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THE SQUATTER AND THE DON
A NOVEL DESCRIPTIVE OF CONTEMPORARY OCCURRENCES IN CALIFORNIA.
BY C. LOYAL.
SAN FRANCISCO: 1885.
_Copyright, 1885._ C. LOYAL. _San Francisco, Cal._
_All Rights Reserved._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
- I. Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past.
- II. The Don's View of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.
- III. Pre-empting under the Law.
- IV. Efforts to Right the Wrong.
- V. The Don in his Broad Acres.
- VI. Naughty Dog Milord an Important Factor.
- VII. From Alameda to San Diego.
- VIII. Victoriano and His Sister.
- IX. Clarence is the Bearer of Joyful News.
- X. But Clarence Must Not be Encouraged.
- XI. George is a Christian Gentleman.
- XII. Why the Appeal was Not Dismissed.
- XIII. At San Francisco.
- XIV. Of Miscellaneous Incidents.
- XV. Journeying Overland.
- XVI. Spanish Land Grants Viewed Retrospectively.
- XVII. Dona Josefa at Home.
- XVIII. At Newport.
- XIX. In New York.
- XX. At the Capitol.
- XXI. Looking at the Receding Dome.
- XXII. Perplexities at Alamar.
- XXIII. Home Again.
- XXIV. The Brewers of Mischief.
- XXV. The Squatter and the Don.
- XXVI. Mrs. Darrell's View of Our Land Laws.
- XXVII. Darrell Astonishes Himself.
- XXVIII. Shall it be Forever?
- XXIX. Hasty Decisions Repented Leisurely.
- XXX. Effect of Bad Precept and Worse Example.
- XXXI. A Snow Storm.
- XXXII. A False Friend Sent to Deceive the Southerners.
- XXXIII. San Diego's Sentence is Irrevocable.
- XXXIV. The Sins of Our Legislators!
- XXXV. The Fashion of Justice in San Diego.
- XXXVI. Clarence and George with the Hod-carrier.
- XXXVII. Reunited at Last.
- CONCLUSION.--Out with the Invader.
CHAPTER I.--_Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past._
"To be guided by good advice, is to profit by the wisdom of others; tobe guided by experience, is to profit by wisdom of our own," said Mrs.Darrell to her husband, in her own sweet, winning way, as they sat alonein the sitting room of their Alameda farm house, having their last talkthat evening, while she darned his stockings and sewed buttons on hisshirts. The children (so-called, though the majority were grown up) hadall retired for the night. Mr. and Mrs. Darrell sat up later, havingmuch to talk about, as he would leave next day for Southern California,intending to locate--somewhere in a desirable neighborhood--a homesteadclaim.
"Therefore," continued Mrs. Darrell, seeing that her husband smoked hispipe in silence, adding no observations to her own, "let us this time beguided by our own past history, William--our experience. In other words,let us be wise, my husband."
"By way of variety, you mean," said he smiling. "That is, as far as I amconcerned, because I own, frankly, that had I been guided by youradvice--your wisdom--we would be much better off to-day. You have aright to reproach me."
"I do not wish to do anything of the kind. I think reproaches seldom dogood."
"No use in crying over spilt milk, eh?"
"That is not my idea, either. On the contrary, if by '_milk_' it ismeant all or any earthly good whatever, it is the '_spilt milk_' that weshould lament. There is no reason to cry for the milk that has not beenwasted, the good that is not lost. So let us cry for the _spilt milk_,by all means, if by doing so we learn how to avoid spilling any more.Let us cry for the _spilt milk_, and remember how, and where, and when,and why, we spilt it. Much wisdom is learnt through tears, but none byforgetting our lessons."
"But how can a man learn when he is born a fool?"
"Only an idiot is, truly speaking, a born fool; a fool to such a degreethat he cannot act wisely if he will. It is only when _perversity_ isadded to foolishness, that a being--not an idiot--is utterly a fool. Topersist in acting wrongfully, that is the real folly. To reject goodcounsel, either of one's own good thoughts or the good thoughts ofothers. But to act foolishly by deciding hastily, by lack of maturereflection, that I should only call a foolish mistake. So, then, if wehave been foolish, let us at least utilize our foolishness by drawingfrom it lessons of wisdom for the future. We cannot conscientiouslyplead that we are born fools when we see our errors."
Mr. Darrell smilingly bowed, and with a voice much softer than his usualstentorian tones, said:
"I understand, little wife, but I fear that my streak of perversity is abroad one, and has solely been the bane of my life; it has a fatalityaccompanying it. I have often seen the right way to act, and yet I havegone with my eyes wide open to do the wrong thing. And this, too, notmeaning to do harm to any one, nor wishing to be malicious or mean. Idon't know what power impelled me. But if you will forgive my pastwickedness, I'll try to do better."
"Don't say that. Don't speak of your wickedness, for real wickedness isperversity. You have acted wrongly at times, when you have misappliedyour rights and the rights of others, but you have not intentionallydone wrong. You are not perverse; don't say that."
"In a few days it will be twenty-four years since we crossed the plainswith our three babies, in our caravan of four wagons, followed by ourfine horses and choice Durham cows. I firmly believed then, that with myfine stock and my good bank account, and broad government lands, free toall Americans, I should have given you a nice home before I was fiveyears older; that I would have saved money and would be getting more tomake us rich before I was old. But see, at the end of twenty-four years,where and how do I find myself? I am still poor, all I have earned isthe name of '_Squatter_.' That pretty name (which I hate because youdespise it) is what I have earned."
"Don't say that either, William. We will only recommence one of numerousfruitless discussions. We are not poor, because we have enough to livein comfort, and I do not despise the name of Squatter, for it isharmless enough, but I do certainly disapprove of acts done by menbecause they are squatters, or to become squatters. They have causedmuch trouble to people who never harmed them."
"They, too, the poor squatters, have suffered as much distress as theyhave caused, the poor hard-worked toilers."
"That is very true, but I am afraid I shall never be able to see thenecessity of any one being a squatter in this blessed country ofplentiful broad acres, which a most liberal government gives away forthe asking."
"That's exactly it. We aren't squatters. We are '_settlers_.' We take upland that belongs to us, American citizens, by paying the governmentprice for it."
"Whenever you take up government land, yes, you are 'settlers,' but notwhen you locate claims on land belonging to any one else. In that case,you must accept the epithet of '_Squatter_.'"
Darrell set his teeth so tightly, that he bit a little chip off hispipe. Mrs. Darrell went on as if she had not observed her husband'sflash of irritation.
"But I hope we will never more deserve such name; I trust that
beforeyou locate any homestead claim in Southern California, you will firstinform yourself, very carefully, whether any one has a previous claim.And more specially, I beg of you, do not go on a Mexican grant unlessyou buy the land from the owner. This I beg of you specially, and must_insist upon it_."
"And how am I to know who is the owner of a rancho that has beenrejected, for instance?"
"If the rancho is still in litigation, don't buy land in it, or if youdo, buy title from the original grantee, on fair conditions and clearunderstanding."
"I don't know whether that can be done in the Alamar rancho, which I amgoing to see, and I know it has been rejected. But of one thing you canrest assured, that I shall not forget our sad experience in Napa andSonoma valleys, where--after years of hard toil--I had to abandon ourhome and lose the earnings of years and years of hard work."
"That is all I ask, William. To remember our experience in Napa andSonoma. To remember, also, that we are no longer young. We cannot affordto throw away another twenty years of our life; and really and truly, ifyou again go into a Mexican grant, William, I shall not follow you therewillingly. Do not expect it of me; I shall only go if you compel me."
"Compel you!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Compel you, when you know I haveobeyed you all my life."
"Oh! no, William, not all your life, for you were well grown before Iever saw you."
"I mean ever since I went to Washington with my mind made up to jump offthe train coming back, if you didn't agree to come North to be mycommandant."
"I don't think I have been a very strict disciplinarian," she said,smiling. "I think the subaltern has had pretty much his own way."
"Yes, when he thinks he might. But when the commandant pulls the string,by looking sad or offended, then good-by to the spirit and independenceof the subaltern."
"One thing I must not forget to ask you;" she said, going back to thepoint of their digression, "and it is, not to believe what those menhave been telling you about the Alamar rancho having been finallyrejected. You know John Gasbang could never speak the truth, and yearshave not made him more reliable. As for Miller, Hughes and Mathews, theyare dishonest enough, and though not so brazen as Gasbang, they willmisrepresent facts to induce you to go with them, for they want you withthem."
"I know they do; I see through all that. But I see, too, that San Diegois sure to have a railroad direct to the Eastern States. Lands willincrease in value immediately; so I think, myself, I had better taketime by the forelock and get a good lot of land in the Alamar grant,which is quite near town."
"But, are you sure it is finally rejected?"
"I saw the book, where the fact is recorded. Isn't that enough?"
"Yes, if there has been no error."
"Always the same cautious Mary Moreneau, who tortured me with her doubtsand would not have me until Father White took compassion on me," saidhe, smiling, looking at her fondly, for his thoughts reverted back tothose days when Miss Mary was _afraid_ to marry him; but, after all, hewon her and brought her all the way from Washington to his New Englandhome.
William Darrell was already a well-to-do young farmer in those days, abachelor twenty-eight to thirty years of age, sole heir to a flourishingNew England farm, and with a good account in a Boston bank, when MissMary Moreneau came to New England from Washington to visit her aunt,Mrs. Newton. As Mrs. Newton's husband was William Darrell's uncle,nothing was more natural than for Mary to meet him at his uncle's house.Nobody expected that William would fall in love with her, as he seemedto be proof against Cupid's darts. The marriageable maidens of William'sneighborhood had in vain tried to attract the obdurate young farmer, whoseemed to enjoy no other society than that of his uncle Newton and hiswife.
But Mary came and William surrendered at once. She, however, gave him noencouragement. Her coldness seemed only to inflame his love the more,until Miss Moreneau thought it was best to shorten her visit and returnhome about the middle of September.
"Why are you to return home so early?" Darrell asked Mary, after Mrs.Newton had informed him of Mary's intention of going.
"Because I think it is best," she answered.
"Why is it best?"
"For several reasons."
"May I be permitted to ask what are those reasons?"
"Certainly. One reason is, that as I came to see my aunt and at the sametime to rest and improve my health, and all those objects have beenaccomplished, I might as well go home. Then, my other aunt, with whom Ireside, is not feeling well. She went to spend the summer in Virginia,but writes that her health has not improved much, and she will soon comeback to Washington. Then some of my pupils will want to recommence theirlessons soon, and I want to have some little time to myself before Ibegin to work. You know, Mr. Darrell, I teach to support myself."
"Yes, only because you have a notion to do it."
"A notion! Do you think I am rich?"
"No, but there is no need of your working."
"It is a need to me to feel independent. I don't want to be supported bymy aunts, while I know how to earn my own living."
"Miss Mary, please, I beg of you, let me have the happiness of takingcare of you. Be my wife, I am not a rich man, but I have enough toprovide for you."
"Mr. Darrell, you surprise me. I thank you for the compliment you pay mewith your honorable offer, but I have no wish to get married."
"Do you reject me, Miss Mary? Tell me one thing; tell me truly, do youcare for any one else?"
"No, I care for nobody. I don't want to marry."
"But you will marry some time. If you knew how very miserable you makeme, I think you would not have the heart to refuse me."
"You will get over it. I am going soon. Forget me."
Darrell made no answer. He staggered out of the room and did not returnuntil the following week, when Mary had left for Washington, accompaniedby Letitia, her colored servant (called Tisha), who was devotedlyattached to her.
Darrell had become rather taciturn and less sociable than ever, Mrs.Newton noticed, and since Mary left he seemed to lose flesh and all hisspirits, and passed the winter as if life were a burden to him. But whenspring came, he brightened up a little, though he felt far from happy.About that time Mrs. Newton had a letter from Mary, saying that she wasgoing to spend vacation in Maryland with her other aunt, and Tisha forher escort.
"She don't come here, because she fears I shall pester her life with myvisits. As she knows I can't keep away from her, she keeps away fromyou. She hates me. I suppose you, too, will take to hating me, by andby," said Darrell, when he heard that Mary was not coming that summer.
"No danger of that, William," Mrs. Newton replied.
"Yes, there is. You ought to hate me for driving her away. I hate myselfworse than I hate the devil."
"William, you mustn't feel so. It isn't right."
"I know it. But when did I ever do anything right, I'd like to know? Iwish I could hate her as I hate myself, or as she hates me."
"William, she does not hate you."
"How do you know she don't?"
"Because she would have told me. She is very truthful."
"I know it. She gave me my walking papers in a jiffy. I wish I couldhate her."
"William, do you promise not to get angry, if I tell you why Marydeclined your offer?"
"Say on. You couldn't well make a burning furnace any hotter. I am toomad already."
"Well, I'll tell you. She likes you, but is afraid of you."
"Afraid? afraid?" said he, aghast--"why! that is awful! I, an object offear, when I worship the ground she treads on! But, how? What have Idone? When did I frighten her?"
"At no particular time; but often you gave her the impression that youhave a high temper, and she told me, 'If I loved Mr. Darrell better thanmy life, I wouldn't marry him, for I could never be happy with a man ofa violent temper.' Then she spoke, too, of her being a Roman Catholicand you a Protestant."
"But you are a Catholic and uncle is Protestant."
"Certainly, I th
ink the barrier is not insuperable."
"So, my temper frightened her! It is awful!" He mused in silence for afew minutes and then left the room.
About an hour after, he returned dressed for traveling, carrying asatchel in one hand and a tin box under his arm. He put the box on thetable, saying:
"Aunt Newton, I am going away for a few days. Please take care of thisbox until I return or you hear from me. Good-by!" and he hurried away,for he had only barely time to catch the train going to New York.
Darrell was in New York for a few hours. He bought a finer suit ofclothes, a very elegant light overcoat, hat and boots, and gloves tomatch, and thus equipped so elegantly that he hardly recognized himself,as he surveyed his figure in a large mirror of the furnishing store,where he was so metamorphosed, he took the night train for Washington.
It was early on a Sunday morning that Darrell arrived at Washington. Hewent to a hotel, entered his name, took a room, a bath and a breakfast,and then called a hack to go in search of Mary. He knew that was not anhour for calling, but he had _business_ with Mary. His was no friendlyvisit; it was a matter of life and death with him.
He rang the bell, and presently he heard Tisha's flapping steps coming."Lud a massa!" she exclaimed, stepping back. But recovering herself,said with true heartiness--
"Come in the parlor, please. It is true glad Miss Mary will be to seeye."
"Do you think so, Tisha?" he asked.
"I know it; no thinking about it, neither. She is going to mass; butshe'll see you for a little while, anyway."
Opening the parlor door for Darrell to walk in, Tisha ran up stairs toMary's room.
"Oh Miss Mary!" said she, "guess who is down stairs."
"I couldn't, Tish, being so early and on Sunday, but I heard a man'svoice. Is it a gentleman?"
"You bet; ah! please excuse me, I mean sure as I live it is, and noother than Mr. Darrell, from New England."
"Ah!" said Miss Mary, affecting indifference, but her hands trembled asshe tied her bonnet strings.
Darrell knew he must appear self-contained and not in the leastimpetuous, but when he saw those beautiful dark eyes of Mary's he forgotall his pretended calmness.
"Is my aunt well?" Mary began as she came in.
"Yes, yes, everybody is well; don't be alarmed at my coming, I know itmust seem strange to you. Two days ago I had no idea of coming toWashington, but Miss Moreneau, your aunt told me you were not comingNorth this summer, and this news nearly drove me crazy."
"Oh, Mr. Darrell!"
"Wait, don't drive me off yet. Your aunt told me that you refused mebecause you believe I have a violent temper. Now, I am not going to denythat, but this I am going to say--That I have never violated my word,and never shall, and I make a most solemn oath to you, that if you willmarry me you shall never have occasion to be made unhappy or displeasedby my quick anger, because you will only have to remind me of thispledge, and I shall curb my temper, if it kills me."
"Mr. Darrell, I believe you are perfectly sincere in what you say, but astrong trait of character is not controlled easily. It is more apt to beuncontrollable."
"For God's sake don't refuse me, I feel I must kill myself if you spurnme. I don't want life without you."
"Don't say that," Mary said, trying to keep calm, but she felt as ifbeing carried away in spite of herself, by the torrent of hisimpetuosity. She was afraid of him, but she liked him and she liked tobe loved in that passionate rebellious way of his; she smiled, adding,"we must postpone this conversation for I must go to church, and it isquite a long walk there."
"The carriage that brought me is at the door, take it, and don't walk,it is quite warm out."
"Will you go with me to church? You see, that is another obstacle; thedifference of religions."
"Indeed, that is no obstacle; your religion tells you to pity me."
"We will talk to Father White about that."
"Then Mary, my beloved, will you give me hope?"
"And will you really try to control your anger when you feel it isgetting the mastery over you?"
"I will, so help me God," said he, lifting his hand.
"Take care, that is an oath."
"I know it, and mean it," said he, much moved.
They went to church together. After church, Mary had a few momentsconversation with her pastor. She explained everything to him. "Do youlove him, my child," asked the good father, knowing the human heart onlytoo well. Mary blushed and said--
"Yes, father, I believe I do."
"Very well, send him to see me to-morrow morning."
Darrell had a long talk with Father White, and promised solemnly not tocoerce or influence his wife to change her religion, and that shouldtheir union be blessed with children, they should be baptized andbrought up Catholics.
And his union was blessed. Mary made his New England home a paradise,and eight children, sharing largely their mother's fine qualities,filled to overflowing his cup of happiness.