Page:Sherman - Memoirs of Gen. William T. Sherman, 1891, Volume 1.djvu/37

 over &#xfb01;ve hundred miles. The younger o&#xfb03;cers had been discussing what the general would do with Fremont, who was supposed to be in a state of mutiny. Some thought he would be tried and shot, some that he would be carried back in irons; and all agreed that if any one else than Fremont had put on such airs, and has acted as he had done, Kearney would have shown him no mercy, for he was regarded as the strictest sort of disciplinarian. We had a pleasant ride across the plain which lies between the sea-shore and Los Angeles, which we reached in about three hours, the infantry following on foot. We found Colonel P. St. George Cooke living at the house of a Mr. Pryor, and the company of dragoons, with A. J. Smith, Davidson, Stoneman, and Dr. Gri&#xfb03;n, quartered in an adobe-house close by. Fremont held his court in the only two-story frame-house in the place. After some time spent at Pryor’s house, General Kearney ordered me to call on Fremont to notify him of his arrival, and that he desired to see him. I walked round to the house which had been pointed out to me as his, inquired of a man at the door if the colonel was in, was answered “Yes,” and was conducted to a large room on the second &#xfb02;oor, where very soon Fremont came in, and I delivered my message. As I was on the point of leaving, he inquired where I was going to, and I answered that I was going back to Pryor’s house, where the general was, when he remarked that if I would wait a moment he would go along. Of course I waited, and he soon joined me, dressed much as a Californian, with the peculiar high, broad-brimmed hat, with a fancy cord, and we walked together back to Pryor’s, where I left him with General Kearney. We spent several days very pleasantly at Los Angeles, then, as now, the chief pueblo of the south, famous for its grapes, fruits, and wines. There was a hill close to the town, from which we had a perfect view of the place. The surrounding country is level, utterly devoid of trees, except the willows and cotton-woods that line the Los Angeles Creek and the acequias, or ditches, which lead from it. The space of ground cultivated in vineyards seemed about &#xfb01;ve miles by one, embracing the town. Every house had its inclosure of vineyard, which resembled a miniature orchard, the vines being very old, ranged