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

The Americans were chiefly a party of Texans, who had recently crossed over through Chihuahua, and compared not unfavorably with the Sonoranians in point of savage costume and appearance. Some wore broadcloth frock-coats, ragged and defaced from the wear and tear of travel; some red flannel shirts, without any coats – their pantaloons thrust in their boots in a loose, swaggering style; and all with revolvers and bowie-knives swinging from their belts. A more reckless, devil-may-care looking set it would be impossible to find in a year's journey. Take them altogether – with their uncouth costumes, bearded faces, lean and brawny forms, fierce, savage eyes, and swaggering manners – they were a fit assemblage for a frolic or a fight. Every word they spoke was accompanied by an oath. The presence of the females imposed no restraint upon the subject or style of the conversation, which was disgusting to the last degree. I felt ashamed to think that habit should so brutalize a people of my own race and blood.

Many of the señoritas were pretty, and those who had no great pretensions to beauty in other respects were at least gifted with fine eyes and teeth, rich brunette complexions, and forms of wonderful pliancy and grace. All, or nearly all, were luminous with jewelry, and wore dresses of the most flashy colors, in which flowers, lace, and glittering tinsel combined to set off their dusky charms. I saw some among them who would not have compared unfavorably with the ladies of Cadiz, perhaps in more respects than one. They danced easily and naturally; and, considering the limited opportunity of culture they had enjoyed in this remote region, it was wonderful how free, simple, and graceful they were in their manners.

The belle of the occasion was a dark-eyed, fierce-looking woman of about six-and-twenty, a half-breed from Santa Barbara. Her features were far from comely, being sharp and uneven; her skin was scarred with fire or small-pox; and her form, though not destitute of a certain grace of style, was too lithe, wiry, and acrobatic to convey any idea of voluptuous attraction. Every motion, every nerve seemed the incarnation of a suppressed vigor; every glance of her fierce, flashing eyes was instinct with untamable passion. She was a mustang in human shape – one that I thought would kick or bite upon very slight provocation. In the matter of dress she was almost Oriental. The richest and most striking colors decorated her, and made a rare accord with her wild and singular physique; a gorgeous silk dress of bright orange, flounced up to the waist; a white bodice, with blood-red ribbons upon each shoulder; a green sash around the waist; an immense gold-cased breast-pin, with diamonds glittering in the centre, the greatest profusion of rings on her fingers, and her ears loaded down with sparkling ear-rings; while her heavy black hair was gathered up in a knot behind, and pinned with a gold dagger – all being in strict keeping with her wild, dashing character, and bearing some remote affinity to a dangerous but royal game-bird. I thought of the Mexican chichilaca as I gazed at her. There was an intensity in the quick flash of her eye which produced a burning sensation wherever it fell. She cast a spell around her not unlike the fascination of a snake. The women shunned and feared her; the men absolutely worshiped at her shrine. Their infatuation was almost incredible. She seemed to have some supernatural capacity for arousing the fiercest passions of love, jealousy, and hatred. Of course there was great rivalry to engage the hand of such a belle for the dance. Crowds of admirers were constantly urging their claims. It was impossible to look upon their excited faces and savage rivalry, knowing the desperate character of the men, without a foreboding of evil.

"Perhaps you will not be surprised," said Jackson, "to hear something strange and startling about that woman. She is a murderess! Not long since she stabbed to death a rival of hers, another half-breed, who had attempted to win the affections of her paramour. But, worse than that – she is strongly suspected of having killed her own child a few months ago, in a fit of jealousy caused by the supposed infidelity of its father – whose identity, however, can not be fixed with any certainty. She is a strange, bad woman – a devil incarnate; yet you see what a spell she casts around her! Some of these men are mad in love with her! They will fight before the evening is over. Yet she is neither pretty nor amiable. I can not account for it. Let me introduce you."

As soon as a pause in the dance occurred I was introduced. The revolting history I had heard of this woman inspired me with a curiosity to know how such a fiend in human shape could exercise such a powerful sway over every man in the room.

Although she spoke but little English, there was a peculiar sweetness in every word she uttered. I thought I could detect something of the secret of her magical powers in her voice, which was the softest and most musical I had ever heard. There was a wild, sweet, almost unearthly cadence in it that vibrated upon the ear like the strains of an Æolian. Added to this, there was a power of alternate ferocity and tenderness in her deep, passionate eyes, that struck to the inner core wherever she fixed her gaze. I could not determine for my life which she resembled most – the untamed mustang, the royal game-bird, or the rattlesnake. There were flitting hints of each in her, and yet the comparison is feeble and inadequate. Sometimes she reminded me of Rachel – then the living, now the dead, Queen of Tragedy. Had it not been for a horror of her repulsive crimes, it is hard to say how far her fascinating powers might have affected me. As it was, I could only wonder whether she was most genius or devil. Not knowing how to dance, I could not offer my services in that way, and, after a few commonplace remarks, withdrew to a seat near the wall. The dance went on with great spirit. Absurd as it may seem, I could not keep my eyes off this woman. Whichever way she looked there was a commotion – a shrinking back among the women, or the symptoms of a jealous rage among the men. For her own sex she manifested an absolute scorn; for the other she had an inexhaustible fund of sweet glances, which each admirer might take to himself.

At a subsequent period of the evening I observed, for the first time, among the company a man of very conspicuous appearance, dressed in the very picturesque style of a Texan Ranger. His face was turned from me when I first saw him, but there was something manly and imposing about his figure and address that attracted my attention. While I was looking toward him he turned to speak to some person near him. My astonishment may well be conceived when I recognized in his strongly-marked features and dejected expression the face of the man "Griff," to whom I was indebted for my escape from the assassins near Soledad! There could be no doubt that this was the outlaw who had rendered me such an inestimable service, differently dressed, indeed, and somewhat disfigured by a ghastly wound across the temple, but still the same; still bearing himself with an air of determination mingled with profound sadness. It was evident the Colonel had misinformed me as to his death. Perhaps, judging from the wound on his temple, which was still unhealed, he might have been left for dead, and subsequently have effected his escape. At all events, there was no doubt that he now stood before me.

I was about to spring forward and grasp him by the hand, when the dreadful scene I had witnessed in the little adobe hut near San Miguel flashed vividly upon my mind, and, for the moment, I felt like one who was paralyzed. That hand might be stained with the blood of the unfortunate emigrants! Who could tell? He had disavowed any participation in the act, but his complicity, either remote or direct, could scarcely be doubted from his own confession. How far his guilt might render him amenable to the laws I could not of course conjecture. It was enough for me, however, that he had saved my life; but I could not take his hand.

While reflecting upon the course that it might become my duty to pursue under the circumstances, I observed that he was not exempt from the fascinating sway of the dark señorita, whose face he regarded with an interest even more intense than that manifested by her other admirers. He was certainly a person calculated to make an impression upon such a woman; yet, strange to say, he was the only man in the crowd toward whom she evinced a spirit of hostility. Several times he went up to her and asked her to dance. Whether from caprice or some more potent cause I could not conjecture, but she invariably repulsed him – once with a degree of asperity that indicated something more than a casual acquaintance. It was in vain he attempted to cajole her. She was evidently bitter and unrelenting in her animosity. At length, incensed at his pertinacity, she turned sharply upon him, and leaning her head close to his ear, whispered something, the effect of which was magical. He staggered back as if stunned, and, gazing a moment at her with an expression of horror, turned away and walked out of the room. The woman's face was a shade paler, but she quickly resumed her usual smile, and otherwise manifested no emotion.

This little incident was probably unnoticed by any except myself. I sat in a recess near the window, and could see all that was going on without attracting attention. I had resolved, after overcoming my first friendly impulses, not to discover myself to the outlaw until the fandango was over, and then determine upon my future course regarding him by the result of a confidential interview. I fully believed that he would tell me the truth, and nothing but the truth, in reference to the murder of the emigrants.

The dance went on. It was a Spanish waltz; the click-clack of the feet, in slow-measured time, was very monotonous, producing a peculiarly dreamy effect. I sometimes closed my eyes and fancied it was all a wild, strange dream. Visions of the beautiful country through which I had passed flitted before me – a country desecrated by the worst passions of human nature. Amid the rarest charms of scenery and climate, what a combination of dark and deadly sins oppressed the mind! What a cess-pool of wickedness was here within these very walls!

Half an hour may have elapsed in this sort of dreaming, when Griff, who had been so strangely repulsed by the dark señorita, came back and pushed his way through the crowd. This time I noticed that his face was flushed, and a gleam of desperation was in his eye. The wound in his temple had a purple hue, and looked as if it might burst out bleeding afresh. His motions were unsteady – he had evidently been drinking. Edging over toward the woman, he stood watching her till there was a pause in the dance. Her partner was a handsome young Mexican, very gayly dressed, whom I had before noticed, and to whom she now made herself peculiarly fascinating. She smiled when he spoke; laughed very musically at every thing he said; leaned up toward him, and assumed a wonderfully sweet and confidential manner. The Mexican was perfectly infatuated. He made the most passionate avowals, scarcely conscious what he was saying. I watched the tall Texan. The veins in his forehead were swollen; he strode to and fro restlessly, fixing fierce and deadly glances upon the loving couple. A terrible change had taken place in the expression of his features, which ordinarily had something sweet and sad in it. It was now dark, brutish, and malignant. Suddenly, as if by an ungovernable impulse, he rushed up close to where they stood, and, drawing a large bowie-knife, said to the woman, in a quick, savage tone,

"Dance with me now, or, damn you, I'll cut your heart out!"

She turned toward him haughtily – "Señor!"

"Dance with me, or die!"

"Señor," said the woman, quietly, and with an unflinching eye, "you are drunk! Don't come so near to me!"

The infuriated man made a motion as if to strike at her with his knife; but, quick as lightning, the young Mexican grasped his uprisen arm and the two clenched. I could not see what was done in the struggle. Those of the crowd who were nearest rushed in, and the affray soon became general. Pistols and knives were drawn in every direction; but so sudden was the fight that nobody seemed to know where to aim or strike. In the midst of the confusion, a man jumped up on one of the benches and shouted,

"Back! back with you! The man's stabbed! Let him out!"

The swaying mass parted, and the tall Texan staggered through, then fell upon the floor. His shirt was covered with blood, and he breathed heavily. A moment after the woman uttered a low, wild cry, and, dashing through the crowd – her long black hair streaming behind her – she cast herself down by the prostrate man and sobbed,

"O cara mio! O Deos! is he dead? is he dead?"

"Who did this? Who stabbed this man?" demanded several voices, fiercely.

"No matter," answered the wounded man, faintly. "It was my own fault; I deserved it;" and, turning his face toward the weeping woman, he said, smiling, "Don't cry; don't go on so."

There was an ineffable tenderness in his voice, and something indescribably sweet in the expression of his face.

"O Deos!" cried the woman, kissing him passionately. "O cara mio! Say you will not die! Tell me you will not die!" And, tearing her dress with frantic strength, she tried to stanch the blood, which was rapidly forming a crimson pool around him.

The crowd meantime pressed so close that the man suffered for want of air, and begged to be removed. Several persons seized hold of him, and, lifting him from the floor, carried him out. The dark señorita followed close up, still pressing the fragments of her bloodstained dress to his wound.

Order was restored, and the music and dancing went on as if nothing had happened.

I had no desire to see any more of the evening amusements.

Next day I learned that the unfortunate man was dead. He was a stranger at San Luis, and refused to reveal his name, or make any disclosures concerning the affray. His last words were addressed to the woman, who clung to him with a devotion bordering on insanity. When she saw that he was doomed to die, the tears ceased to flow from her eyes, and she sat by his bedside with a wild, affrighted look, clutching his hands in hers, and ever and anon bathing her lips in the life-blood that oozed from his mouth.

"I loved you – still love you better than my life!"

These were his last words. A gurgle, a quivering motion of the stalwart frame, and he was dead!

At an examination before the alcalde, it was proved that the stabbing must have occurred before the affray became general. It was also shown that the young Mexican was unarmed, and had no acquaintance with the murdered man.

Who could have done it?

Was it the devil-woman? Was this a case of jealousy, and was the tall Texan the father of the murdered child?

Upon these points I could get no information. The whole affair, with all its antecedent circumstances, was wrapped in an impenetrable mystery. When the body was carried to the grave by a few strangers, including myself, the chief mourner was the half-breed woman – now a ghastly wreck. The last I saw of her, as we turned sadly away, she was sitting upon the sod at the head of the grave, motionless as a statue.

Next morning a vaquero, passing in that direction, noticed a shapeless mass lying upon the newly-spaded earth. It proved to be the body of the unfortunate woman, horribly mutilated by the wolves. The clothes were torn from it, and the limbs presented a ghastly spectacle of fleshless bones. Whether she died by her own hand, or was killed by the wolves during the night, none could tell. She was buried by the side of her lover.

Soon after these events, having completed my business in San Luis, I took passage in a small schooner for San Francisco, where I had the satisfaction in a few days of turning over ten thousand dollars to the Collector of Customs.

I never afterward could obtain any information respecting the two men mentioned in the early part of my narrative – the Colonel and Jack. No steps were taken by the authorities to arrest them. It is the usual fate of such men in California sooner or later to fall into the hands of an avenging mob. Doubtless they met with a merited retribution.

Eleven years have passed since these events took place. Many changes have occurred in California. The gangs of desperadoes that infested the state have been broken up; some of the members have met their fate at the hands of justice – more have fallen victims to their own excesses. I have meanwhile traveled in many lands, and have had my full share of adventures. But still, every incident in the "Dangerous Journey" which I have attempted to describe is as fresh in my mind as if it happened but yesterday.

OBSERVATIONS IN OFFICE

I.

MY OFFICIAL EXPERIENCES

There is something very fascinating in public office. The dignity of the position touches our noblest sympathies, and makes heroes and patriots of the most commonplace men. It is wonderful, too, how unselfish people become under the influence of this most potent charm. Every four years it becomes an epidemic. The passional attraction of office is felt throughout the length and breadth of the land. Many thousands of our best citizens visit the seat of government at the inauguration of a new president. A large proportion of them have faithfully served their country by contributing their time, talents, energies, and pecuniary resources to the success of the dominant party. But they don't want any thing; they have a natural repugnance to office; they merely come to look on, and pay their respects to the chief magistrate. If he deems it necessary to solicit their services for the common good, it is not for them, as patriotic citizens, to refuse. The seductive influences of official position may tend, perhaps, to quicken their perception of the grades of service in which their time could be most profitably spent; but modesty, after all, is their predominant trait. Indeed, for that matter, the general characteristic of great men is modesty, and where will you see so many notoriously great men as in Washington upon the advent of a new administration. The difficulty is to find a man who is not great. You may find many who are poor, some thriftless, and a few worthless, but none deficient in greatness. It must not be understood, however, that mercenary considerations have any connection with the charm which allures them thither. These excellent people – as in my own case, for example – are governed by motives of the purest and most exalted patriotism. Who is there so destitute of national pride – so indifferent to the welfare of his fellow-beings, that he does not desire to serve his country when he sees that she stands in need of his services?

The consideration of a per-diem allowance could not be wholly discarded, but I assure you, upon the veracity of a public officer, it had not the slightest influence upon me when I accepted the responsible position of Inspector General of Public Depositories. The Secretary of the Treasury – a gentleman in whom I had great confidence – required my services. I was unwilling, of course, to stand in the way of an efficient administration of the affairs of his department. The fact is, I had great personal respect for him, and was anxious to afford him all the assistance in my power. I do not pretend to say that the appointment of inspector general was destitute of attractions in itself, but they were not of a pecuniary character. The title had a sonorous and authoritative ring about it altogether different from the groveling jingle of filthy lucre – something that vibrated upon the higher chords of the soul.

An honorable ambition to serve one's country is one of the highest and most ennobling passions that can govern the human mind. To this may be attributed some of the greatest achievements which have given lustre to ancient and modern history. It has developed the greatest intellects of the Old and New World, and furnished the rising generation with illustrious models of unselfish devotion to the common welfare of mankind.

No wonder, then, that office possesses such extraordinary attractions. It is the cheapest way of becoming great. A man never before heard of outside of his village home – never before known to do any thing remarkable by his most intimate friends – never before suspected of possessing the least capacity for mental or manual labor of any kind whatsoever, may become, in the course of four-and-twenty hours, a topic of newspaper comment throughout the whole country – praised for virtues he never possessed, abused for vices to which he never aspired. An appointment places him prominently before the public. It shows the world that there was always something in him – whether whisky or sense matters little, since he has received the endorsement of the "powers that be."

To make a short story of it, I was obliged to accept the position. The party in power stood in need of my services. I could not refuse without great detriment to the country. This was many years since; and I beg to say that there is nothing in my journal of experiences bearing upon the present state of affairs. At great pecuniary sacrifice (that is to say, in a prospective sense, for I hadn't a dime in the world), I announced myself as ready to proceed to duty. In his letter of instructions, the Secretary of the Treasury was pleased to direct me to proceed to the Pacific coast, and carefully examine into the condition of the revenue service in that remote region. I was to see that the accounts of the collectors were properly kept and rendered; that the revenue laws were faithfully administered; that the valuation of imports was uniform throughout the various districts; whether any reduction could be made in the number of inspectors and aids to the revenue stationed within their limits, with a view to a more economical administration of the laws; whether the public moneys were kept in the manner prescribed by the Independent Treasury Act of August 6th, 1846; and what additional measures, if any, were necessary for the prevention of smuggling and other frauds upon the revenue, all of which I was to report, with such views as might be suggested in the course of the investigation for the promotion of the public interests. These were but a few of the important subjects of official inquiry upon which I was to enlighten the Department. I frankly confess that, when I read the instructions, and pondered over their massive proportions and severe tone of gravity, I was appalled at the immensity of the interests committed to my charge. A somewhat versatile career, during which I had served before the mast in a whaler, studied medicine, hunted squirrels in the backwoods, followed the occupation of ferry-keeper, flat-boat hand, and short-hand writer, had not fitted me particularly for this sort of business. What did I know about the forms of accounts current, drawbacks, permits, entries, appraisements, licenses, enrollments, and abstracts of imports and exports? What reliable or definite information was I prepared to give to collectors of customs in reference to schedules and sliding scales? What hope was there that I could ever get to the bottom of a fraud upon the revenue service, when I had but a glimmering notion of the difference between fabrics of which the component parts were two thirds wool, and fabrics composed in whole or in part of sheet-iron, leather, or gutta-percha?

As for inspectors of customs, how in the world was an agent to find out how many inspectors were needed except by asking the collector of the district, who ought to know more about it than a stranger? But if the collector had half a dozen brothers, cousins, or friends in office as inspectors, would it not be expecting a little too much of human nature to suppose he would say there were too many in his district? I reflected over the idea of asking one of these gentlemen to inform me confidentially if he thought he could dispense with a dozen or so of his relatives and friends without detriment to the public service, but abandoned it as chimerical. Then, to go outside and question any disinterested member of the community on this subject seemed equally absurd. Who could be said to be disinterested when only a few offices were to be filled, and a great many people wished to fill them? I would be pretty sure to stumble upon some disappointed applicant for an inspectorship, or, worse still, upon a smuggler. It is a well-ascertained fact that disappointed applicants for office are always opposed to the fortunate applicants, and smugglers, as a general rule, have a natural antipathy to inspectors of customs.

There was another serious duty imposed upon me – to ascertain the character and standing of all the public employés, their general reputation for sobriety, industry, and honesty, and to report accordingly. Here was rather a delicate matter – one, in fact, that might be productive of innumerable personal difficulties. Having no unfriendly feeling toward any man, and attaching a fair valuation to life, I did not much relish the notion of placing any man's personal infirmities upon the official records. If a public officer drank too much whisky, it was certainly a very injurious practice, alike prejudicial to his health and morals; but where was to be the gauge between too much and only just enough? No man likes to have his predilection for stimulating beverages made a matter of public question, and the gradations between temperance and intemperance are so arbitrary in different communities that it would be a very difficult matter to report upon. I have seen men "sociable" in New Orleans who would be considered "elevated" in Boston, and men "a little shot" in Texas who would be regarded as "drunk" in Maine. It is all a matter of opinion. No man is ever drunk in his own estimation, and whether he is so in the estimation of others depends pretty much upon their standard of sobriety. With respect to honesty, that was an equally delicate matter. What might be considered honest among politicians might be very questionable in ordinary life. I once knew of a public officer who had been charged with embezzling certain public moneys. There was no doubt of the fact, but he fought a duel to prove his innocence. In one respect, at least, he was honest – he placed a fair valuation upon his life, which was worth no more to the community than it was to himself. I did not think an ordinary per-diem allowance would be sufficient to compensate for maintaining the public credit by such tests as this, especially as there were nearly two hundred public offices to be examined; but it seemed nothing more than reasonable that the laws should be administered by sober and honest men, and, upon the whole, I could not perceive how this unpleasant duty could be avoided.

The Department furnished me with a penknife, a pencil, several quires of paper, and a copy of Gordon's Digest of the Revenue Laws. This was my outfit. It was not equal to the outfit of a minister plenipotentiary, but there was a certain dignity in its very simplicity. To be the owner of a fine Congressional penknife, a genuine English lead-pencil, paper ad libitum, and Gordon's Digest, was no trifling advance in my practical resources. I looked into the Digest, read many of the laws, and became satisfied that the Creator had not gifted me with any capacity for understanding that species of writing. For Mr. Gordon, who had digested those laws, I felt a very profound admiration. His powers of digestion were certainly better than mine. I would much rather have undertaken to digest a keg of spike nails. The Act of March 2, 1799, upon which most of the others were based, was evidently drawn with great ability, and covered the whole subject. Like a Bœotian fog, however, it covered it up so deep that I don't think the author ever saw it again after he got through writing the law. Whenever there was a tangible point to be found, it was either abolished, or so obscured by some other law made in conformity with the progress of the times that it became no point at all; so that, after perusing pretty much the whole book, and referring to Mayo's Compendium of Circulars and Treasury Regulations, I am free to confess the effect was very decided. I knew a great deal less than before, for I was utterly unable to determine who was right – Congress, Gordon, Mayo, or myself.

Under these circumstances, it will hardly be a matter of surprise that serious doubt as to my capacity for this service entered my mind. Perhaps, in the whole history of government offices, it was the first time such a doubt ever entered any man's head upon receiving an appointment, and I claim some credit for originality on that account. The position was highly responsible; the duties were of a very grave and important character, bordering on the metaphysical. Now, had I been requested to visit Juan Fernandez, and report upon the condition of Robinson Crusoe's castle, or ascertain the spot in which he found the footprint in the sand, or describe for the benefit of science the breed of wild goats descended from the original stock – had these questions been involved in my instructions, or had I been appointed to succeed Sancho Panza in the government of Nantucket (which I verily believe was the island referred to by Cervantes), I could have had no misgivings of success. But this awful thing of abstracts and accounts current; this subtile mystery of appraisements, appeals, drawbacks, bonds, and bonded warehouses; this terrible demon of manifests, invoices, registers, enrollments, and licenses; this hateful abomination of circulars on refined sugar, and fabrics composed in whole or in part of wool; this miserable subterfuge of triplicate vouchers and abstracts of disbursements, combined to cast a gloom over my mind almost akin to despair. The question arose, would it not be the most honorable course to return the commission to the Secretary of the Treasury, and confess to him confidentially, as a friend, that I thought he would render the country greater service by appointing a more suitable agent? But then there was the per-diem allowance, a very snug little sum, much needed at the time; and there was the honor of the position – a pillar in the federal structure; and then the advantage of travel, and the charm of becoming at once famous in the national records. Besides, it might be considered disrespectful to say to the Secretary of the Treasury – a gentleman from an interior state, who had no experience in commerce or public finances – that I had no experience in these things myself, and doubted my capacity to do justice to the government. Might he not regard such a confession in the light of a personal reflection?