Crusoe's Island: A Ramble in the Footsteps of Alexander Selkirk

"Out with you!" roared the Colonel, fiercely, "or we'll burst the door down. Come, be quick!"

Another pause. I heard a low whispering, and stood with breathless anxiety with my finger upon the trigger of my pistol. In that brief period it was wonderful how many thoughts flashed through my mind. I knew nothing of the construction of the house; had no time even to look around and see if there was any back entrance. A faint light through one small window-hole in front, within three feet of the door, was all I could discern. Every nerve was strained to its utmost tension. My sense of hearing was painfully acute. The low whispering of the two ruffians, the faint jingling of their spurs, the very creaking of their boots, as they stealthily moved, was fearfully audible. With an almost absolute certainty of death, without the remotest hope of relief, it was strange how my thoughts wandered back upon the past; how the peaceful fireside of home was pictured to my mind; how vividly I saw the beloved faces of kindred and friends; how all that were dear to me seemed to sympathize in my unhappy fate. Yet it was impossible to realize that my time had come. The whole thing – the camp, the dark, murderous faces, the chase, the blockade – resembled rather some horrible fantasy than the dread truth. Strange, too, that I should have noticed something even grotesque in my situation; run into a hole, as the ruffian Jack had said, like a coyote or a badger. Five minutes – it seemed a long time – must have passed in this way, when I became conscious of a gradual darkening in the room. A low, heavy breathing attracted my attention. I looked in the direction of the window, and thought I could detect something moving; but the darkness was so impenetrable that it might be the result of imagination. Should I fire and miss my mark, the flash would reveal my position and be certain destruction. The dark mass again moved. I could distinctly hear the respiration. It must be one of the men trying to get in through the small window-hole. I raised my pistol, took dead aim as near as possible upon the centre of the object, and fired. The fall of a heavy body outside, a groan, an imprecation, was all I could hear, when a tremendous effort was made to force the door, and two shots were fired through it in quick succession. The wood was massive, but much decayed; and I saw that it was rapidly giving way before the furious assaults that were made upon it from the outside, evidently with a heavy piece of timber. Another lunge or two of this powerful battering-ram must have borne it from its hinges or shattered it to fragments.

"Hold on, Jack!" said the wounded man in a low voice; "come here, quick! The infernal fool has shot me through the shoulder! I'm bleeding badly."

The ruffian dropped his bar, as I judged by the sound, and turned to drag his leader out of range of the door. Now was the time for a bold move. Hitherto I had acted on the defensive; but every thing depended on following up the advantage. Removing the brace from the door, I made an opening sufficient to get a glimpse of the two men. The stout fellow, Jack, was stooping down, dragging the other toward the corner of the house. I fired again. The ball was too low; it missed his body, but must have shattered his wrist; for, with a horrible oath, he dropped his burden, and staggered back a few paces writhing with pain, his hand covered with blood. Before I could get another shot he darted behind the house. At the same time the Colonel rose on his knee, turned quickly, and fired. The ball whizzed by my head and struck the door. While I was trying to get a shot at him in return, he jumped to his feet and staggered out of range. I thought it best now to rest satisfied with my success so far, and again retired to my position behind the door.

For the next ten or fifteen minutes I could hear, from time to time, the smothered imprecations of the wounded ruffians, but after this there was a dead silence. I heard nothing more. They had either gone or were lying in wait near by, supposing I would come out. This uncertainty caused me considerable anxiety, for I dared not abandon my gloomy retreat. Two or three hours must have passed in this way, during which I was constantly on the guard; but not the slightest indication of the presence of the enemy was perceptible.

Two nights had nearly passed, during which I had not closed my eyes in sleep. The perpetual strain of mind and the fatigue of travel were beginning to tell. I felt faint and drowsy. During the whole terrible ordeal of this night I had not dared to sit down. But now my legs refused to support me any longer. I groped my way toward a corner of the room to lie down. Some soft mass on the ground caused me to stumble. I threw out my hands and fell. What was it that sent such a thrill of horror through every fibre? A dead body lay in my embrace – cold, mutilated, and clotted with blood!

It has been my fortune, during a long career of travel in foreign lands, to see death in many forms. I do not profess to be exempt from the weakness common to most men – a natural dread of that undiscovered region toward which we are all traveling. But I never had any peculiar repugnance to the presence of dead men. What are they, after all, but inanimate clay? The living are to be feared – not the dead, who sleep the sleep that knows no waking. Not this – not the sudden contact with a corpse; not simply the cold and blood-clotted face over which I passed my hand was it that caused me to recoil with such a thrill of horror. It was the solution of a dread mystery. There, in a pool of clotted gore, lay the corpse of a murdered man. No need was there to conjecture who were his murderers.

I rose up, thoroughly aroused from my drowsiness. It was probable others had shared the fate of this man. If so, their bodies must be near at hand. I was afraid to open the door to let in the light, for, bad as it was to be shut up in a dark room with the victim or victims of a cruel murder, it was worse to incur the risk of a similar fate by exposing myself. After somewhat recovering my composure I groped about, and soon discovered that three other bodies were lying in the room: one on a bed – a woman with her throat cut from ear to ear – and two smaller bodies on the floor near by – children perhaps eight or ten years old, but so mutilated that it was difficult to tell what they were. Their limbs were almost denuded of flesh, and their faces and bodies were torn into shapeless masses. This must have been the finishing work of the animal – a coyote no doubt – that had startled me with a growl, and broken through the window after I had first closed the door. I could also now account for the strange manner in which the mule had snuffed the air, and his unconquerable terror in approaching the house.

Only a few articles of furniture were in the room – a bed, two or three broken stools, a frying-pan, coffee-pot, and a few other cooking utensils, thrown in a heap near the fireplace. There was no other room; nor was there any back entrance, as I had at first apprehended.

It was a gloomy place enough to spend a night in, but there was no help for it. I certainly had less fear of the dead than of the living. It could not be over two or three hours till morning; and it was not likely the two men, who were seeking my life, would lurk about the premises much longer, if they had not long since taken their departure, which seemed the most probable.

I knelt down and commended my soul to God; then stretched myself across the brace against the door, and, despite the presence of death, fell fast asleep. It was broad daylight when I awoke. The sun's earliest rays were pouring into the room through the little window and the cracks of the door. A ghastly spectacle was revealed – a ghastly array of room-mates lying stiff and stark before me.

From the general appearance of the dead bodies I judged them to be an emigrant family from some of the Western States. They had probably taken up a temporary residence in the old adobe hut after crossing the plains by the southern route, and must have had money or property of some kind to have inspired the cupidity of their murderers. The man was apparently fifty years of age; his skull was split completely open, and his brains scattered out upon the earthen floor. The woman was doubtless his wife. Her clothes were torn partly from her body, and her head was cut nearly off from her shoulders; besides which, her skull was fractured with some dull instrument, and several ghastly wounds disfigured her person. The bedclothes were saturated with blood, now clotted by the parching heat. The two children had evidently been cut down by the blows of an axe. Their heads were literally shattered to fragments. What the murderers had failed to accomplish in mutilating the bodies had been completed by some ravenous beast of prey – the same, no doubt, already mentioned.

I saw no occasion to prolong my stay. It was hardly probable the Colonel and Jack, wounded as they were, would renew their attack. They must have made their way back to camp, or at least retired to some part of the country where they would incur less risk of capture.

CHAPTER VIII.

SAN MIGUEL

It was a bright and beautiful morning as I left the house and turned toward San Miguel. The contrast between the peaceful scene before me and the horrible sight I had just witnessed was exceedingly impressive. The mellow light of the early sun on the mountains; the winding streams fringed with shrubbery; the rich, golden hue of the valley; the cattle grazing quietly in the low meadows bordering on the Salinas River; the singing of the birds in the oak groves, were indescribably refreshing to a fevered mind, and filled my heart with thankfulness that I was spared to enjoy them once more. Yet I could not but think of what I had witnessed in the adobe hut – a whole family cut down by the ruthless hands of murderers who might still be lurking behind the bushes on the wayside. Their dreadful crime haunted the scene, and its exquisite repose seemed almost a cruel mockery. De Quincey somewhere remarks that he never experienced such profound sensations of sadness as on a bright summer day, when the very luxuriance and maturity of outer life, and the fullness of sunshine that filled the visible world, made the desolation and the darkness within the more oppressive. I could now well understand the feeling; and though grief had but little part in it, beyond a natural regret for the unhappy fate of the murdered family, still it was sad to feel the contrast between the purity and beauty of God's creation and the willful wickedness of man.

I had not lost the strong instinct of self-preservation, which, so far at least, through the kind aid of Providence, had enabled me to preserve my life; and in my lonely walk toward San Miguel I was careful to keep in the open valley, and avoid, as much as possible, coming within range of the rocks and bushes. In about an hour I saw the red tile roofs and motley collection of ruinous old buildings that comprised the former missionary station of San Miguel. A gang of lean wolfish dogs ran out to meet me as I approached, and it was not without difficulty that I could keep them off without resorting to my revolver, which was an alternative that might produce a bad impression where I most hoped to meet with a friendly reception. As I approached the main buildings I was struck with the singularly wild and desolate aspect of the place. Not a living being was in sight. The carcass of a dead ox lay in front of the door, upon which a voracious brood of buzzards were feeding; and a coyote sat howling on an eminence a little beyond. I walked into a dark, dirty room, and called out, in what little Spanish I knew, for the man of the house. "Quien es?" demanded a gruff voice. I looked in a corner, and saw a filthy-looking object, wrapped in a poncho, sitting lazily on a bed. By his uncouth manner and forbidding appearance I judged him to be the vaquero in charge of the place, in which I was not mistaken. With considerable difficulty I made him comprehend that I had lost my mule, and supposed it had strayed to San Miguel.

"Quien sabe?" said the fellow, indifferently.

Could he not find it? I would be willing to reward him. I would give him the blankets. I was an Oficiál, and was on my way to San Luis Obispo. To each of these propositions the man returned a stupid and yawning answer, "Quien sabe– who knows?"

Finding nothing to be gained on that point, I asked him for something to eat, for I was well-nigh famished with hunger. He pointed lazily to a string of jerked beef strung across the rafters. It required but little time to select a few dry pieces, and while I was eating them the fellow asked me if I had any tobacco. I handed him a plug, which speedily produced a good effect, for he got up and passed me a plate of cold tortillas. When I had somewhat satisfied the cravings of hunger, I asked him, in my broken Spanish, if he had heard of the murder – five persons killed in an old adobe house near by. "Quien sabe?" said he, in the same indifferent tone. "Muchos malhos hombres aqui." This was all he knew, or professed to know, of the murder.

"Amigo," said I, "if you'll get my mule and bring him here, I'll give you this watch."

He took the watch and examined it carefully, handed it back, and remarked as before, "Quien sabe?" The glitter of the gold, however, seemed to quicken his perceptive faculties to this extent that he got up from the bed, put on his spurs, took a riata from a peg on the wall, and walked out, leaving me to entertain myself as I thought proper during his absence.

Having finished a substantial repast of jerked beef and tortillas, I went out and rambled about among the ruins for nearly an hour. A few lazy and thriftless Indians, lying in the sun here and there, were all the inhabitants of the place I could see. This ranch must have been a very desirable residence in former times. The climate is charming, except that it was a little warm in summer, and the cattle ranges are richly clothed with grass and very extensive.

In about an hour my friend the vaquero came back, mounted on a broncho or wild horse, leading after him my mule, with the pack unchanged. From what I could understand, he had found the mule entangled by the bridle in the bushes, some three miles on the trail toward San Luis. According to promise, I handed him my watch. He took it and examined it again, then handed it back without saying a word.

"Amigo," said I, "the watch is yours. I promised it to you if you found my mule."

To this he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Won't you take it? I have no money."

"No, señor," said he, at length, with a somewhat haughty air, "I am a Spanish gentleman."

"Oh, I beg your pardon. Will you do me the favor, then, to accept a plug of tobacco?"

I opened my pack and handed him a large plug of the finest pressed Cavendish.

"Mil gracias!" said the Spanish gentleman, smiling affably, and making a condescending inclination of the head. "That suits me better. A watch is bad property here. I don't want to be killed yet a while."

Here was a hint of his reason for declining the proffered reward. But he did it very grandly; and I was quite willing to accord to him the title of Señor Caballero to which he aspired, though he certainly looked as unlike the Caballeros described by the learned Fray Antonio Agapida, who went out to make war upon the Moors of Granada, as one distinguished individual can look unlike another.

There was ample reason why I should regard my mule with dissatisfaction. All my misfortunes, so far, had arisen from his defective physical and mental organization (if I may use the term in reference to such an animal); but the fact is, it has been my fate, as far back as I can recollect, to have the worst stock in the country foisted upon me. Never yet, up to this hour, have I succeeded in purchasing a sound, safe, and reliable animal – except, indeed, an old horse that I once owned in Oakland, generally known in the neighborhood as Selim the Steady – a name derived from his unconquerable propensity for remaining in the stable, or getting back to it as soon as ever he left the premises.

The vaquero, or, as he aspired to be called, the Caballero, offered to barter his broncho for my mule, and, as an inducement, set him to bucking all over the ground within a circle of fifty yards, merely to show the spirit of the animal, of which I was so well satisfied that I declined the barter.

CHAPTER IX.

A DANGEROUS ADVENTURE

Bidding my worthy friend a kindly "adios," I mounted the mule and pursued my journey toward San Luis. The country, for many miles after leaving San Miguel, was very wild and picturesque. Blue mountains loomed up in the distance; and the trail passed through a series of beautifully undulating valleys, sometimes extensive and open, but often narrowed down to a mere gorge between the irregular spurs of the mountains. Game was very abundant, especially quail and rabbits. I saw also several fine herds of deer, and occasionally bands of large red wolves. It was a very lonesome road all the way to the valley of Santa Marguerita, not a house or human being to be seen for twenty miles at a stretch. Toward evening, on the first day after leaving San Miguel, I descended the bed of a creek to water my mule. While looking for the water-hole, I heard some voices, and suddenly found myself close by a camp of Sonoranians. It was too late to retreat, for I was already betrayed by the braying of my mule. Upon riding into the camp I was struck with the savage and picturesque group before me, consisting of some ten or a dozen Sonoranians. It is doing them no more than justice to say that they were the most villainous, cut-throat, ill-favored looking gang of vagabonds I had ever laid eyes upon. Some were smoking cigarritos by the fire, others lying all about the trees playing cards, on their ragged saddle-blankets, with little piles of silver before them; and those that were not thus occupied were capering around on wild horses, breaking them apparently, for the blood streamed from the nostrils and flanks of the unfortunate animals, and they were covered with a reeking sweat.

Probably it may be thought that I exceeded the truth when I asked this promising party if they had seen six "Americanos" pass that way with a pack-train from San Luis, friends of mine that I was on the look-out for. They had seen no such pack-train; it had not passed since they camped there, which was several days ago.

"Then," said I, "it must be close at hand, and I must hurry on to meet it. The mules are laden with mucha plata."

Having watered my mule, I rode on about five miles farther, where I reached a small ranch-house occupied by a native Californian family. They gave me a good supper of frijoles and jerked beef, and I slept comfortably on the porch.

Next day I struck into the Valley of Santa Marguerita. I shall never forget my first impression of this valley. Encircled by ranges of blue mountains were broad, rich pastures, covered with innumerable herds of cattle; beautifully diversified with groves, streams, and shrubbery; castellated cliffs in the foreground as the trail wound downward; a group of cattle grazing by the margin of a little lake, their forms mirrored in the water; a mirage in the distance; mountain upon mountain beyond, as far as the eye could reach, till their dim outlines were lost in the golden glow of the atmosphere. Surely a more lovely spot never existed upon earth. I have wandered over many a bright and beautiful land, but never, even in the glorious East, in Italy, Spain, Switzerland, or South America, have I seen a country so richly favored by nature as California, and never a more lovely valley than Santa Marguerita upon the whole wide world. There is nothing comparable to the mingled wildness and repose of such a scene; the rich and glowing sky, the illimitable distances, the teeming luxuriance of vegetation, its utter isolation from the busy world, and the dreamy fascination that lurks in every feature.

I had passed nearly across the valley, and was about to enter upon an undulating and beautifully timbered range of country extending into it from the foot-hills, when a dust arose on a rise of ground a little to the left and about half a mile distant. My mule, ever on the alert for some new danger, pricked up his ears and manifested symptoms of uncontrollable fear. The object rapidly approached, and without farther warning the mule whirled around and fled at the top of his speed. Neither bridle nor switch had the slightest effect. In vain I struggled to arrest his progress, believing this, like many other frights he had experienced on the road, was rather the result of innate cowardice than of any substantial cause of apprehension. One material difference was perceptible. He never before ran so fast. Through brush and mire, over rocks, into deep arroyas and out again, he dashed in his frantic career, never once stopping till by some mischance one of his fore feet sank in a squirrel-hole, when he rolled headlong on the ground, throwing me with considerable violence several yards in advance. I jumped to my feet at once, hoping to catch him before he could get up, but he was on his feet and away before I had time to make the attempt. It now became a matter of personal interest to know what he was running from. Upon looking back, I was astonished to see not only one object, but four others in the rear, bearing rapidly down toward me. The first was a large animal of some kind – I could not determine what – the others mounted horsemen in full chase. Whatever the object of the chase was, it was not safe to be a spectator in the direct line of their route. I cast a hurried look around, and discovered a break in the earth a few hundred yards distant, toward which I ran with all speed. It was a sort of mound rooted up by the squirrels or coyotes, and afforded some trifling shelter, where I crouched down close to the ground. Scarcely had I partially concealed myself when I heard a loud shouting from the men on horseback, and, peeping over the bank, saw within fifty or sixty paces a huge grizzly bear, but no longer retreating. He had faced round toward his pursuers, and now seemed determined to fight. The horsemen were evidently native Californians, and managed their animals with wonderful skill and grace. The nearest swept down like an avalanche toward the bear, while the others coursed off a short distance in a circling direction to prevent his escape. Suddenly swerving a little to one side, the leader whirled his lasso once or twice around his head, and let fly at his game with unerring aim. The loop caught one of the fore paws, and the bear was instantly jerked down upon his haunches, struggling and roaring with all his might. It was a striking instance of the power of the rider over the horse, that, wild with terror as the latter was, he dared not disobey the slightest pressure of the rein, but went through all the evolutions, blowing trumpet-blasts from his nostrils and with eyes starting from their sockets. Despite the strain kept upon the lasso, the bear soon regained his feet, and commenced hauling in the spare line with his fore paws so as to get within reach of the horse. He had advanced within ten feet before the nearest of the other horsemen could bring his lasso to bear upon him. The first throw was at his hind legs – the main object being to stretch him out – but it missed. Another more fortunate cast took him round the neck. Both riders pulled in opposite directions, and the bear soon rolled on the ground again, biting furiously at the lassos, and uttering the most terrific roars. The strain upon his neck soon choked off his breath, and he was forced to let loose his grasp upon the other lasso. While struggling to free his neck, the two other horsemen dashed up, swinging their lassos, and shouting with all their might so as to attract his attention. The nearest, watching narrowly every motion of the frantic animal, soon let fly his lasso, and made a lucky hitch around one of his hind legs. The other, following quickly with a large loop, swung it entirely over the bear's body, and all four riders now set up a yell of triumph and began pulling in opposite directions. The writhing, pitching, and straining of the powerful monster were now absolutely fearful. A dust arose over him, and the earth flew up in every direction. Sometimes by a desperate effort he regained his feet, and actually dragged one or more of the horses toward him by main strength; but, whenever he attempted this, the others stretched their lassos, and either choked him or jerked him down upon his haunches. It was apparent that his wind was giving out, partly by reason of the long chase, and partly owing to the noose around his throat. A general pull threw him once more upon his back. Before he could regain his feet, the horsemen, by a series of dexterous manœuvres, wound him completely up, so that he lay perfectly quiet upon the ground, breathing heavily, and utterly unable to extricate his paws from the labyrinth of lassos in which he was entangled. One of the riders now gave the reins of his horse to another and dismounted. Cautiously approaching, with a spare riata, he cast a noose over the bear's fore paws, and wound the remaining part tightly round the neck, so that what strength might still have been left was speedily exhausted by suffocation. This done, another rider dismounted, and the two soon succeeded in binding their victim so firmly by the paws that it was impossible for him to break loose. They next bound his jaws together by means of another riata, winding it all the way up around his head, upon which they loosened the fastening around his neck so as to give him air. When all was secure, they freed the lassos and again mounted their horses. I thought it about time now to make known my presence and stood up. Some of the party had evidently seen me during the progress of the chase, for they manifested no surprise; and the leader, after exchanging a few words with one of the men, and pointing in the direction taken by the mule, rode up and said very politely, "Buenas dias, Señor!" He then informed me, as well as I could understand, that he had sent a man to catch my mule, and it would be back presently. While we were endeavoring to carry on some conversation in reference to the capture of the bear, during which I made out to gather that they were going to drag him to the ranch on a bullock's hide, and have a grand bullfight with him in the course of a few days, the vaquero returned with my mule.

I had a pleasant journey of thirty-five miles that day. Nothing farther occurred worthy of record. When night overtook me I was within fifteen miles of San Luis. I camped under a tree, and, notwithstanding some apprehension of the Sonoranians, made out to get a good sleep.

Next morning I was up and on my way by daylight. The country, as I advanced, increased in picturesque beauty, and the hope of soon reaching my destination gave me additional pleasure. A few hours more, and I was safely lodged with some American friends. Thus ended what I think the reader must admit was "a dangerous journey."

CHAPTER X.

A TRAGEDY

A few days after my arrival in San Luis I went, in company with a young American by the name of Jackson, to a fandango given by the native Californians. The invitation, as usual in such cases, was general, and the company not very select. Every person within a circle of twenty miles, and with money enough in his pockets to pay for the refreshments, was expected to be present. The entertainment was held in a large adobe building, formerly used for missionary purposes, the lower part of which was occupied as a store-house. A large loft overhead, with a step-ladder reaching to it from the outside, formed what the proprietor was pleased to call the dancing-saloon. In the yard, which was encircled by a mud wall, were several chapadens, or brush tents, in which whisky, gin, aguardiente, and other refreshments of a like nature, "for ladies and gentlemen," were for sale at "two bits a drink." A low rabble of Mexican greasers, chiefly Sonoranians, hung around the premises in every direction, among whom I recognized several belonging to the gang into whose encampment I had fallen on my way down from Santa Marguerita. Their dirty serapas, machillas, and spurs lay scattered about, just as they had dismounted from their mustangs. The animals were picketed around in the open spaces, and kept up a continual confusion by bucking and kicking at every straggler who came within their reach. Such of the rabble as were able to pay the entrance-fee of "dos realles" were sitting in groups in the yard, smoking cigarritos and playing at monté. A few of the better class of rancheros had brought señoritas with them, mounted in front on their saddles, and were wending their way up the step-ladder as we entered the premises.

I followed the crowd, in company with my friend Jackson, and was admitted into the saloon upon the payment of half a dollar. This fund was to defray the expense of lights and music.

On passing through the doorway I was forcibly impressed with the scene. Some fifty or sixty couples were dancing to the most horrible scraping of fiddles I had ever heard, marking the time by snapping their fingers, whistling, and clapping their hands. The fiddles were accompanied by a dreadful twanging of guitars; and an Indian in one corner of the saloon added to the din by beating with all his might upon a rude drum. There was an odor of steaming flesh, cigarritos, garlic, and Cologne in the hot, reeking atmosphere that was almost suffocating; and the floor swayed under the heavy tramp of the dancers, as if every turn of the waltz might be the last. The assemblage was of a very mixed character, as may well be supposed, consisting of native Californians, Sonoranians, Americans, Frenchmen, Germans, and half-breed Indians.

Most of the Mexicans were rancheros and vaqueros from the neighboring ranches, dressed in the genuine style of Caballeros del Campaña, with black or green velvet jackets, richly embroidered; wide pantaloons, open at the sides, ornamented with rows of silver buttons; a red sash around the waist; and a great profusion of gold filigree on their vests. These were the fast young fellows who had been successful in jockeying away their horses, or gambling at monté. Others of a darker and lower grade, such as the Sonoranians, wore their hats and machillas just as they had come in from camp; for it was one of the privileges of the fandango that every man could dress or undress as he pleased. A very desperate and ill-favored set these were – perfect specimens of Mexican outlaws.