, when gambling was slack, the gamblers would get up from their tables, and, leaving exposed upon them, at the mercy of the heterogeneous crowd circulating through the room, piles of gold and silver, they would walk away, seemingly as little anxious for the safety of their money as if it were under lock and key in an iron chest. It was strange to see so much apparent confidence in the honesty of human nature, and in a city where violence and robberies were so rife, that, when out at night in unfrequented quarters, one walked pistol in hand in the middle of the street—to see money exposed in such a way as would be thought madness in any other part of the world."—The Gold Hunters. By J. D. Borthwick. Edinburgh. 1857. Chapter III.

David S. Terry resigned from the Chief Justiceship of the Supreme Court to fight a duel with U. S. Senator David C. Broderick. Some years later Terry slapped the face of a Federal Judge and was instantly killed by the bodyguard of the Judge.

In 1856 the Vigilance Committee of San Francisco hanged James P. Casey for the murder of the newspaper editor, James King of William, though Casey was said to have used the words, "Draw and defend yourself," before shooting. This appears to have been the first instance of a man being held accountable for murder in anything like a personal encounter. Some colder-blooded murderers had been previously hanged.

Some such story of a duel between the armies during the Mexican War, as that credited to Hales in this story, was told of Jack Hayes, Texas Ranger, and one of the first sheriffs of San Francisco.—Adventures of a Forty-Niner, p. 98.

Lieut. Revere says: "After his wife and children, the darling objects of a Californian's heart are his horses. In this respect he is not surpassed by the Arab.... Dismount a Californian and he is at once reduced to a perfectly helpless state, and is of no use in the world. The lineage of the Californian horse is undoubtedly of the purest and highest. The domestic horses of the country, as well as those immense herds of wild horses which range the vast plains of the Tulares in their primitive freedom, all derive their descent from the Andalusian horses, which so materially aided the redoubtable Conquistadores to subvert the Aztec empire.... This stock of course gives them a pure Arabian descent. No stabling, no grooming, no farriery, no shoeing, no docking, no clipping, no jockeying, are connected with the care of the Californian horse. After a hard day's journey he is unbridled and unsaddled, and suffered to roam at large."—Tour of Duty in California. By Joseph Warren Revere. N. Y. and Boston. 1849. P. 104.

Edwin Bryant, who took part in the military operations in California before the discovery of gold, and who was one of the early Alcaldes of San Francisco, wrote in What I Saw in California, London, 1849, Chapter XV: "The men (Spanish Californians) are almost constantly on horseback, and as horsemen excel any I have seen in other parts of the world. From the nature of their pursuits and amusements, they have brought horsemanship to a perfection challenging admiration and exciting astonishment."

It was not uncommon for a lone horseman to lasso and kill a grizzly. In speaking of the California horse, Lieut. Revere in his Tour of Duty says:

"The severest test of those qualities is his behavior in attacking a bear, a feat often undertaken by a single ranchero, without other aid than his horse, his inseparable friend the riata (lasso), and the accustomed knife worn in his garter. Thus equipped, he will lasso the largest and most furious bear; and, drawing the brute to a tree, and taking a turn or two around him, will despatch him with his knife, while the sagacious horse keeps the riata fastened to the saddle at its fullest tension. The bear, indeed, is immensely stronger than the horse, and if lassoed by the forepaw, could, by merely standing on his hind legs, draw up several mounted men united by their riatas; but skill and intrepidity accomplish what mere force could never effect."—p. 107.

"Father" Taylor, a Methodist, was the famous street preacher of '49 and afterwards. He mentions particularly that the bolder and more severe a preacher was, the more he was respected and admired by the sinners. He cites the instance of the city's leading gambler giving $10 as a donation to one preacher, but $20 to another because, as the gambler put it, "he so fearlessly dealt out the truth against gamblers."

"A prominent characteristic of Californians generally, however wicked," says Father Taylor, "is that they want a man, especially a minister of the gospel, to speak out the whole truth fearlessly, boldly, and to make thorough work of whatever he undertakes."—California Life Illustrated. By William Taylor. N. Y. 1858. p. 53.

Again, p. 300, Father Taylor wrote:"—They are a self-reliant, independent class of men, who, in all matters of personal opinion and conduct, think and speak and do as they are inclined, and cheerfully extend the same privilege to each other and everybody else. Hence preachers of the Gospel in California's worst days, were permitted to preach in bar-rooms, gambling saloons, public thoroughfares, or wherever they wished, without hindrance or disturbance."

"Father" Taylor in the summer of ²49 obtained the lumber for his house by going into the forest across the bay, felling trees, splitting them into lumber, rafting the lumber across the bay, and, practically unaided, built his home.

The Hounds got up courage for the assault on the Spanish quarter by smashing glasses and dishes in saloons when not served promptly and cheerfully; and he gives this as the "platform" of the so-called Society of Regulators, which was the name recently adopted by the Hounds: "California should feed and clothe them, and pay them well for their outrages. They proposed to live. They would assist at any time the impotent authorities, if the authorities wished their aid and would pay them; and they would just as readily break the law, and defy the authorities, if such a course best suited their purpose. With the coolest impudence they asserted their determination to protect American citizens against Spanish-speaking foreigners, and sometimes claimed to have instructions from the Alcalde to extirpate the Mexicans and Chileans."—Bancroft in Popular Tribunals, vol. 1, chapter vi, p. 92.

This description of the violence and shamefulness of the attack, the apathy of the better class of citizens while it was going on all through the night, follows Bancroft's account almost literally.—Popular Tribunals, vol. 1.

There was, as far as historians have learned, much less provocation for the Hounds' attack than this story relates. As nearly as Bancroft could discover it came about because a merchant gave to the Hound Sheriff, Pullis, a bill which a Chilean had refused to pay; the Sheriff turned the bill over to the "boys" to collect.

Bancroft says: "I can but call attention once more to the singular state of law and administration which allowed an officer of the law to deputize a notorious band of desperadoes for the lawless enforcement of an unproven claim."—Popular Tribunals, vol. i, p. 93.

"The charge was made at the time that the Hounds were instigated to their excesses by influential men."—San Francisco: A History. 2 Vols. By John Young. San Francisco, N. D. Vol. i, p. 201.

"Bad as were physical conditions in 1849, the social conditions were even worse. The town was full of gamblers, thieves, and cutthroats from every quarter of the globe. Society there was none. Every man was a law to himself and by midsummer disorder reigned. An organization, formed from the riffraff of the disbanded regiment of New York volunteers, joined by Australian convicts and the scum of the town, paraded the streets with drum and fife and streaming banners. They called themselves Hounds or Regulators, and under the pretense of watching over public security, intruded themselves in every direction and committed all sorts of outrageous acts. Relying on the strength of numbers and arms they levied forced contributions upon the merchants for the support of their organization.... The culmination of their reign was reached when, on the night of July 15th, 1849, they made an attack in force upon the Chileno quarter at the foot of Telegraph Hill, robbing, beating and seriously wounding the inhabitants and destroying their tents and houses."—The Beginnings of San Francisco. Vol. ii, p. 598.

"After the conviction of the captured Regulators the question arose how they should be punished. Some were for having them hanged, others for having them whipped upon the public Plaza and banished, and others simply for having them banished and given to understand that if they ever returned they would be executed... the infliction of the several penalties being found impracticable, and the people having gone about their business, some of the prisoners were shipped away and others discharged. The gang however was broken up and crime for the moment checked."—Popular Tribunals. Vol. i, p. 100.

"To facilitate the course of justice, the governor appointed William B. Almond judge of first instance, with civil jurisdiction. Almond was a man of coarse manners and had a habit of adjourning court to go out for a drink. He had been a peanut peddler and knew little about law. In hearing his cases he would sometimes listen to one or two witnesses on one side, and then cut short the attorneys of the other side, saying he wanted to hear no more."—The Beginnings of San Francisco. 2 vols. By Zoeth Skinner Eldredge. San Francisco. 1912. Vol. ii, p. 606.

A full account of the excitement of the citizens and of Brannan's theatrical courage appears in Popular Tribunals. Vol. 1.

"Samuel Brannan, born in Saco, Maine, 1819, was a natural speculator, and early in life he traveled in every State of the Union.... He surprised thousands of persons by his reckless extravagance of money, his bold speculations, his bravery in defying the criminal class, and finally his dissipation, for he became a continuous drinker. He spent thousands of dollars for and with his friends, and died a pauper, crippled and diseased, almost alone, in Escondido, Mexico, May 7, 1888."—California: Men and Events, p. 42.

"In ridding San Francisco of the thieves, gamblers and desperadoes that infested it none were more active, outspoken, and fearless than Brannan, and he lashed the malefactors and their official supporters with a vigor of vituperation that has rarely been equaled."—The Beginnings of San Francisco. Vol. ii, p. 711.

"So long as society holds its course in San Francisco his name should be held in honored and grateful remembrance. With the utmost recklessness he threw his life and wealth into the scale; anything and everything he possessed was at the disposal of the (Vigilance) committee free of any charge."—Bancroft in Popular Tribunals. Vol. i, p. 209.

The statement that no man was ever hanged in San Francisco without at least the semblance of a trial is confirmed by the Reference Department of the San Francisco Public Library, in so far as the library records show.

"Under the existing laws of the United States, foreigners had the same rights in California as American citizens."—Popular Tribunals. Vol. i, p. 101.

Other authentic names are Loafer Hill, Hell's Delight, Poverty Hill, Hen-Roost Camp, One Eye, Petticoat Slide, Gospel Gulch. Hittell in Resources of California gives a list of a hundred such names.

Tin Cup was so named because the first miners there found the placers so rich that they measured their gold in pint tin cups. Marysville, still a prosperous town, was named after the only American woman in the vicinity. Pine Log was so called because there happened to be a log across the river which the miners used in crossing.

"In the old California camps, as we have seen, the verbal conveyance of a claim was sufficient. Until 1860 the validity of such verbal sales was fully sustained by the State courts."—Mining Camps: A Study in American Frontier Government. By Charles Howard Shinn. New York. 1885. p. 274.

"The Californians punished theft more than murder, because men carried their lives about with them, and might defend them, but property left to itself was defenceless. Moreover, where every man was obliged to defend himself, and in a measure to right his own wrongs, greater license was allowed in the employment of deadly weapons."—Popular Tribunals. Vol. i, p. 119.

"'We needed no law,' writes an old pioneer, 'until the lawyers came'; and this idea is repeated in a thousand forms. 'There were few crimes,' says one correspondent, 'until the courts with their delays and technicalities took the place of miners' law.' This is, in truth, the persistent prejudice against lawyers that has existed among frontiersmen in every age of the world."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 120.

"The typical lynching occurred, indeed, in a community of Americans, where everybody was by habit disposed to joke in public and seem cheerful as he could, and to listen to all sorts of eloquence; but the affair itself was no expression of this formal joviality, nor yet of this submissiveness to oratorical leadership. It proceeded from a mood of utter revulsion against the accustomed good-humor of the camp. It was regarded as a matter of stern, merciless, business necessity. It was unconscious of any jocular character. Disorderly lynching affairs in some few cases, do, indeed, appear to have been mere drunken frolics. But nearly all, even of the most disorderly affairs, and that, too, where their cruelty was most manifest, had in them no element of the merely jocular. They expressed an often barbarous fury."—California: A Study of American Character. By Josiah Royce. Boston. 1886. "An American miner assaulted a Spaniard at Condemned Bar; and the Spaniard in self-defense wounded the miner. The mob spirit was aroused and the miners determined that the Spaniard should be hanged. Acting on the advice of the camp judge, who thought the act justifiable, the Spaniard attempted to escape by jumping into the river and was shot. A bystander pronounced the proceedings an outrage, and was at once killed by the mob, which even talked of hanging their judge."—Bancroft's Popular Tribunals. Vol. i, p. 532.

"All gradations, we have said, can be found in the popular justice of the mines, from the most orderly and wisely conducted expression of outraged popular sentiment which is in any way possible outside of the forms of law, down to the most brutal and disgraceful outbursts of mob fury. I wish that the latter class of incidents had been rarer than one actually finds them."—Royce's California.

"Abbott also tells that he was about to be hanged without trial on suspicion of having stolen a belt of gold. One of his friends leveled a gun on the crowd and swore to shoot the man that put a rope on Abbott's neck. Abbott had accused one of the men in the crowd of the theft. The miners finally agreed to put Abbott and the man he had accused in a tunnel, by themselves, where they were to remain until one of them confessed. Abbott's friend managed to give him, unobserved by the miners, a gun. Inside the tunnel Abbott leveled this gun at the head of the man he thought guilty. The fellow confessed and produced the stolen gold."—Abbott's Recollections of a California Pioneer, p. 99.

The stormy rush with which these young miners swept into the country may be judged from the following: In February, 1848, there were 2,000 Americans in California; December, 1849, there were 53,000; by 1854 there were 300,000.—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 132.

Five men stopped to camp beside a gulch, and naturally tested the gravel. It was a remote place and proved very rich. It was a week before another prospector came near them—but thirteen days from the time they had stopped to camp there were eight thousand miners in the new town; and the camp was named Columbia.

"It was a mad, furious race for wealth, in which men lost their identity almost, and toiled and wrestled, and lived a fierce, riotous, wearing, fearfully excited life; forgetting home and kindred,; abandoning old steady habits; acquiring all the restlessness, craving for stimulant, unscrupulousness, hardihood, impulsive generosity, and lavish ways, which have puzzled the students of human nature who have have undertaken to portray or to analyze that extraordinary period."—Parson's Life of Marshall.

"The early camps of California did more than merely to destroy all fictitious social standards. They began at once to create new bonds of human fellowship. The most interesting of these was the social and spiritual significance given to the partnership idea. It soon became almost as sacred as the marriage-bond. The exigencies of the work of mining-claims required two or three persons to labor together if they would utilize their strength to the best advantage. The legal contract of partnerships, common in settled communities, became, under these circumstances, the brother-like tie of pard-nership, sacred by camp custom, protected by camp-law; and its few infringements were treated as crimes against every miner."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 111.

"Those who were very fortunate often indulged in curious and expensive whims and 'extravaganzas,' feeling sure that their claims would continue to yield treasure. They bought the costliest broadcloth, drank the finest wines, and smoked the best brands of cigars.... Men who had been brought up to keep sober, and earn sixteen dollars a month and save half of it, went to California, found rich claims, earned several hundred dollars a month—of which they might have saved three-fourths—but spent every cent in riotous living. Men who had been New York hod-carriers paid out ten dollars a day for canned fruits and potted meats. But only a few years later, when the surface placers were all exhausted, these same unkempt sybarites returned to beans and pork, strapped up their blankets, and made prospect tours to other regions, taking their reverses more placidly than one could have thought possible."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 139.

"Sickness was an expensive pastime in those days, and to indulge in some diseases was much more costly than in others. The fee-bill of the San Francisco medical society, organized June 22nd, 1850, gives the prices for various visits and operations ranging from $16—one ounce—the lowest, to $1,000. A single visit was $32; for every hour detained, $32 additional; advice $50 to $100; night visits as consulting physicians $100; for various specified operations from $500 to $1,000.... At Yeates' rancho, in 1849, a man died. He had two yoke of cattle and a large quantity of provisions in his wagon. Dr. Sparks took care of him, and when he died claimed the cattle and wagon for the doctor's bill. Dr. Sparks was soon taken sick and Dr. Clinton took care of him. Sparks died and Clinton took cattle, wagon, provisions and all the property Sparks had, for his bill."—California Inter Pocula, p. 351.

"Near Downieville, John Sykes sank a hole as deep as a man working alone would dare go, and got such a poor showing that he sold out to three miners for $100. Two feet deeper the new owners began to take out gold; and in sixty days took out $60,000."—Autobiography of Charley Peters, p. 207.

"Many of the miners decline washing the top dirt at all, but try to reach as quickly as possible the bed-rock, where are found the richest deposits of gold. The bed-rock, which in this vicinity is of slate, is said to run through the entire range, lying in distances varying from a few feet to eighty or ninety below the surface of the soil. Many holes, which had been excavated and prepared for working at great expense, caved in during the heavy rains of the fall and winter."—The Shirley Letters from California Mines in 1851-52. By Mrs. Louise Amelia Knapp Smith Clappe.

(These letters, written from the mines, appeared in the Pioneer Magazine of 1854-55 under the pen name of Dame Shirley; and were first reprinted by Thomas C. Russell, San Francisco, 1922. The Shirley Letters are a unique and valuable source for gathering color and intimacies of early camp. life. Even Bret Harte borrowed from Dame Shirley.)

Until the miners began to catch on to the tricks tricks that the rivers played with gold they would work both sides of a stream where there was a bar. Ryan in in his Personal Adventures tells of working almost by the the side of a man who was growing rich while others near him had no luck at all.

Dame Shirley tells of one pan of dirt at Rich Bar that contained $1,500.

Three Mexicans, prospecting in Bear Valley, south of Sonora, took out $200,000 in a week. Fearing that the claim would be taken from them because they were "Greasers" they entered into partnership with four American miners who had treated them kindly; and from a hole twelve feet deep and twenty feet square the seven men in twenty days removed $400,000. A month later over three thousand miners were on the ground; but before another month had passed the diggings were abandoned—played out.—Autobiography of Charley Peters, p. 131.

"Men, in some cases, pulled up bunches of grass from the gulches and hillsides, shaking them into buckets, thus obtaining many pounds of gold; one miner gained $16,000 thus in five weeks. Another miner cleaned up $18,000 in one day's labor with pan and pick."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 119.

Two other newcomers at Marysville found a thirty pound nugget and immediately returned to the States for the purpose of exhibiting it at fifty cents a look; all told, they had been in California less than thirty days. Near Kelsey, El Dorado County, a newcomer sat watching a miner clean up his sluice boxes. The miner threw away a large stone; the newcomer picked it up: it was a shell of quartz containing a yelk of gold weighing two pounds.—Bancroft in California Inter Pocula.

"The secret of Clarke's success in finding rich diggings was that he had no theory, but that he would go around prospecting in the most inconceivable places, untrammeled by the laws of science or even by the likelihood of auriferous distribution. His knowledge of cause and effect began and stopped at the proposition that if he drank too much whisky he would get drunk, and he was very assiduous in demonstrating the truth of his proposition."—Gold and Sunshine: Reminiscences of Early California. By Col. James J. Ayers. Boston, 1922.

The miners believed that "drunken sailors" were blessed with luck. Clarke was a sailor, and one night while drunk fell into a gulch, and in trying to climb out tore up the ground. The next morning he saw that he had uncovered gold; and from this claim in two weeks took out $70,000. This camp became known as Steep Gulch and was mined for ten years. Ten years later a nugget weighing 28 pounds was found sticking in a bank where it had been overlooked.- Charley Peters' Autobiography.

"It is difficult to understand why gold remained so long undiscovered in California, considering that so much of it was on the surface, even in those parts of the country already inhabited by whites.... Some of the best diggings have been discovered by market gardeners, who have chosen some apparently valueless tract for the purpose of cabbage growing. ... For four years Holden's acre of cabbage ground has been worked with great profit, pieces of gold of many pounds each have been taken from it."—Marryat's Mountains and Mole hills, p. 279.

The following story is also told by Marryat: "One of the miners died, and having been much respected, it was determined to give give him a regular funeral. A digger in the vicinity, who, report said had once been a powerful preacher in the United States, was called upon to  officiate; and after 'drinks all round,' the party proceeded with becoming gravity, to to the grave, which had been dug at a distance of a hundred yards from the camp. When this spot was reached, the officiating minister commenced with an extempore prayer, during which all knelt round the grave. So far all was well; but the prayer  was unnecessarily long, and at last some of those who knelt, began began, in an abstracted way, to finger the loose earth that had been thrown up from the grave. It was thick with gold; and an excitement was immediately apparent in the kneeling crowd. Upon this the preacher stopped, and inquiringly said, 'Boys, what's that? Gold!' he continued, 'and the richest kind of diggings—the congregation are dismissed!' The poor miner was taken from his auriferous grave and was buried elsewhere, while the funeral party, with the parson at their head, lost no time in prospecting the new digging."—p. 324. Charley Peters' Autobiography tells the same story but says the funeral was postponed until the claims had been staked.

"Nothing was sacred: all rights were subject to the claims of the miner. Many a case occurred, where the entire town was moved to an adjacent spot, and every inch of the soil on which it stood was sluiced away from grass-roots to bed-rock. In many other cases, the miners thought it better to tunnel underneath, and work out the layers of rich gravel as best they could; though this sometimes caused disasters, and buildings slid from their foundations."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 265.

The State courts of early California decided that "all persons who settle for agricultural purposes upon any mining land in California so settle at their own risk." Many early farms were literally washed away by miners.

"It was a strange sight to see a party of long-bearded men, in heavy boots and flannel shirts, going through all the steps and figures of the dance with so much spirit, and often with a great deal of grace, hearty enjoyment depicted on their dried up, sunburned faces, and revolvers and bowie knives glancing in their belts; while a crowd of the same rough-looking customers stood around, cheering them on to greater efforts, and occasionally dancing a step or two quietly on their own account. Dancing parties such as these were very common, especially in smaller camps where there was no such general resort as the gambling saloons of the larger towns. Whenever a fiddler could be found to play, a dance was got up. Waltzes and polkas were not so much in fashion as the lancers, which appeared to be very generally known, and, besides, gave plenty of exercise to the light fantastic toes of the dancers, for here men danced, as they did everything else, with all their might; and to go through the lancers in such company was a very severe gymnastic exercise. The absence of ladies was a difficulty which was very easily overcome, by a simple arrangement whereby it was understood that every gentleman who had a patch on a certain part of his inexpressibles should be considered a lady for the time being. These patches were rather fashionable, and were usually large squares of canvas, showing brightly on a dark ground, so that the 'ladies' of the party were as conspicuous as if they had been surrounded by the usual quantity of white muslin."—Borthwick's Gold Hunters, chapter XXI.

"I think that I have never spoken to you of the mournful extent to which profanity prevails in California. You know that at home it is considered vulgar for a gentleman to swear; but I am told that here it is absolutely the fashion, and that people who never uttered an oath in their lives while in the 'States,' now clothe themselves with curses as with a garment."—The Shirley Letters, p. 79.

"Society was masculine, and most of the men were under forty. In the spring of 1849 there were but fifteen women in San Francisco.... Bearded and weather-bronzed miners stood for hours in the streets to get a glimpse of a child at play. At a little later period, there were plenty of women who were 'vile libels on their sex'; but the reverence that Californians of the gold era paid to respectable women has received a tribute of admiring praise from all observers. Men often traveled miles to welcome 'the first real lady into camp.'"—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 137.

A very fine camp hotel had been built at Rich Bar. Everything was packed in at a freight charge of forty cents per pound. It was built by gamblers as a house of prostitution. Dame Shirley says: "To the lasting honor of miners be it written, the speculation proved a decided failure.... These unhappy members of a class, to one of which the tenderest words that Jesus ever spake were uttered, left in a few weeks, absolutely driven away by public opinion. The disappointed gamblers sold the house to its present proprietor for a few hundred dollars."—p. 39.

"Joe Cannon, a respected miner, while drunk broke into the house of a Mexican girl, the mistress of a monte dealer. She killed him. This was in Downieville, July 5th, 1851. Five thousand men gathered in the town, angrily demanding punishment of the murderess. She was was young, 'scarcely five feet high, with a slender symmetrical figure, agile and extremely graceful in her movements.... Her name was Juanita.... And now when the enraged miners with a blow of the fist burst her door door and stood before her, Juanita manifested not the slightest fear; and yet she knew she must die.... Probably in the history of mobs there was never a form of trial more farcical than this.' She was put on a pavilion in the center of the town and 'twelve men responded eagerly to the call for a jury. .... A humane physician, Dr. Cyrus D. Aiken, mounted the stand and testified that she was not in a fit condition to be hanged. What such testimony had to do with the case nobody knew or cared. A howl of disapproval followed; the good doctor was driven from the stand, from the town, and dared not return or show himself for several days. A Mr. Thayer of Nevada attempted a speech on behalf of the prisoner ... but he was beaten off the platform—ay, kicked from the tribunal; and on reaching the crowd without, where a passage way was opened for him, he was kicked along this gauntlet out of town.... So Juanita was tried.... She twisted up her long black tresses, smoothed her dress, placed the noose over her head and arranged the rope in a proper manner, and finally, lifting her hands, which she refused to have tied, exclaimed Adois, Señores! and the fatal signal was given."—Popular Tribunals. Vol. I, p. 577 seq.

"All accounts make her (Juanita) a woman of considerable beauty, of some intelligence and vivacity, and of a still quite youthful appearance; and she seems to have been a person not at all despised in the camp.... One who fancies that the fair prisoner was overwhelmed with abject terror all this while does not know her race. That same afternoon she was to suffer, and when the time came, she walked out very quietly and amiably, with hair neatly braided, stepped up to the improvised gallows, and made a short speech, in which she bade them all a cheerful farewell, and said that she had no defense for her crime, save that she had been made very angry by Cannon and would surely do the same thing again if she were to be spared, and were again to be as much insulted by anybody. Then she adjusted her own noose and cheerfully passed away."—Royce's California, p. 368 seq.

(This account was gathered by Prof. Royce from the account of an eye-witness appearing in a San Francisco newspaper.)

When the Mexican girl, Juanita, was brought forth at Downieville, voices were heard to cry, "Give her a fair trial and hang her!"

Besides the illustration of indifference to death given by Juanita, there are many instances confirming the Spaniard's same calm attitude in the face of the rope. A Spaniard who understood no English was abusively sentenced to be hanged by a judge at San Jose in 1850, who demanded of the prisoner in broken Spanish if he understood. "... evidently he did understand, for with the characteristic nonchalance of his race, he replied, illustrating by signs and gurglings the hanging and choking process: 'Yes, sir, I am to be hanged at a rope's end; strangled, so; it is nothing; thank you.'"—California Inter Pocula, p. 656.

The Shirley Letters tell of a young Spaniard who begged for the rope to escape the whip.

The description of the founding of Auburn is taken from California Illustrated, by a "returned" miner.

Oddly enough, this name was first applied in the early California trading days by the Spaniards to the Americans and English because they bought hides and tallow; and the latter returned the compliment because the Californians sold it—California Pastoral. By Hubert Howe Bancroft. San Francisco. 1888. p. 290.

"This tendency to despise, abuse, and override the Spanish-American, may well be called one of the darkest threads in the fabric of Anglo-Saxon frontier government."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 218.

"The zeal of General Smith in proposing to exclude foreigners from the mines gave countenance to a class which stood prepared to achieve it by forcible measures. A number of isolated affairs took place, chiefly in ejecting Spanish-Americans from desirable claims, which the usurpers proceeded to work with a tacit approval of their countrymen."—Bancroft's History of California. Vol. vi, p. 403.

It may be interesting to note that among the Spanish Basques neither lawyers nor priests are permitted to represent the people legislatively, because, say the Basques, members of these professions are always on the side of tyranny.

California's most famous bandit was the young Spaniard Joaquin Murieta. "He was but a few months more than twenty-one years of age when he died, and his brilliant career of crime occupied him less than three years. His manner was frank and cordial; his voice silvery and though so youthful in appearance there was that about him which made him both loved and feared, and which impressed both friend and stranger alike with profound respect. Murieta had higher aims than mere revenge and pillage. His continuous conflicts with military and civil authorities, and armed populace, would in any other country in America have been dignified with the term revolution. It is easy to see that he regarded himself rather as a champion of his country than as an outlaw. Joaquin, when in his seventeenth year, became enamoured of the beautiful dark-eyed Rosita Felix, who was of Castilian descent, and sweet sixteen; she returned his passion with all the ardor of her nature. Her hard-grained old father on discovering this amour flew into a rage and would have vented it upon the boy had he not taken flight. Rosita followed her lover to the northern wilderness, assisted him in his efforts at honest living, attended him, through all the perils of his unlawful achievements."

Joaquin at first was an honest miner; but a party of Americans entered his cabin, warned him from the camp, beat him unconscious and assaulted his wife. Soon afterward Joaquin rode into a camp on a horse that he had borrowed from his brother; he was accused of having stolen the horse from a miner, protested his innocence, said that he had borrowed the horse.

"He was pulled from the saddle, and amid cries of 'kill the thief, hang the greaser,' they hurriedly carried him to the rancho of his brother, whom they summarily launched into eternity from the limb of a neighboring tree. Joaquin was stripped, bound to the same tree, and flogged. He looked around and stamped the features of each of his persecutors on the tablets of his memory. When the executioners had finished their work, they departed, leaving him with his dead. It was then that Joaquin Murieta registered his oath of vengeance which he so relentlessly kept."

There are countless stories of his appalling audacity and cruelty and unexpected kindnesses. Sometimes there were as many as eighty horsemen attending him at other times he rode alone into towns and camps. He, and his even more ferocious lieutenant, Three-Fingered Jack, were surprised by rangers and killed.

"For purposes of identification, the head of Joaquin and the mutilated hand of Three-Fingered Jack, were severed from the bodies, and, preserved in spirits, were brought to San Francisco in August 1853. The head was placed on exhibition, as the following notice, which appeared in the papers of the city on the 18th of August, and for several days following, will show:

"The execution was conducted by the jury, and was performed by throwing the cord one end of which was attached to the neck of the prisoner, across the limb of of a tree standing outside of the Rich Bar graveyard, when all who felt disposed to engage in so revolting a task lifted the poor wretch from the ground in the most awkward manner possible. The whole affair, indeed, was a piece of cruel butchery, though that was not intentional, but arose from the ignorance of those who made the preparations. In truth, life was only crushed out of him by hauling the writhing body up and down, several times in succession, by the rope, which was wound round a large bough of his green-leaved gallows. Almost everybody was surprized at the severity of the sentence, and many, with their hands on the cord, did not believe even then that it would be carried into effect, but thought that at the last moment the jury would release the prisoner and substitute a milder punishment. Many of the drunkards, who form a large part of the community on these bars, laughed and shouted as if it were a spectacle got up for their particular amusement. A disgusting specimen of intoxicated humanity, struck with one of those luminous ideas peculiar to his class, staggered up to the victim, who was praying at the moment, and, crowding a dirty rag into his almost unconscious hand, in a voice broken by drunken hiccough, tearfully implored him to take his 'hankercher,' and if he were innocent (the man had not denied his guilt since first accused) to drop it as soon as he was drawn up into the air, but if guilty not to let it fall on any account.

"The body of the criminal was allowed to hang for some hours after the execution. It had commenced storming in the earlier part of the evening, and when those whose business it was to inter the remains arrived at the spot, they found them enwrapped in a soft white shroud of feathery snowflakes, as if pitying Nature had tried to hide from the offended face of Heaven the cruel deed which her mountain-children had committed."—The Shirley Letters, p. 155.

"I was in many camps down to 1854, and in none did I ever know of a theft of gold, and I heard of but one, and that was punished by a cat-o'-nine tails, which was afterward nailed to the center-post of a trader's tent, as a warning to evil-doers."—E. G. Waite, "Pioneer Mining in California." The Century Magazine. Vol. xx.

William T. Coleman, Chairman of the San Francisco Vigilance Committees of 1851, 1856 and 1857, relates that when he went to the mines in the summer of '49 he "noticed large piles of goods outside the stores and tents, unprotected, and I asked if they were left out all night and were safe. The answers were all affirmative. The doors of houses had no locks, or they were unused; the tents had no fastenings, yet there were no losses of property, as every trespasser knew that in theft he would hazard his life. This I afterwards found was the condition all over the country. The miner without fear or hesitation would leave his bag of gold-dust under his pillow and go to his camp for a day's work. Reports of robberies and assaults soon became common."—"San Francisco Vigilance Committees." The Century Magazine. Vol. xxi.

"The fact is that the Americans who precipitated themselves upon California at that time were the very flower of the American people. They were young men, or men in the very prime and vigor of manhood, for the trip at that period, both by land and sea, presented difficulties which had charms only for the supple and adventurous."—Col. Ayers in Gold and Sunshine, p. 341.

One '49er records that a gold watch and chain being found on a trail near camp, it was suspended by the finder to a branch of a tree overhanging the trail and remained there several days until the owner himself chanced by.

"It is simply and literally true that there was a short time in California, in 1848, when crime was almost absolutely unknown, when pounds and pints of gold were left unguarded in tents and cabins, or thrown down on the hillsides, or handed about through a crowd for inspection. Men have told me that they have known as much as a wash-basinful of gold-dust to be left on the table, in an open tent, while the owners were at work in their claim a mile distant."—Shinn's Mining Camps, p. 119.

The very brief business depression that fell upon California in the winter of '49 was preceded by a most sensational upward rise of values. "The mining districts soon became almost destitute of provisions, and the country impassable in consequence of the immense fall of rain. There was a reported scarcity of flour, and it rose in one day at San Francisco, from $16 to $40 per barrel, and in the mines from 30 cents to $1.50 per pound.... Many kinds of goods had become extremely scarce, and were selling at exorbitant prices.... The interior, or mining region, were entirely destitute, and merchants were in town from every point, trying to contract for the transportation of goods. Teamsters knew the country to be impassable, and although as high as $50 and even $100 per 100 pounds was offered for a distance of fifty miles, no one would make the attempt. The consequence was that miners were driven into town in many cases to prevent starvation. ... Business was transacted on a gigantic scale, and with an indomitable energy, but with a recklessness unparalleled.... A revulsion was inevitable.... All found themselves overwhelmed with liabilities, and, with a very few exceptions, none could even make a fractional dividend in favor of their creditors."—California Illustrated.

"Lumber, worth $400 per thousand one month, would not pay for the freight four months later; tobacco, once worth two dollars a pound, was tossed into the street. Saleratus fluctuated between twenty-five cents and $15 per pound. The entire community was dependent for food and clothing upon other communities thousands of miles distant. And the rate of interest was ten per cent. per month."—Shinn's Mining Camps.

"Several doorkeepers were in attendance, to whom each man as he entered delivered up his knife or pistol, receiving a check for it, just as one does for his cane or umbrella at the door of a picture gallery. Most men drew a pistol from behind their back, and very often a knife along with it; some carried their bowie-knife down the back of their neck, or in their breast; demure, pious-looking men, in white neckcloths, lifted up the bottom of their waistcoats, and revealed the butt of a revolver; others, after having already disgorged a pistol, pulled up the leg of their trousers, and abstracted a huge bowie-knife from the leg of their boots.... If any man declared that he had no weapon, the statement was so incredible that he had to submit to be searched."—Borthwick's Gold Hunters. Chapter iv.

San Francisco was five times destroyed by fire in three years. The first was the least serious.

"The first of the series took place early on Christmas Eve, 1849, after one of those nights of revelry characterizing the flush days. It started in Denison's exchange, in the midst of the gambling district, on the east side of the plaza, next to the Parker House, the flames being observed about 6, December 24th.... Although the weather was calm, the flames spread to the rear and sides among the tinder walls that filled the block, till the greater part of it presented a mass of flames. So scorching was the heat that houses on the opposite side of the street, and even beyond, threatened to ignite. Fortunately the idea occurred to cover them with blankets, which were kept freely saturated. One merchant paid one dollar a bucket for water to this end; others bespattered their walls with mud.... Buckets and blankets might have availed little, however, but for the prompt order to pull down and blow up a line of houses, and so cut off food for the flames.... While the fire was still smoldering, its victims could be seen busily planning for new buildings. Within a few days many of the destroyed resorts had had been replaced with structures better than been their predecessors. Toward the end of of January, 1850, not a vestige of the fire remained. Cornwall contracted to to raise raise the exchange within fifteen days, or forfeit $500 for every day in excess of the term."—Bancroft's History of California. Vol. vi. Footnote. p. 202.

Ryan in his Personal Adventures, vol. ii, p. 405, records: "While the fire was still burning, one of the parties who had lost most heavily by the conflagration bargained for and repurchased lumber to rebuild his house, and before six o'clock the same evening, he had concluded and signed a contract with a builder to reconstruct his house in sixteen days, under a penalty."

"... After all, however, our lesson is an old and simple one. It is the State, the Social Order, that is divine. We are all but the dust, save as this social order gives us life. When we think it our instrument, our plaything, and make our private fortunes the one object, then this social order rapidly becomes vile to us; we call it sordid, degraded, corrupt, unspiritual, and ask how we may escape from it forever. But if we turn again and serve the social order, and not merely ourselves, we soon find that what we are serving is simply our own highest spiritual destiny in bodily form. It is never truly sordid or corrupt or unspiritual; it is only we that are so when we neglect our duty."—Royce's California, p. 501.