The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mysteries and Miseries of San Francisco, by Californian This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Mysteries and Miseries of San Francisco Showing up all the various characters and notabilities, (both in high and low life) that have figured in San Franciso since its settlement. Author: Californian Release Date: February 14, 2019 [EBook #58890] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYSTERIES, MISERIES OF SAN FRANCISCO *** Produced by Richard Hulse, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES OF SAN FRANCISCO. THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES OF SAN FRANCISCO. BY A CALIFORNIAN. SHOWING UP ALL THE VARIOUS CHARACTERS AND NOTABILITIES, (BOTH IN HIGH AND LOW LIFE) THAT HAVE FIGURED IN SAN FRANCISCO SINCE ITS SETTLEMENT. NEW-YORK: GARRETT & CO., PUBLISHERS, No. 18 Ann-Street. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by GARRETT & CO., In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-York. THE MYSTERIES AND MISERIES OF SAN FRANCISCO. CHAPTER I The Alarm—The Flames—The Ladder. San Francisco, on the marge of the sea, with towering hills behind her, lay basking in the sun like a serpent by the side of a rock. The dwellings of the more fortunate classes loomed pleasantly on the side of the large round hills in the distance, and might with the aid of a little fancy, have been metamorphosed into the castellated domains of the feudal barons whose reign succeeded that of absolute barbarism in Europe. Those quiet dwellings amid the solitude of nature, present a vivid contrast to the stirring scenes of the town below, and accordingly all who possess taste and the means of gratifying it, rear a building among the hills to which they can retire, after the fatigues of the day, and solace themselves with the comforts of domestic retiracy, and the grand simplicity of nature. In giving a coup d’œil at the scene, from the city itself, one is struck by the pointed roof rising above a range of hills which lie to the south west of the noble harbor, and which crowns a dark pile that, on a nearer approach, seems to lean against the side of a mountain upon whose peak linger the last beams of the setting sun. This extensive edifice is the dwelling or homestead of the wealthy and far-famed Senor de Castro, an old resident of the country, and one of the proudest of the ancient lords of the soil. His horses are the best, his table the most sumptuous, and his servants the most numerous of any ranchero in the regions round about California. It was early on one afternoon in June, 18—, that several young men, mostly Americans, were conversing around a table in one of the principle Cafes in the young city of San Francisco; a stout robust man nearly forty years of age, and dressed partly in the English style and partly in that of the country, with leggings and heavy blunt spurs, and a red sash about his middle, was discussing the merit of the auguadent sold in Santiago, a city of Chile, and having become very eloquent on this important topic, he set down his glass upon the table so violently as to shatter it to atoms. ‘Give me your good old-fashioned horn tumbler,’ cried he, with an oath, ‘and leave these baby-toys to the women and children!’ ‘You like to take your liquor in a horn?’ said a young American clerk to a provision dealer, ‘now I prefer a glass, if it were only for the cleanliness of the thing, Yes, by the mass! Give me a glass To toast a lass, In horns should never be, Remembered when We married men Quaff denty or chee chee.’ ‘You married men!’ exclaimed the stouter disputant, laughing. ‘A marriage extempore,’ muttered a saturnine young American, with an enormous head of black hair. ‘When are you going to send that little girl back to her mother?’ ‘Silence, Pothook!’ cried the other, ‘you know that you would have given all the old shoes in your locker to have got one smile from her, yourself—’ ‘Yes, envious Pothook,’ cried another youth, whose accent betrayed the Cockney, ‘if Cardwell has a notion to settle down in the calm of domestic life, and—’ ‘Settle! Ten thousand blunderbusses!’ laughed the stout man, ‘When did you ever know Cardwell to settle anything but his grog bills—them’s the settlements he is most accustomed to.’ ‘But I mean,’ added the Cockney; ‘that he is not running around after every pretty face like—like some people, always excepting the present honorable company, as a matter of course.’ ‘Oh! of course!’ said Pothook feelingly. ‘Yet,’ remarked a tall, pale young man, who seemed to have recovered from some dangerous illness—‘Yet, let me tell you that Cardwell is not so innocent after all, as he seems to be. I saw him, the other day, stand for half an hour, looking up at a certain house in Clay street with all the eyes in his head, and meaning no offence to the gentleman, I don’t by any manner of means dispute his taste.’ ‘Oh! the young villain!’ cried the stout man, roaring with laughter. In the midst of his jollity and noisy vociferations, a young fellow from ‘the States’ who had been silent until then, demurely asked—‘Do any of you know what is good for rats?’ This made the stout man laugh still louder—‘You had better inquire what is bad for rats,’ said he at length; ‘for to judge by their sleek hides and plump bellies, I should think they had already had enough that was good and wholesome —perdition catch the born devils! Last night, about an hour before morning—’ the speaker stopped, as the sound of a bell rang violently, and the cry of ‘fire’ at once arose in the streets. ‘Never mind, go on!’ said the Cockney. ‘Never mind the bell,’ said Cardwell. ‘We can’t be disturbed in our pleasures by these domestic affairs.’ ‘Why, by the noise,’ said the stout man, ‘it would appear that there was a polite invitation given to all citizens that their presence might be required in the adjoining streets, and as the wind is coming up fresh—’ ‘There is no time to be lost, my good fellows!’ cried a tall, elegantly formed youth, rushing into the apartment from an adjoining room. ‘Half the city is in flames!’ So saying, the youth hastened away, followed by the revellers. The whole town was in an uproar. As they gained the street, they were met by the strong sea breeze that filled the air with dust, and betokened no good to those whose property was at that moment encircled by the flames. The Sansome Truck Company, with their hooks and ladders, were rushing by, their scarlet coats powdered with dust, and making the welkin ring with their shouts. The elegant youth of whom we have spoken was one of the first that reached the fire. Already was the house of Senor del Castro completely enveloped by sheets of flame, and from the windows of some of the adjoining buildings the streams of fire darted forth, and moved swiftly off toward the South on the wings of the gale. Several persons, among whom were Cardwell, and the stout man of the cafe, busied themselves in tearing up the planks in the immediate vicinity of the conflagration, for the streets being laid down with plank, instead of stones, aid greatly in the spread of the flames. The firemen had brought streams of water to bear on the principal building, when suddenly there appeared at an upper window, a fair and youthful female form, evidently belonging to one of the higher classes of the country, whose dark hair fell in rich masses about her shoulders, and partly concealed a face in which the snow and the rose contended for mastery. For an instant every one paused in astonishment, nor was her overmastering beauty unheeded in that moment of fearful excitement; for the cry that a woman was in the house now rose shrilly on the air, and was echoed in every street in the city. The ladders were hurried to the spot by men frantic in their haste to save so fair a specimen of mortality from a dreadful death, while the object of all this interest, the lovely cause of the wild confusion that pervaded the masses below, simply placed one little white hand to her eyes as if to shut out the sight of the surrounding horrors, and steadied herself with the other by placing it on the sill of the window. In the moment that the ladder was placed against the side of the house, a shrill cry was heard in the rear of the firemen, and a stately form was seen forcing itself through the throng with giant strides, and thrusting aside everybody and everything which opposed its progress. One glance was sufficient to convince the spectators that the father of the imperilled girl was rushing to her rescue. His hat was gone, and his dark but silvered locks floated on the breeze, the sweat stood in beads upon his broad forehead, and his face, though bearded and mustachioed according to the custom of the country, was pale with anxiety and horror. ‘Oh, for the love of God!’ cried he, ‘my daughter! my daughter!’ As he reached the front of the building, the flames gushing from the lower windows drove back the brave men who had charge of the ladder. The Senor del Castro clasped his hands, and uttering a cry of despair, would have rushed into the house, the lower part of which was completely filled with flames. The stout man of the cafe threw himself upon the distracted father, and by the timely aid of Cardwell and the Cockney, succeeded in dragging him out of the reach of danger. But the fire companies had not been idle while these events were transpiring. They had brought the ladder to the building at another place. They had placed it firmly against the side of the house, when a man, addressing an officer of the Fire Department, exclaimed in a tone of despair, ‘Oh, my God! Charley, the ladder is too short. It don’t reach anywhere near the window!’ Quicker than thought, Charley placed himself in front of the window at which the girl stood, and bade them place the feet of the ladder on his shoulders. In an instant, this was done, one foot of the ladder resting on each of his shoulders. The elegant youth of the cafe then sprang forward— ‘That’s right, Monteagle,’ cried Charley, ‘climb right up by me and then on the ladder; bring down the young lady or never live to tell of your failure.’ But before these words had been fairly uttered, the daring youth was half way up the ladder. All eyes were now fixed on the adventurer. For a moment all seemed silent except the hysteric wailings of the anguished father, and the awful roaring of the flames, as the wind swept through every aperture of the building, and added ten-fold to the fury of the conflagration. Before Monteagle had reached the lower sill of the window, he was discovered to be on fire; but at almost the same instant, a stream of water from the pipe of an engine drenched him to the skin. Then both the youth and the girl were entirely hidden from view by the rolling forth of a dense volume of smoke streaked with flame. One cry—one general cry of despair burst from the throng below, and the Senor, not doubting that both his daughter and her deliverer had perished, gave a deep groan and sunk senseless to the earth. But loud rose the voice of Charley upon the air at the awful crisis—‘They are alive yet! Don’t be frightened, man, I feel the weight of both of them on my shoulders, now— now—the ladder shakes! they are coming down!’ Several men with large ponchos were crowded around the bottom of the ladder to smother the flames, in case the young lady should be on fire, by wrapping her tightly in these ample garments, and they looked up on hearing the cheerful exclamations of Charley. The feet and legs of a man were discerned below the smoke that had enveloped the upper part of the ladder, then the bottom of a lady’s robe, and finally the face of Monteagle begrimed and blistered looked down upon the trembling expectants. The head of the girl reclined on the shoulder of the gallant youth, her black hair flowing down his back, while her arms hung listless by his sides—she was in a state of insensibility. As soon as Monteagle and his lovely burthen were within reach of the multitude a dozen hands grasped them, and while the friends of the youth bore him off on their shoulders to administer such healing remedies as his case required, for a part of his hair—his heavy brown locks—was burnt off, and a blister on his forehead showed too plainly that a moment longer would have consigned both the young lady and her deliverer to the realm from which no returning spirit has come back to describe the final parting of the soul from its material envelope. The girl herself was carried to the arms of her father, who, just awaking from his swoon, cried in a gasping voice ‘Inez! Inez! where is my Inez?’ and plucking a sharp-pointed dagger from his breast, he was about to end his agony by thrusting it to the hilt in his heart. Quicker than lightning, the man who was called Charley grasped the wrist of the desperate man, and holding it like a vice in his stalwart grasp, pointed with the other hand to the girl, and said in his rough masculine voice: ‘None of that! If I’d thought you would take it so hard that we had saved your daughter’s life, but we would have— no, not that exactly, for she’s worth saving on her own account!’ While Charley was delivering this speech, the cinders were raining down on his head, and he shook them off as a lion would have shaken great flies from his forehead, but others were not so insensible to a shower of fire-brands, and the Senor was dragged farther from the scene of ruin. When the Senor perceived that his Inez was really by his side, he gave vent to the most extravagant exclamations of joy. Rushing to the Chief Engineer, whom he supposed to be the savior of his child, he clasped the sturdy fireman in his arms, called him every name that is flattering to the pride of man, emptied his pockets of all his gold, and tried to force into his hands a precious ring that he wore on his finger, and which was said to contain a diamond of great value. Charley said that his duty called him elsewhere, and we next saw him plunging into the thickest of the throng to bring up his forces to the principal point of attack, and to expedite the tearing up of the planks on the street, for they had become thoroughly ignited in some places, and the flames were marching through the slight wooden buildings of the town with the imperious step of a conqueror. No sooner had the young lady recovered consciousness, than she raised herself to her feet, and looked anxiously on every side as if in search of some object which she could not find. ‘Here comes your father,’ said Cardwell, who had been the most officious in bearing off the girl to a place of safety, and applying cold water and other restoratives to her face and temples. Inez took the hand of her father, but still her eyes wandered through the throng as if seeking another, and while she was led away by the old Senor, she walked listlessly and thoughtfully, as if something pressed heavily upon her mind. By this time every gambling-house, every drinking shop, every pulperie, and every thieving den had poured out its crowds upon the streets of San Francisco, and a vast proportion of the inhabitants of the city were thronging around the scene of conflagration. Here was a gang of thieves, pretending to be very officious in removing the goods from a store- house that had just kindled, while the eager glancing of their eyes, and the half-shy, half-brazen way they shouted to each other, by way of encouragement to preserve and to hasten the work, sufficiently denoted that they had come to purloin whenever an opportunity offered, and that their zeal was merely intended to blind the eyes of others, and lull suspicion in regard to their ulterior purposes; and it would seem that no lack of opportunity was here, for such was the excitement, such was the confusion, the tumbling of men upon others, the running hither and thither, the cries of alarm and distress, the shriek of the wind, and the roaring of the flames as they went leaping, darting, and whirling from house to house, from corner to corner, and from street to street, that the cautious thief whose heart was marbled against human sufferings, and thought only of turning the disasters of others to his own advantage, might carry on his nefarious trade with almost as much impunity as that of the burrowing mole, who treasures his stolen grain under the earth while the plain above is rent by the tempest’s fury. Yet, even in the general whirl of reason and reflection attendant upon these rapid conflagrations, there sometimes chances to be an eye unengaged for a moment which may light upon the plunderer in the very nick of time, and when least expected by himself. Such was the case now, just as the flames had reached Montgomery street, and were reaching forth their long red tongues towards the pile of stores on Jackson street, the Cockney mentioned at the commencement of this narrative saw a fellow hugging to his bosom a little iron safe, and stealthily escaping under cover of the smoke, along the street towards the harbor. He raised the cry of ‘Stop thief! Picaroon! Coquin!’ and in as many other languages as he could bring to his aid, he gave the alarm to such individuals as were within the reach of his voice. The merchants themselves who were near the spot, joined in the chase, and in less than two minutes more than a hundred persons were at the heels of the man with the safe. He headed directly for the water, and had nearly reached it, when a couple of Chinamen in blue nankeens threw themselves across his path. The desperate wretch dashed the iron safe into the face of one of them, still retaining hold of it, however, and he fell covered with blood, and then, with one hand, the thief grasped the long cue of the other and jerked him to the ground. He then darted forward again, leaving the two disastered Fee-fo-fums sitting upright in the middle of the street, and uttering the most doleful lamentations. Amain the crowd came sweeping down to the water’s edge, tumbling the two Chinamen over and over, who cried out most piteously while rolling in the dust under the feet of the pursuers. The thief perceiving no way of escape on the land, sprang into a skiff and pushed off from the shore. For a moment, his foes stood panting on the shore like baffled tigers, eyeing the man as with two small oars he ploughed through the waves and receded farther and farther from the strand. At length a loud hail was heard from a point farther down, some three hundred yards from the spot where the pursuers were clustered, and on turning their eyes in that direction, the crowd beheld a slender but well-formed youth tugging at a heavy boat, which lay partly on the shore and partly in the water, and vainly endeavoring to get it afloat. With a yell that rang on the air like the onset cry of a troop of wild Indians, the whole body of pursuers ran towards the boat. ‘Hah! Monteagle, is that you?’ cried our Cockney, who arrived first at the spot—‘It was I who gave the alarm! How much is there in the safe?’ ‘That is best known to my employers,’ returned Monteagle evasively, ‘enough, you may be sure, to warrant the most vigorous endeavors in getting it into our hands. Those who take the thief will be well rewarded.’ ‘Come then! heave O! heave, ahoi!’ cried three or four lusty fellows who had now come up, and applied their shoulders to the boat in good earnest. It began to move, and as it finally slid roaring into the waves, Monteagle, and a dozen others leaped on board. A few strokes of their long oars cleared them from the beach and gave free play to their motions as they sunk the blades of their oars deep into the brine, and threw themselves far back at every stroke; a movement which to the practised eye of the mariner at once announced that whatever experience they might previously have had in this line, was not in the service of the nation, but had been acquired in the pursuit of that marvellous fish which swallowed Jonah. The winds were unusually violent that afternoon, and the water was very rough. This circumstance was much in favor of the large boat, and although the robber was a powerful man, and exerted his utmost, yet his pursuers continually gained upon him. He was obliged to stop a few moments to bail out his skiff, using one of his boots for that purpose; and this fact at once convinced Monteagle and his men that he labored under great disadvantages in a sharp, combing sea such as was then driving into the harbor before the screaming gale. The thief himself seemed to give up all hope of escape and relaxed his efforts, no doubt husbanding his strength for exertions of a different character. ‘Now, my brave fellows,’ cried Monteagle, ‘lay back and give it to her! do your prettiest and you can make the old barge hum, and we’ll soon come up with that picaroon yonder; and understand that I am authorized to promise a high reward.’ ‘Oh, never mind the reward,’ interrupted a stout Irishman, magnanimously. ‘It’s for the pure honor of the thing that we are working, sure, and to support the laws.’ ‘Yes, to support the laws!’ cried a short, stout, red-faced fellow, of such equivocal appearance, that one might have taken him for a beardless youth or a man of sixty years, for a native or a foreigner, a cunning knave or a natural fool. He carried an enormous head on his broad round shoulders, upon which were only a few scattering hemp-like hairs, but his cheeks were fat and smooth, and his eyes always seemed ready to roll out of their sockets. ‘Yes, to support the laws!’ said the strange being, in a smothered tone that seemed to proceed from the bottom of the abdomen, while his heavy goggle eyes seemed to be thinking of something altogether foreign from the subject, and the continual working of his enormous mouth led Monteagle to say to himself that the fellow was ‘chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy.’ But now they were within two oars’ length of the villain in the skiff, when the latter ceased rowing, and starting upon his feet, brandished one of his oars in the air as if it had been the mace of an ancient knight, and shrieked out in a tone of fury, that he ‘would dash in the skull of any man that laid a flipper on him!’ As Monteagle stood up in the head of the boat, this threat might be considered a matter more directly appertaining to himself than to any other person present. Yet, every one uttered a shout of defiance, and half a dozen strokes brought the barge up to the skiff. The head of the large boat struck the skiff a-midships, square off and on, and for an instant it seemed as if the latter would have turned bottom up. The thief, however, balanced his boat well, at the same instant that he struck a terrible blow with his oar at the head of Monteagle. The youth evaded the falling oar, by jumping dexterously aside and, at the same moment, drew a pistol from his breast. Before he could fire, he was surprised by a powerful blow on the side of his head which came from behind. Turning his head, he saw the big Irishman who had so gallantly disclaimed all interested motives, with both fists double and ready to repeat the blow which had nearly deprived him of recollection. This, however, lasted but an instant, for all was confusion now. The Irishman was choked down by an English cooper; the man with the big head and wide mouth came to the aid of the Irishman, while the robber in the skiff dashed his oar into the faces and brought it down lustily on the heads and backs of his adversaries in the barge. The diversion which had been made in favor of the robber, plainly announced that the Irishman and the big head were accomplices of the former, and had entered the barge and joined the pursuit in order to render him efficient aid in time of need. The fight became general. Big Head and the Irishman fully engaged the attention of Monteagle and two men of the barge’s crew, while the robber, determined not to be taken alive, fought with a desperation not to be imagined by any who have never seen a man resolved upon death or escape. ‘Blast me!’ cried the Cockney, ‘but these Sydney ducks are hatched out in the wrong nest,’ as he received a kick in the face from Big Head while the latter was struggling under a thwart and using both hands and feet to defend himself against the loyal portion of the barge’s crew. This melee had lasted some time, during which the pistol of Monteagle had passed into the hands of the big Irishman, who falling a second time from the effects of a chance blow dealt by his accomplice in the skiff, pointed the weapon at Monteagle as he fell, and pulled the trigger. The charge took effect on the youth; everything grew suddenly dark around him, and he fell senseless into the bottom of the boat. The battle, however, was still waged with relentless fury on both sides. The robber, cheered by the hope of final victory, now sprang from his skiff into the barge, and stamping on the head of Monteagle as he lay insensible under the thwarts, he used his oar, now broken into a convenient shape and size, about the heads of his enemies. To say that blood flowed, would be nothing new, as there was scarcely a man in the boat who had not received a wound already; but now heads and arms were broken; sometimes Big Head and the Irishman were both down at a time, and then victory seemed certain to the loyal party; then the former would be up again and fighting desperately. But three men against eight or nine could not hold out forever, and the big Irishman, at length, reeled and sank, overcome by fatigue and loss of blood. Big Head was then silenced by a rap on the skull with a tiller, and after a most desperate resistance, the robber himself was bound hand and foot. The crew then sat down to take breath, and next proceeded to wash the blood from their faces. On their way to the shore they were met by another boat that had put off to their assistance, and in her was recognized Mr. Vandewater, one of the firm that had been robbed. ‘Where’s Monteagle?’ was the first inquiry of this gentleman as the two boats met. The boat’s crew started and looked about them, discovered the youth lying senseless in the bottom of the boat. Smarting under their own wounds, and hot with the late contest, they had entirely forgotten the lad who led the charge. ‘Oh!’ said the Cockney, binding a handkerchief about his scarred head, ‘I had like to have forgotten him, sir. It was he that first got hold of the barge—I was the one that saw the thief take the safe—I gave the first alarm, sir.’ Mr. Vandewater by this time held the head of young Monteagle on his knee, and was examining into his condition, but, looking up a moment, he replied to the Cockney, ‘And the safe, where is it?’ ‘There, now,’ ejaculated the robber as he wiped the bloody foam from his mouth against his shoulder, ‘what a fool I was that I didn’t cast the d— thing into the drink, God! they’ll get it.’ Mr. Vandewater assisted in removing Monteagle to the other boat, and telling the men in the barge to call in the morning at his house, he told the rowers in his own yawl to pull for the skiff. The little bark was soon reached, and the safe was found in its bottom. Mr. Vandewater took possession of his property, and returned speedily to the shore with Monteagle, whose situation, if he were indeed alive, required immediate attention. When the barge reached the landing, there was no lack of welcomers on the beach, for the latter part of the battle in the boat had been observed by many spectators. The robber, who had escaped injury better than could have been expected, was handed out of the barge amid the shouts of the populace, and taken possession of by the police; but, strange as it may seem, the Irishman and Big Head were suffered to go among their friends; perhaps it was judged by their appearance that they had suffered punishment enough already. The devastations of the fire had been wide and fearful. In an incredible short time, a large portion of the city had been laid in ruins.—Houses and streets had suffered alike, the planking of the thoroughfares rendering them equally combustible with the buildings. On the day succeeding these events, a pale youth, with a bandage about his temples, lay in a darkened room some two miles from the town of San Francisco, seeming to be asleep; and yet the almost marble whiteness of the features might have led a casual spectator to suppose that the coroner was required in his case, rather than the surgeon. The bed upon which he lay, as well as the chaste elegance of the furniture about the apartment, betokened that the master of the mansion had eminently been successful in the general struggle for wealth, and also that he possessed a liberal taste which enabled him to employ his means for the embellishment as well as for the support of life. The windows of the chamber looked out upon an extensive garden, nicely arranged and kept, and romantically varied with rocks and underwood of natural growth. The house itself was an elegant edifice standing on a hill-side, and commanding a fine view of the surrounding country. CHAPTER II The Breaking Heart—A Scene of Tenderness and Despair. The pale slumberer lay perfectly still, and a close observer could scarcely have perceived that he breathed. Thus had he lain a few moments, when a side door slowly opened, and a fair feminine countenance, a perfect blonde, surmounted with a profusion of flaxen ringlets, was thrust gently into the apartment. Then the door opened wider, and the symmetrical form of a young girl of seventeen years stood in the aperture. She listened a moment, and then advanced one tiny foot into the chamber; then the other; and finally she stood within the apartment, but with the door left open behind her. There stood the beautiful sylph trembling and pale, and sometimes looking back, as if hesitating whether to proceed or return. At length she stept lightly forward and fixed her eyes upon the countenance of the slumberer. She instantly clasped her hands across her bosom, raised her large blue eyes to heaven, and an expression of deep agony rested on those sunny features, like a heavy thunder cloud passing over a beauteous landscape in midsummer. Her timidity seemed to have fled with the first glance that she had bestowed upon the invalid. Turning her back towards him, she even murmured aloud, ‘And all this he has suffered for the preservation of my uncle’s property. Oh! why could he not have delegated that duty to others more fitted for such rude work? Already had he performed a deed sufficient to gild his name with perpetual glory—in saving an accomplished—an—an—in saving human life; for it matters not who she was. To save a life is enough, and at the risk of his own.’ She turned and looked once more at the sleeping youth; again she pressed her hands against her heart, and, this time, she sighed deeply. A footstep was heard in the passage way, approaching the door that opened into the hall, and gliding through the one at which she had entered, the young girl had retired, just as two other individuals entered the sick chamber. One of those who now approached the couch of the invalid was a tall, slender, middle-aged man, elegantly attired, and yet with a sort of graceful negligence which drew the attention of the observer rather to the manners and bearing of the gentleman himself, than to the garb in which he was arrayed. The other gentleman wore a plain suit of black, was of middling height, with light hair and eyes, and probably thirty years of age. ‘Yes, doctor,’ said the latter gentleman, as they entered the room. ‘It is as I tell you.’ ‘But, sir,’ returned the other, ‘recollect the acquaintantship—female timidity and the gentleness of the sex’s nature. To see one whom she had so long known dangerously wounded, brought suddenly into the house, with a mind unprepared; remember all the attendant circumstances, Mr. Vandewater, and you will not be astonished that the poor girl exhibited symptoms of agitation.’ ‘Oh, yes, yes, my dear sir. Otherwise she would not be woman,’ replied the merchant. ‘Agitation, sympathy, pity, all these were to be expected. But, sir, she would have been frank in the expression of her sympathy if all had been well. Instead of that, she strove to hide her concern. She became as pale as chalk—as white as milk, sir; and moved off without uttering a syllable, or making the least inquiry, and if my wife had not followed her and supported her to her chamber, she would have fell lifeless to the floor.’ ‘His pulse is better,’ said the doctor, whose thoughts now ran in the line of his profession, and who had taken the youth by the wrist. ‘He will escape a fever—it was that I dreaded.’ ‘And then her aunt has remarked her deportment while in the presence of the young man.’ ‘A fine constitution, sir. You must not throw him away—don’t give him up yet. I think he will be restored to you, after all.’ ‘She is the daughter of a beloved brother, whose death, some ten years ago, occasioned me the most poignant distress, and I shall take care of her as if she was my own child.’ ‘You must not let him be disturbed, sir, and I will leave something to be administered to him as soon as he wakes.’ ‘I don’t think you heard my last observation, sir.’ ‘Oh, yes—I heard, sir. You remarked that she was the daughter of your esteemed brother: but, pray, sir, if the young people love one another?—’ ‘You don’t understand me, sir,’ was the quick coup de parole of the merchant. ‘I did not say that the young people loved each other.’ ‘Ah! now I understand,’ said the surgeon, looking really concerned. ‘I see—you wish to preserve your niece’s happiness, not to prevent it!’ ‘Exactly, sir. There is not a man in the world to whom I would sooner marry my niece, than to him who lies before you. Of unquestioned integrity, candid, honorable, devoted to my interests, of elegant manners, without being effeminate, humane as he is brave, well educated, and of respectable parentage. I find no fault in Lorenzo Monteagle— none at all, sir. But my niece shall be forced upon no man, sir. The king’s son is not good enough for her, when it comes to that.’ ‘But will he not, in time, admire Miss Julia, sir. It appears to me, that if I were a bachelor—’ ‘You shouldn’t have her if you were, sir—‘interrupted Vandewater with a burst of laughter that made the wounded man start in his sleep, ‘would I have a son-in-law or a nephew-in-law, think you, that carries about with him such awful weapons—those horrible saws, gimlets, I know not what you call them, I should never feel sure of my legs and arms one moment, while he was in the house—ha! ha! ha!’ ‘However that may be,’ said the other, ‘if I were a young swain like your paragon here, I should deem my self but too happy to try to win a smile from that fair niece of yours, and if you are really willing that the match should take place —’ ‘It will never be,’ returned the merchant, gravely interrupting the surgeon—‘Monteagle is very fastidious, even in his friendship. He is a singular young man. It must be a particular woman that strikes his fancy, possessed of decided qualities; none of your pretty faces and piano songs will steal away his heart. Of that I am too well assured. More than one young lady has tried her utmost skill—’ ‘But has the man no heart?’ ‘So decidedly one that it must have a decided choice,’ cried the merchant, ‘before it can consent to own itself the property of another. He likes the society of ladies; but he does not prefer one to another. I am persuaded that he has never seen the woman he can love. He has known Julia more than two years, and has never treated her differently from other women. But it matters not. So you think the young man is fairly out of danger?’ ‘It might be going too far to say so, sir—but I think he will recover. I would not be afraid to stake a hundred ounces on the event.’ ‘Glad to hear that. I don’t doubt your skill, Doctor, so let us walk below and finish that old Madeira before it gets any sourer.’ After another brief examination of his patient, the surgeon followed Mr. Vandewater down stairs; and in half an hour afterwards might have been seen mounting his horse and winding over the hills and through the valleys towards the town of San Francisco. Several days had passed since the occurrence of the events mentioned above, when on a fair morning, a pale youth sat in a recess at the bottom of the merchant’s garden. A staff stood by his side, an evidence that he was not yet able to walk without support, and his white attenuated hands were pressed together in his lap, while his large blue eyes, which looked nearly black when contrasted with his white brow, were fixed upon some object in the distance. His gaze rested on the dwelling place of Senor del Castro; but what were his reflections, we cannot pretend to divine; nor was he long permitted to indulge them without interruption. From behind a cluster of bushes near, sailed out a figure in a white dress, which floating gently towards the invalid, placed one hand upon his arm, and caused him to turn suddenly towards her. ‘Mr. Monteagle, I’m glad to see you abroad once more. Oh! it looks so much more natural to see you up and stirring, that it really reminds me of old times.’ With a smile slightly sarcastic, the youth replied—‘I am but too happy to be the cause of reviving pleasant reminiscences in the mind of Miss Vandewater.’ A deep blush passed over the cheek and brow of the fair girl as she replied: ‘You are very severe, sir. I will say then, in downright English, since I must, that I am rejoiced to see you improved in health, with a fair chance of recovery. Now, Mr. Critic, are you satisfied?’ ‘Oh! no doubt I ought to be, since Miss Vandewater has used the commonly approved phrase which custom has made necessary for all like occasions.’ ‘Nay, then I will send Inez del Castro to you: no doubt she will do the honors of the occasion better—at least her mode will be more original than mine.’ Miss Vandewater uttered the latter part of the sentence in a quick, hurried manner, and in spite of herself, delivered the word ‘original’ in a tone of considerable bitterness. The tears rose to her eyes, and she blushed deeper than ever. It was plain that she would have given much to recall her words and manner; but it was too late. The youth looked down and sighed. The young lady heard that sigh, and it seemed to restore her to all her dignity. She lifted her head and shook back the flaxen curls from her snowy brow. ‘I know that you are not acquainted with Inez, though she—fainted in your arms! It was very romantic.’ Monteagle had great self-possession; but he was obliged to turn his face partly aside to conceal an expression of surprise and sorrow at the broad raillery into which the young lady suffered herself to be betrayed by feelings too palpable to be mistaken. The many instances in which she had evinced jealousy of any attention showed by Monteagle to other ladies, had long since let him into the secret—if secret it could be called. ‘Miss Vandewater,’ said he, at length, ‘I have seen the daughter of Senor del Castro but twice in my life, and have spoken to her, but on one occasion. When I stood at the top of the ladder enveloped in flame, I asked her to trust herself in my arms, and without betraying any affected delicacy, yet with great feminine dignity she placed her foot on the ladder and reclined upon my shoulder.’ ‘And did she say nothing?’ “She said, ‘thanks, thanks, generous American—my father will bless your name at the altar of his God!’ It was all she said, and the next moment the smoke stifled her, and she became insensible on my bosom.” ‘And, oh! Monteagle!’ cried Miss Vandewater, clasping her hands and looking upwards, ‘we heard that you were nearly perishing in the flames!’ As she uttered these words, the tears gushed from her eyes, and throwing herself upon a rock near the feet of the invalid, she covered her face with her hands and wept aloud at the recollection of that bitter moment. ‘Ungrateful wretch that I am, how unworthy of this more than sisterly interest which she takes in my welfare!’ said Monteagle to himself, and placing one of his hands upon the head of the unhappy girl, he said—‘Oh! it was not so bad as that a stream of water soon removed all inconveniences, and a very trifling burn was all that I suffered.’ The girl looked up, seized the hand that had been extended to her, kissed it vehemently, and fled, blushing, to the house of her uncle. ‘If the sacrifice of my life could make her happy!’ ejaculated Monteagle, brushing the tears from his eyes which he could no longer restrain. CHAPTER III The Dance House—The Bella Union—The Last Stake! The night was dark in San Francisco—that city far away on the confines of the Pacific. And far other scenes and other deeds are witnessed there than it ever entered into the imagination of the dwellers on the Atlantic sea-board to conceive of. Description is at fault; words cannot paint the mingled web, and fancy has no colors sufficiently vivid to depict the peculiar state of society in the newly-risen metropolis of California. Naturalists describe the state of the world long before man became a dweller upon the earth, and the fossils which they procure tell of strange animals that once existed here unlike anything which the world now presents. In Pacific street—named after the ocean that rolls her floods to the very doors of the Californian traders—there are several houses in which congregate the lower class of ruffians and pleasure-seekers, where the tamborene and fiddle are seldom allowed to rest, where the merry dance is kept up the live-long night by men of all nations, all complexions, and all professions. Here may be seen the Lascar, the Mulatto, the Chilean, the Brazilian negro, the Nantucket whaleman, the escaped convict from Botany Bay, the red-faced Englishman, the native of the soil, the Mexican; and every other class and nation is here represented. Men of standing, wealthy people here flock promiscuously with the lowest classes of all countries. It was in one of these dance halls, where the usual throng was engaged in beating the floor with their feet to the tune of the most simple instruments of music. Now a tall smooth fellow of jet blackness asked a light-haired Yankee to touch glasses with him, while a little infirm man in a blue nankeen jacket, who had once been the mate of a ship, could find nothing better than to explain to a Chinese sailor, in one corner, the way in which a Turk’s head-knot was made upon a rope. But for the most part, boisterous mirth prevailed, some danced as if they had been bitten by a tarantula, while others roared out snatches from such songs as ears polite are not often saluted with. Whatever was done was thoroughly done, done with a vengeance, without restraint and without fear of disturbing the neighbors. On the night which we have mentioned, the noise and confusion was unusually great, the throng was more numerous than common from the fact that one watch was on shore from a whaleship in the harbor, and they had all blundered into this hall to drink and be merry. ‘Keep it up!’ cried one long-legged, broad-shouldered fellow, throwing up one of his feet to the very wall and then dancing with a violence that threatened to bring down the roof about his ears. ‘He’s a boatsteerer,’ said one of the ship boys—‘he’s great at striking a whale,’ and he gazed with admiration on this specimen of Nantucket enterprise. ‘Keep it up!’ shouted the boatsteerer making his long legs fly about the room as if he was under the influence of a galvanic battery. ‘Keep it up!’ screamed he again, as he caught a short Englishman by the arm and tried to inspire him with a portion of his own enthusiasm. ‘Yes, yes,’ said the Englishman, biting off the end of a tobacco plug, and walking off to the other side of the room to get out of the wind of those formidable legs. ‘Keep it up!’ bawled the boatsteerer to a couple of Irishmen who happened to enter at the moment; and so it appeared that the sum and substance of all that was in this man’s cranium could be expressed in those simple words ‘Keep it up,’ a phrase that he continued to utter periodically throughout the entire evening. But neither the Englishman nor the two Irishmen obeyed the summons on this occasion. They had ‘kept it up’ too often and too long to be peculiarly enthusiastic at the sound of a fiddle. The two latter especially seemed to have other matter in hand, and seating themselves upon one corner of a bench near the door, they thus exchanged thoughts in a sotto voice which, in the uproar that prevailed, was completely inaudible to any but themselves. ‘Have you aver seed him since then?’ was the question propounded by the shorter of the two. ‘Faith! and only once, and then I drawed a trigger on him from behind the bush, Patrick, but a lump of a gal com’d out and stood in the way, or I’d kilt him at wunst; but there was no use of getting up a yell from the gal that wud have brought all the payple in the house about my ears.’ ‘An’ I b’lieve you are right, Jamie, for them Vigilance Committees is kaping a bright look-out, now, for the like o’that; and I seed one of ’em up in the Boomerang jist when I was cooming down—’ ‘Ay, faith, Patrick, and it’s on account of Montgomery that they’re shying around this way, I’m thinking; but they will look a great while before they—’ ‘Ah! hush jist now! don’t name it, for yees don’t know what ears is open, if you was only to spake of the sand hills —’ ‘Hush, noo, Patrick! would ye be after revaling it all, and we sworn on the howly ’vangellers too?’ ‘But as for the Monteagle there, Jamie, there must something be done, for Montgomery swears he’ll have his life, for the taking the safe from him, the bloody robber!’ ‘Faith, boy, make yourself parfectly easy, then, for there’s another way to kill a cat besides the putting of a slug into her countenance, sure,’ and Jamie winked sagaciously. ‘You’ll know then that Mister Blodget is going to undertake for him.’ ‘Och, thin, don’t you belave the bit of it—one of these gintlemen will never shoot another. Wolf won’t ate wolf—’ ‘Niver fear that, boy. It’s not the shooting I’m coming at; but Mr. Blodget is one of ourself, the same as you and I, only it is in a more dacenter way, and didn’t he promise to get him into wosser trouble up at the Bella Union—’ ‘Arrah, but when will he cotch him there, think you, and Montgomery all the time perishing, the poor boy, for want of his revinge! And the loss of the safe too that weighs heavy upon his sperrits like a leaden sinker all the time—Och, the bloody robber!’ ‘Och! the murtherer,’ cried the other, ‘and didn’t I see the pistol in his hand when he stood up in the barge, and in a minnit Montgomery would have been come to his nat’ril end by foul means, but I jist chucked him under the ear a bit and he lighted down in the bottom of the boat like a breaker full of water.’ ‘Bad luck to the likes of him, Jamie, the unspakable murthering scoundrel! It’s the like of him that spoils the counthry entirely, and a poor man like you and me is scragged for trying to get a dacent living in our own way.’ ‘Och, botheration! don’t spake to me Patrick, for I’m as mad as my skin can hold now, when I think that I didn’t put the could lead into his bowels, but it was all on account of the slip of a gal that would have given the ala-r-m if I had shot him, jist.’ ‘You shot him once, Jamie, and if—’ ‘Ah, boy, if I had took a fair aim in the boat, but my head was lower than my heels, as I was tumbling over like a duck wid one wing, and the ball jist touched him in the ribs, like—but no matter, Patrick, Montgomery will come to his revinge through Master Blodget who pretends to be a gentleman like hisself, though he’s one of us sacret like, for the benefit of the society, jist.’ Here the two amiable interlocutors were interrupted by a squabble that had grown up between the long boat steerer and some Chilean new comers whom he had desired to ‘keep it up,’ and not satisfied with applying ‘moral suasion’ to the case, he had taken the liberty to drag one or two of them into the middle of the floor by their long ear locks. Not caring to dance on compulsion, they struck long-legs with their fists, and he gave them battle. He kept them at a distance a few moments with his long arms, but they made up for this by drawing their cochillars. Brandishing their knives they rushed upon him with great fury. The other whalemen interfered in behalf of their shipmate, while all the cholars present took sides with their countrymen. The battle threatened to be serious, and blood had already begun to flow, when the door opened and a stout, broad-shouldered man entered the apartment. ‘Charley, is that you?’ shouted the master of the house. ‘Yes, what is the muss?’ cried the new-comer, w...