The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 25, 1896, Page 17

= ERHAFPS the most remarkable| } Christmas in ths history of Catifor- | Y*Y nia was the one kept with revel at | aptain Sutter’s settlement of New Hel- ! vetia in 1847, nearly half a century ago. The great California Baron was in high | spirits, as might have been expected. Things had come sbout as he had antici- pated. The country had passed into American hands, and for a long time he had beena better American than Swiss, German or Frenchman. He was as \m-‘ disputably monarch of all be surveyed as | Robircson Crusoce on his island. He had an estate larger than a German princi- | pality or an English shire. It was peo- pled by several hundred Indians, who were as absolutely his siaves as the negro | fieldhands of Alabama were the slaves of | the planters. To conduct his various en- terprises he had several score of white men—Americans, Germans, Englishmen, Frencbmen, Spaniards—over whom his authority was absolute. His cattle were past counting. Time had been when the | natives had s.olen a few head here and | there, but he had a way of punishing | thieves which prevented a repetition of the offense. 1is fort had been completed in 1845. It was a quadranguiar stockade, fifteen feet bigh and 500 feet long by 150 feet wide. | To an assailant without artillery it was | impregnable. On two of the corners rose stout blockhouses which mounted a can- | non each; other pieces of artillery were | placed en barbette on the top of the wall so as to command the approach trom the river. Within the quadrangle adobe | houses furnished skelter for 500 men. There was a storehouse full of supplies, furs and ammunition, likewise a dwelling- | house in which Sutter had lived before he | built his rancheria on the Feather and | where hbe stiil kept his office. | | | he | California. His fort was the first resting place which Eastern immigrants struck after crossing | the mountains. and shelter. Here they found food Suatter turned no man away | on the petty pretense that he was penni- less. Careless of paying his own debts, Le was indulgent to his debtors. Nor did too closely scrutinize the reasons which immigrants gave for moving to His broad, generous soul for- gave everything but horsestealing. When his family joined him—he had a wife, daughter and two sons, all of whom have passed away—he built him a ranche- ria on the Feather River, which he called Rancheria de Hoch, and in which he spent most of his time. The building consisted of three or fonr gables, whose ends ironted the river. Here he sat on his balcony, watched his men catch sal- mon in the sparkling waters of the Feather and speculated on what would become of his baronial estate when he was gone. He had tasted adversity, he had courted danger; was the present halcyon era of prosperity and eminence going to last? Thoughts passed through that far-reaching mind which he told no man. Inthe dim vista of the future he discerned many things. The one thing which he did not clearly foresee was that he would die in poverty in Pennsylvania without an acre of land -vhich he couid | call his own, ora dollar except what he derived from the grudging charity of the Legislature of California. On the Christmas day of 1847 he resolved that he and his should be merry. His man James W. Marshall had selected a | site _for a sawmill in a valley which the Indians cailed Caluma, which meant in their tongue ‘“‘pleasant valley.”” It wasin the Leart of a forest of big trees. When their trunks were sawn into boards he could substitute frame houses for the S 117 A 517 adobes in which his people lived. His orchards and his vineyards were thriving; his herds had multiplied amazingly; be had horses which could cover the dis- tance to Sonoma in a day and the distance to the Bay ia a day and a half. People were growing to understand him, and the better they knew him the more they hiked him. Even Vallejo, who had once called him a pestilent intruder, had been won over by his kindness at the time the Lord of Sonoma was imprisoned by the Bear flag insurgents and was his good friend. He resolved that his retsiners should keep Christmas royally. A feast should be given within the fort, which they would remember to the end of their days. The fattest cattle in his herd were slaughtered and the flesh cleanea from the ribs to make frazadas. The Indians cared little for meat or pork; their chief delicacy was fried jackass meat, and the captain sacri- | rificed several burros to gratify them, though a donkey was worth four timesas much as a horse. There were heca- tombs of frijoles und tortillas, and salmon was served in many shapes, boiled, baked and fried. From the store- room fruits of all kinds, the products of the New Helvetia orchards, were taken { with a lavish hand and set down on the ! long board table. Barrels of wine were set out and their contents drawn off in pannikins and pitchers. When Sutter founded this fort he found the vaileys covered with the wild grape, from which he made a wine which was agreeable 1o the taste of trappers, hunters and Indians. This was supplied in profusion, and in deference to the occasion the Baron pre- tended not to notice the ravages the fluid wrought on the wits and muscles of his guests. To his Eauropean proteges he served aguardiente in bottles, The ban- quet began at noon; before the Christmas S —————— —_— e ——— _— =—— —_—— sunset the interior of the fort was strewed with inert revelers, who lay where they .originally fell. 2 The Baron entertained his personal friends at his Rancheria de Hoch. To that hospitable resort the neighbors had been invited from far and wide. Guests had come from such distant points as San Francisco and Sonoma. From the ranch- eros along the river whole families had ridden, the ladies in saddle, their courtiers sitting behind to hold them straight on their horses. An army of Indian hostlers took charge of their beasts when the riders dismounted. For those who ar- rived early and who wishea to stimulate an appetite for dinner lunches had been provided on the river; the young men fished and shot ducks and geese; while for the ladies Sutter’s new sternwheel steamer offered a new and exciting form of promenade. Dinner was at five. Sutter had lived in Geneva and Paris, and kaew what a good dinner should be. He had one or two cooks whom he had trained on sound gas- tronomical principles. They made him a soup of many ingredients; it could not bave been surpassed in New York. Be- sides the salmon which he caught at his own door, the fish we now call the Sacra- mento perch, the brook trout, and the barracuda from the coast, were served with suitable sauces. After these came several entrees—pozoles or pig’s feet, and peppers, frijoles of the delicate parts of the beef, with chile and tomatoes, an olla podrida, containing all manner of meats and vegetables stewed together and va- rious fricassees of chicken and turkey. The roli was veal, though a tender sirloin occupied one corner of the board; and the dinner closed with an assortment of feathered game — quail, grouse, diucks, pgeese and pigeons — fit to bring the e water to the mouthk of a gourmand. In his own house he did not drink the wine made from the native grape; he had planted the mission grape and had a cel- lar full of the wine; nor was champagne wanting, brought up the river from San Francisco. The guests were all in full dress; the men in sitk jackets, embroidered waist- coats, velveteen breeches with gilt lacings and open below the knee and a sash round the waist; the ladies in bare arms, without corsets, in silk or crape gowns, sashes of bright colors, satin shoes and scarlet or flesh-coiored stockings. Both sexes wore jewelry; jiwels flashed from the ears and necks of the pretty girls. After the feast was over and the wines drunk, the party adjourned to the long room which Captain Sufter had built ex- pressly for balls and assemblies. There had been some impromptu dancing on the grass in true California fashion, but at the close of December the days are short and as night falls the air is nipping; the cap- tain’s guests were not sorry to take refuge indoors. A guitar and a violin were tuned, and the piano, which Sutter had imported from France, soon began to give voice. The funcommenced as usual with a jota, in which every lady in turn was taken out by the master of ceremonies and danced a few steps, singing at the same time a little verse which she was sup- posed to improvise. Then followed the bamba, the zorrita, the fandango, the jarabe, and the ball wound up with the contra danza. Dancing was kept up till the tops of the sierra began to be tipped with gold, and the senoras and senoritas and their cavaliers reluctantly retired to the rooms provided for them. The Baron had left the bailroom when the festivities were at their height and had closeted himsolf with two or three friends in an inner chamber. They smoked, and over goblets of aguardiente punch they discussed the inexhaustible topic of the day—the American occu- pation and its consequences. With the exception .of Vallejo .and -another, the Hispano-Maxicans were sure that the ad- vent of the gringo meant ruin. Sutter was not so sure. of that. He observed that what. the Californians lacked was energy and push and get-up-and-get; those were just the qualities in which the Americanos excelled. It seemed to him just possible that these gringos who were flowing across the mountains ana coming to him to feed them on their way might develop the resources which lay dormant in California and which he had not yet had time to exploit. He had demonstrated that California could grow more and better fruits and cereals than any other part of the world which he had visited! The Mexicans had never taken the pains to cultivate them industri- ously, might not the Americanos do better? Vallejo, who was the most farsighted man of his race on that day, and whose tongue had been loosed by generous bumpers of mission wine, said that in his opinion they migat and probably would. “There is another matter to be consid- ered,”” observed the host. And drawing from his pocket a small object which ap- peared to be metallic, and which shone in the lamplight, he asked if they knew what that was. They turned it over in their fingers, examined it, and returned itin silence. “That,” said Sutter, ‘‘is gold. It is not from San Fernando, the place where our good {friend, Governor Alvarado, got the gold to make the ring he wears. It is from a spot which has never been sus- pected of contairing gold. It was picked up not ten miles from here, in the gravel ofa stream which had run dry in the heats of summer. Now, in the country where I was brought up, in Switzerland, gold is found in the sands of Alpine streams, but in such small quantities that it does not pay to hunt for it. Suppose it should be more abundant in the streams of California. [ have read that in North- ern Africa, 2000 years ago, the natives used to gather gold outof their streams and exchange the dust with the Cartha- ginians for goods, Suvppose.such rich streams should be found here. Would not the find be followed by a rush of people who would neglect the profits o horticulture and agriculture?"” Vallejo laughed heartily at the idea of California becoming a land of gold and offered to wager with his host that he would ‘carry off in his serape all the gold that would ever be found in the province. Sutter did not join in the laugh nor take the wager. “I am puzzled,” said he. *“I do not pre- tend to be a prophet, nor ao I know enough of geology to form an opinion whether or no nuzgets of gold will be more abundant here than they are in the East or Europe. But this I am sure of: If gold is found here in large quantities the real resources of the country which Iam spending my life in trying to develop will be passed over by the goldseekers, my object in founding New Helvetia will be defeated and I may die in the poor- house.’* One month from that day Marshall came riding in the rain through brush and brier from Coloma to the fort with a bag of gold nuggets under his arm and Captain Sutter knew that the destiny he had feared had come. THE MARINE EDITOR'S WOFEFUL S THESEARE THE CHIMES THAT TRY MENS SOULS SAYS MR RILDERBACK I ILDERBACK - says that he is going ~ to spend his next Christmas in 9 the City if he bas to sell his suburban home for $4, and the frown of determination on Bilderback’s face shows that he means every word of it He declares that Christmas signifies peace ana good will to men and other things to which he has been a stranger since he moved into a suburb. It is this way. Bilderback is the marine editor of one of the big dailies and is as mild a man- nered man as ever penned a roast ona sailor-beating skipper. He loves peace n‘ud seclusion, and so when Mrs. Bilderback * proposed buying a home across the bay he was agreeable, though he knew that he would have to spend half his life on the ferries and trains and write his copy w_ith one eve on the clock for fear of missing the boat. 8till Bilderback loves peace and quiet. It is a rural neighborhood where Bilder- pack lives, and all of his neighbors keep cows. In fact, as the story wiil show, he is addicted to that evil himself, | Every cow wears a bell, and every owner in the district bas selected a bell of a dif- ferent tone and key, perhaps to be able to daistinguish his or her cow from the other kine of the district. So Bilderback’s nights are filled with wild, barbaric music that sodbthes not his savage breast, butgive him a frantic desire to annihilate the entire bovine family, ex- cept of course the Bilderback cow. The long, lone, starry hours told noth- ing but cow to him, and he has come to know the tone of every bell and the man- ner in which they ring so thoroughly that the voices of ihe night are nat an unintel- ligible jargon to him, but are full of mean- ing and he understands them. They tell him the habits and occupations of the cows, and he Joves them not. Bilderback is an extremely nervous man, and it makes 1t much easier for him than to lie in bed and conjecture what is going on. As the matter stands, when he has put the cat out, looked to the fastenings of first sweet moments of slumber are broken by a solemn, resonant: “Ka-lum, ka-lum, ka-lum” from up the road. Then Bilderback knows that the widow Middlerit’s swayback muley-cow is going down the line lookin: for open front gates. His knowledge is confirmed by a doleful “Ka-lum-per-lum” that occurs at regular intervals as she pauses at each gate to try it with her head. Her experience has told her that appear- ances are deceptive and that a boy can shut a front gate so carefully and in such a manner as to thoroughly deceive his father and yet leave the catch unfastened. ‘When she has either reached a successful end of her quest or has passed out of ear- shot Bilderback is called out of his second nap by something that sounds like this: “To-link, to-lank, lank, lankle, bang, linkle-ankle, swat, lankle-inkle, telinkle- linkalink, bang, crash, link, lank, bang.” As plainly as though it were before his very eyes he knows that Mr. Smith’s frisky young brindle has madeits way into the Spudkins’ garden and that young Spudkins has pranced out of his warm bed and, clad in a pair of carpet slippers and abbreviated raiment, is sailing around after her, throwing bricks and othgr mov- ables at every jump. By sitting up in bed Bilderback can hear the thud, smash, bang of the mis- siles as they miss the cow and strike the house, and the quality and quantity of the sounds tell him whether it was a brick, board or clod. Sections of Mr. Spudking’ remarks are also borne on the breeze if it is fair, and Bilderback hugs himself with the joy of a man who has a companion in misery as he hears a mixture of bad grammatical construction, wicked wishes and epithets rush from the lips of the uniortunate in- surance clerk. At last there is a final crash and jangle as brindie bulges through the fence and tears madly down the street. The last of that episode comes to Bilderback in the form of an injunction from Mr. Spudkins to the cow to go to a place not aown on the maps. “Drat the cow; may be I can get a little sleep now,’”’ says Bilderback, but he counts without the sepulchral— “Klank, klank, kiank-lank,”’ that a mo- ment later strikes his ear. It is like the chainson the old-fashionea ghost of a murdered man, and he knows that Leatherhead’s duck-legged brown cow has started on her nightly foray and is headed for the garbage pile down the street, ready and willing to fight any- thing that gives milk. He listens to her “‘klank, kiank, klank” until there is & pause and then a terrific medley of all the cowbells on the street, which teils him that the skirmishers have withdrawn within the lines and the action has become general. “Thank the Lord,” devoutly ejaculates Bilderback, as a portion of the cavalcade sweeps by the house, escorted by an as- the windows and crawled into bed the sortment of mongrel dogs, “I have sense enough to keep our cow shut up in the yard.” The words aré hardly out of his mounth when there is a terrific uproar from the rear of the Bilderback domicile. The tearing of wire netting and the bellowing of an enraged and frightened cow, mingled with the barks of a dog and the cracking of fractured wood. Bilderback knows in an instant that Suke has suddenly decided to join in the festivities in the street and that she has stuck her horns through the trail wire fence and is hopelessly entangled and getting more 8o every instant. He springs into a pair of slippers and an overcoat— nothing else—and dives madly out of the back door to the rescue of his pet. Of course he finds things just as he expected and tries to calm the cow by an address of this kind: “So0, bos! 800, bos! Good Sukie! Keep still, now, you ugly brute! Soo, bos! Oh T'Il sell you *o the butcher to-morrow! Soo, bos!” Bukie still tries to free herself by frantic shakings of the head, and when Bilder- back places his hand on her flank to soothe her she promptly plants a sturdy hind foot in the region of his stomach and he sits down suddenly and hard. Filled with rage at this evidence of in- gratitude he seizes the first available weapon of offense—a spade handle—and belabors the angry cow until she kicksa patch of skin off his right hip as bigasa pie-plate and so disconcerts his aim that a blow already on the way to her back falls on Fido instead and the dog’s howls are added to the din. Just about as the neighbors are figuring on having the owner arrested in the morning for dis- tarbing the peace, wicked language and cruelty to animals Sukie shakes herself loose and takes refuge in the cow-barn. After tripping twice over the prostrate fence and barking his bare shins on each occasion Bilderback falls exhausted into bed at 2 A. M. Before tired nature finally asserts itself he hears the ‘“tinkle-tankle” of the little red cow: that seems to be going no- where in particular, the *“‘ringle-de-ding, ding-ding” of the crumpled horn stretch- ing her neck far over the front fence to crop the succulent tops of his favorite flowers and the “mo0-0-00-ah” of the black cow that lost the clapper of her bell and has ever since kept up an inter- mittent bellowing to supply the loss. ‘When Bilderback sieeps at last he dreams {hat he has nineteen cows, and that each one carries a chime of bells that strike not only the hours, but the halves and quar- ters and the days of the week and month. And as are his nights so are his days. Last Christmas morning Bilderback arose with the larks so that he could have afull day’s enjoyment, and after break-" fast and the reading of the paper he saun- tered out to look at the weather, He was just in time to see Suke goingout the front gate which Master Bilderback had conve- niently lef: open. She had just about set- / tled in her mind which way she wounld go when Bilderback by a quick move got in front of ber, and raising bis arms and pumping them upand down said quietly, “Shoo, Suke; shoo, I say, shoo!” Suke took a fresh hold on her cud and gazing at Bilaerback with astonishment in her eye began backing away and man- neuvering to turn his flank. Bilderback was not aware of the remark- able fact that acow like a pig always wants to go in any direction save the one ‘you desire, so he took Suke’s movements as indicating that he had her going and acceleratea the movements of his arms. Z Suke evidently took this as a.declaration of war, for sne bolted straight at Bilder- back, to the great amusement of a crowd of neighbors and their offspring on the way to church. ) Biiderback could not stand the on- slaught, and scuttled across the street in the midst of a whirlwind of dust and a ckorus of delighted yells from the spec- tators. The way being clear, Suke bolted at her best gait just as the lover of peace and seclusion decided to renew ths chase. Bilderback’s blood was up by this time, and he determined to head off that cow if it was within the power of man. Spurred by derisive shouts of the children, he bent his head and picked up his flying feet. They got a pretty even start, Mr. BilGer- back and the cow, though not by mutual consent, and as they swept up- the street about abreast they could glare defiance into each other’s eyes, while they spurned the dust with nimble feet. Bilderback ran until his eyes seemed ready to burst out of his head and he felt as though he was all legs. The perspira- tion started from every pore; but, strain and pant as he might, he couldn’t gain an inch on that shambling, awkward cow, that ran sprawling and kicking by his side, filling the crisp December air with a jangling of bells that seemed to split Bilderback’s ear drums and gave him a mad desire to assassinate her on the spot. People stoppeda and cheered the caval- cade as it ‘swept past, and ladies leaned out of their windows and expressed their sympathy for ‘‘poor Mr. Bilderback.” Once Bilderback stumbled over a cross- ing and had to take strides thirteen feet long for the next block to keep from fall- ing. He was sure the exertion had split him clear to the chin and that he would have to button his trousers around his neck for the rest of his life, but he wouldn’t give in to a cow if he died for it. At last, when the cow turned down a side street and Bilderback, in trying to make ashort cut across the sidewalk, crashed half-way through a tree-box, he then and there allowed his temper to be ruffled by trifles. By the time he reached the nearest rock pile the cow was eight blocks away, and Bilderback threw his shoulder neariy out of joint and sprained his wrist in a hercu- lean effort to reach her with a stone as big as his hat. And yet Bilderback lcves seclusion and SUBURBAN EXPERIENCES a quiet country life far from the madding Lacttre J(’m. Little Jim is poor and lonely, Ragged, hungry, tnin and small; All life holds of pain and sorrow Little Jim has borne it all. Great dark eyes that look with longing At the pretty, shining toys; Little heart, with sorrow laden, Hungry for the Christmas joys. Ye to whom the day is dawning, Filled with love and Christmas cheer; Ye to whom the Christmas morning Comes 10 bless & happy year— Know ye not the joy of giving That a saddened heart may know Something of His love and goodness, See the sunshine here below ? Round the table, decked with holly, Laden down with Christmas joys; On the tree of stately beauty, With its wealth of shining toys— Have yet not, in all your treasures, Something saved for Little Jim? For ye know the blessed promise: “Ye have done it unto Him.” CORNIE L. BARTLETT. But She Didn't. “Mr. Prettyboy kept me awake two hours last night.” “How was that?” “By singing ‘Sleep, My Lady, sleep,’ under my window.”— Washington Post. z¢ AST D QH,HOW THAT CQW' CAULD:SRRINT