Title: A lady's captivity among Chinese pirates in the Chinese seas
Author: Fanny Loviot
Translator: Amelia B. Edwards
Release date: October 30, 2010 [eBook #34167]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has been preserved.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For a complete list, please see the end of this document.
Madame and Friend,
When I first related to you the following strange and eventful episode, you advised me, inexperienced as I was, to write and publish it. I had never written a book in my life; but you encouraged me to make the attempt. "Be simple," you said, "be natural, and even simplicity and nature will suffice to make your work attractive. Add nothing, and take nothing away. Relate all your sufferings, and bid your pen record the faithful dictates of your memory. You will at least find friends among that healthy class which loves the simple and the true. Leave geology and geography alone, and be only yourself—a young and courageous woman, cast into the midst of frightful dangers, and miraculously saved. Many as are the readers and writers of travels, few women have visited China, and none, save yourself, have such a tale of adventure to relate. Write, then, and fear nothing."
It was thus, Madame, that you persuaded me, and it is thus that I have obeyed you. I have lived, while writing, amid the scenes and sufferings of the past. I have once again experienced all the terrors of captivity—once again been tossed by tempests, blinded by incendiary flames, and threatened with uplifted sabres. Inasmuch as these things have moved me by the mere remembrance, so I trust they may interest others in the mere recital. They will at least bear the impress of emotion and truth.
I place myself, Madame, under your patronage, and beg that you will accept this expression of my respect and affection.
FANNY LOVIOT.
| CHAPTER I. | |
Departure from Havre—Regrets—A Barrier of Rocks—Rio Janeiro—Departure from Rio—Six Weeks at Sea—Cape Horn— Storms—Death of a Sailor—Catching a Shark—Land! Land!— The Gold Country |
page 1 |
| CHAPTER II. | |
The Bay of San Francisco—Deserted Ships—The Mission-Dolores—Manners of the Chinese Emigrants—The Black Race—The Loungers of Jackson Street—Gaming Houses—The Black Band—The Committee of Vigilance—On Hanging |
page 13 |
| CHAPTER III. | |
Sacramento—Fort Sutter—Nomadic Indians—Marysville—Shasta City—Adventure with a Bear—Weaverville—The Miners—The Rocky Mountains—Eureka—Return to San Francisco |
page 25 |
| CHAPTER IV. | |
Fire—Departure for China—The "Arcturus"—An Invalid on Board—Chinese Sorcerers—Death—The Chinese Seas—A Watery Journey—Arrival at Hong-Kong—Visit to the Consul—Journey to Canton—Chinese Insurrection |
page 42 |
| CHAPTER V. | |
Captain Rooney—Than-Sing—A Storm—The Typhoon—Fall of the Mizen-mast—Effects of the Tempest—Disasters of the "Caldera"—Chinese Pirates—Scene between Decks—A Crew in Fetters—Examination—I am threatened with Death—Plunder |
page 55 |
| CHAPTER VI. | |
Unlading—The Good Chinese—A Ray of Hope—A Second Flotilla—Disguise—Hunger—The Father of a Family—Proposed Escape—Refusal of the Crew—Rage of Captain Rooney—Hopes and Disappointments |
page 72 |
| CHAPTER VII. | |
Efforts at Escape—Attempted Flight—Return to the "Caldera"— Capture—Cruelties of the Pirates—Portrait of a Pirate Chief— Chinese Prayer—Death of a Pirate—Seizure of a Merchant Junk— Fresh Plunder—Fortune of the Vanquished |
page 88 |
| CHAPTER VIII. | |
Despair—I write the Date of my Captivity—Benevolence of the Pirates—A Happy Meal—A Steamer in Sight—Flight of the Pirates—Gratitude—Hurrah! Hurrah! I am Saved! |
page 107 |
| CHAPTER IX. | |
Captain Rooney's Story—Expedition along the Coast—The Pirate's Mother—Death of a Chinese—The "Lady Mary Wood"—Return to Hong-Kong—Protection of the Consul—Visit of Than-Sing—Good-bye to Captain Rooney |
page 122 |
| CHAPTER X. | |
Departure from China—The "Malta"—Singapore—Penang—The Island of Ceylon—The "Bentinck"—Aden—In the Red Sea—The Isthmus of Suez—Cairo—The Nile—The Pyramids—Boulac— Alexandria—The "Valetta"—Malta—Marseilles—End of a Journey Round the World |
page 136 |
| Corroborative Extracts from the French Press, | 141 |
Departure from Havre—Regrets—A Barrier of Rocks—Rio Janeiro—Departure from Rio—Six Weeks at Sea—Cape Horn—Storms—Death of a Sailor—Catching a Shark—Land! Land!—The Gold Country.
In the year 1852, on a fine spring morning, I arrived in Havre with my eldest sister, who was going, on commercial matters, to California. We spent several days in Havre; and on the 30th of May, being Whitsunday, we embarked on board the little French schooner called the "Independence," the captain whereof engaged to touch at Rio for food and water. Besides the captain, the master, and the crew, our vessel carried eighteen passengers, all of whom were going to seek their fortunes in California. The weather was superb, and our captain took advantage of a favourable breeze to set sail. The quay was crowded with spectators, and it was not without some dismay that we overheard their observations on the size of our schooner. "Never," said they, "can such a boat double Cape Horn. The least puff of wind must swamp a nutshell like that!" It is easy to conceive the impression which opinions such as these were calculated to produce on two inexperienced Parisiennes, who, like my sister and myself, were travelling for the first time. We looked hesitatingly in each others faces; but it was too late. The time for hesitation was gone by.
In another moment we heard the captain cry, "Let go the moorings!" All was now over and the great sacrifice was accomplished. Farewell, dear friends—Farewell, France—Farewell, Paris, which is a fatherland within a fatherland!—Farewell, all that is comfortable—Farewell, fashion, amusement, peaceful sleep, home comforts—Farewell, in fact, to all that makes life pleasant! For five months, at the least, I must sleep in a hammock instead of a bed; the sky must be my ceiling, and the sea my floor. My only music will be the sound of the breaking waves, and the untaught songs of the sailors. We are going to seek our fortunes—to seek, but what to find? Leaning sorrowfully over the side of the vessel, my heart full of a thousand hopes and regrets, I waved my handkerchief in token of farewell to the friends I left behind me. First the jetty receded; then Ingouville, with its amphitheatre of houses; Ste. Addresse, which owes its celebrity to Alphonse Karr; then Cape la Hêve; and then there remained only the sky and the ocean.
We spent seven days in the Channel—seven days of rain and fog, with a leaden sky above, and the angry waves below. I was very ill during this part of the voyage. Not till the Sunday, which was the seventh day after our departure, had I strength to venture upon deck. The beacon off the Lizard Point was just visible, and I stood there watching it, till the light finally disappeared.
The passage of the Bay of Biscay was accomplished, not without danger to our fragile bark. At length, after fifteen days on the sea, we came within the influence of a Brazilian climate. I was never weary of admiring those clear skies and glorious sunsets the beauty of which no art could adequately reproduce.
We were rapidly approaching Janeiro, when we were one day startled by a sound like the rolling of distant thunder. The sea was calm; there was not a cloud overhead, and no other ship in sight. The deck was crowded in an instant. The noise grew louder, and we gazed tremblingly in each others faces. The mate, who was on the look out, cried "Breakers ahead!" "Helm about!" replied the captain. The order came just in time. Happily for us, our little schooner escaped with only a scratch.
Brief as this incident had been, the women were all either fainting or shrieking. As for me, I was petrified. I had not really understood the imminence of the danger; but I always looked upon the captain's face as a kind of sea-barometer, and, on this occasion, the barometer fell considerably. My poor sister was overwhelmed with terror. "Cheer up," said I. "You have been longing for an adventure ever since we started, and here is a promising commencement!"
Eight days after this we were in the roads of Rio Janeiro, and came in sight of the Sugar-loaf Mountain, which towers above the bay. I can hardly believe that there exists under heaven a more exquisite scene. It is ineffaceably engraved on my memory. I can still see those wooded hills, those solitary creeks, those delicious valleys, those trees which never know an autumn tint, that immense expanse of sea, and all that marvellous landscape, which, even as one looks upon it, seems more of a dream than a reality.
The entrance to the port is defended by several forts, amongst which are those of Santa Cruz, Villagagnon, and the Isle of Serpents. These two last, which are the most imposing, are built upon islands lying within the bay. At Rio Janeiro we rejoiced to resume the manners and habits of Europe.
Rio is, as every one knows, a purely commercial city. The harbour, the exchange, and the markets are crowded with merchants and sailors. The variety of costumes, the songs of the negro porters, the chiming of church bells, the diversity of languages and faces, German, French, and Italian, all contribute to give a strange and lively aspect to the city.
During the fifteen days which we passed at Rio Janeiro, we visited all that was worth seeing in the city and its environs. The mountains, towards the north-east, are much built over. It is there that the Jesuit college, the Benedictine convent, the episcopal palace, and the Fort of Concéiado are situated. The architecture of these buildings appeared to me both heavy and ungraceful; but I much admired the aqueduct (finished in 1840), which brings the water from the torrents of Corcavado down to the city fountains. The imperial palace of St. Christopher is built at some distance from Rio, and is approached by a portico and a double colonnade. The promenade in front is planted with mangoes and laurels. There, like a true Parisienne, I did not fail closely to observe the toilettes of the Brazilian belles. Although these ladies profess themselves the devoted followers of our French fashions, they still indulge the Portuguese taste for ornament. The amount of jewels worn by each would be sufficient to stock a shop-window; and they chiefly love to dazzle from a distance. On the whole, they are pretty; though perhaps a little too pale and sallow. With strangers they are familiar, perhaps even somewhat coquettish, and their nonchalance is particularly amusing. Lounging nearly all day on sofas covered with matting, they disdain mere household matters. As to their education, they never receive any; and their conversation is of the most uninteresting description. Their favourite topics are their slaves and their servants. It is no unusual sight to see these indolent women rouse themselves from their habitual lethargy, to run long needles into the arms or bosoms of the negresses who wait upon them. The society of Rio Janeiro is divided into coteries. The young Emperor of Brazil patronizes art, science, and letters; his people occupy themselves only with trade and money-getting. Indeed it is not long since a Parisian bookseller, of whom I enquired respecting the literature most in favour at Rio, replied that the books which sold best in the Brazils were those with red bindings! As to the commerce of Rio, it has increased of late to an enormous degree. Sugars, coffees, cottons, rum, tobacco, and other articles of native produce, are exported every year to the value of several millions of piastres. I can never forget the delight with which I visited the environs of Rio, or the delicious excursion that we made to the neighbourhood of Tijuca. It took us two days to get there; but we halted for the night at a plantation, where we were received with the utmost hospitality. Starting by daybreak the next morning, we proceeded through a labyrinth of delightful paths, and soon found ourselves face to face with the famous cascade, which is here precipitated into the midst of an amphitheatre of rocks. In the presence of this spectacle I must confess, in justice to myself, that I began to be somewhat consoled for the absence of Paris, and the Boulevard des Italiens. Often, O shade of Louis XIV.! as I had seen the great fountains at Versailles, I now found them surpassed. Less agreeable, I admit, was the knowledge that these vast solitudes were peopled with jaguars and other ferocious beasts. After all, I prefer to admire wild animals in the Jardin des Plantes.
Having laid in fresh provisions, the captain took advantage of the fine weather, and we left Rio Janeiro. My sister and I had also stocked ourselves with good things; amongst the rest, with a large quantity of delicious little oranges, fine-skinned, perfumed, and sweet, which are sold in Rio for a mere song.
On the 7th of July we set sail once more for California. Seeing our little schooner depart on so long a voyage, the Brazilians proved themselves quite as discouraging as our evil prophets of Havre. "The 'Independence,'" said they, "can never weather the tempests off Cape Horn!" My sister implored me not to continue our voyage; but, although I partook of all her fears, I remained inflexible. Independently of my desire to make a fortune, I felt myself impelled to go farther and farther away, and court the very dangers that I feared. I was proud of having crossed the line, and could not have borne to pause when half-way on the road. I had not much confidence in our schooner; but, had we chosen to go on by another vessel, we must have paid our fare twice over, and we had already spent as much as was consistent with our means.
Behold us, then, once more at sea, and, this time, for two or three months at the least. We talked, it is true, of touching at Lima, but on this head there was nothing certain. Our living was detestable; and despite the expostulations, and even the blows, with which our chef was stimulated, he never seemed to improve. My belief is, that he cooked entirely by chance. Wearied to death were we of potted meats, cabbage-soup, and half-boiled cod. These details are not poetical, but the facts are painfully true. On board the steamers (which put frequently into port, and carry cattle on board) the bill of fare is generally excellent; but in small merchant-vessels, such as the "Independence," the food is but too often scanty and unwholesome.
For a whole week we had the finest weather imaginable. There were five women on board; and we sewed, embroidered, and played at loto, as cosily as in our own homes. Every evening we all assembled upon deck. There we talked and sang, and the singing, it is true, was not always very good; but at sea one's audience is not critical. Besides, it was pleasant to listen to French airs and choruses; and, when far away, all that recalls one's fatherland is welcome. By the way, I have forgotten to observe that our crew was entirely French.
And now the weather began to grow colder, and the sea, become more boisterous, no longer rocked us like a kindly nurse, but flung us rudely to and fro. Our embroidery, our loto, our singing came abruptly to an end, and we found ourselves subjected to all the miseries of a maritime journey. Every face was pinched, yellow, and discontented, and only groans and complaints were heard on every side. We were not absolutely in any kind of danger; but we were the victims of sickness and ennui. Thus several long weeks went by, and, day by day, the cold grew more severe. At length we came in sight of Cape Horn, clad in ice. Involuntarily, I thought of all the evil prophecies which had accompanied us since we started; but, to my great surprise, the nearer we approached the Cape, the more tranquil grew the sea. A dead calm ensued. For forty-eight hours we never stirred a foot. At length, towards the evening of the second day, the weather changed, the sea became agitated, and this time we found ourselves indeed menaced with one of those sudden storms which are peculiar to these latitudes. The captain instantly took in every sail. At this moment a young sailor was carried off the yards by a sudden squall, and was not missed until it was too late to save him. I can still hear the voice of the captain calling, and counting his sailors—"Jacques, Pierre, André, Remy, Christian, Robert, where are you?" "Here, sir!" "And Jean-Marie? Jean-Marie?" But Jean-Marie replied not. He had disappeared for ever, and of our eight sailors we had lost one. Poor Jean-Marie had been our ship's carpenter. It was his first voyage, and he was to have been married on his return. That night, all on board were sleepless. "They were right," thought I. "This Cape Horn is indeed a deadly and a dangerous spot!" The moaning sea and the sighing wind furnished a dreary accompaniment to these sombre thoughts. For twelve days we remained tossing to and fro without making any appreciable progress. On the thirteenth, we doubled the Cape. Soon after this, we sailed into a warmer latitude, and crossed the line for the second time.
And now the provisions became more and more scanty, wherefore we all complained bitterly of the shipowner. Eight or ten days more must, perforce, elapse before we could arrive at San Francisco; and, should we be delayed by contrary winds, it was just probable that we might die of hunger on the way. I began now to regret my own obstinacy, and wished that I had yielded to my sister's entreaties. While we were yet in this dilemma, our sailors caught a shark. It was so big, that, even after it was harpooned and hoisted on board, I dared not venture near it. Armed with their knives, our men speedily despatched it. It then was delivered over, piece by piece, into the hands of our abominable cook, who seasoned it with different sauces, and, horrible to relate, served it up for three successive days! We had, however, endured so many privations that every one pronounced it to be delicious, and only the captain and two sailors refused to eat it. Even they refused not from disgust, but superstition, believing that one day or other they might chance to be eaten in return.
If there be a delight unknown to those whose careless lives glide by in lettered leisure; if there be a joy untried by those Sybarites of great cities who seek to exhaust the pleasures of this world without risk or fatigue, it is that immense and ineffable rapture which overflows one's heart at the close of a long sea-voyage. Not till one has spent six months of life between the sea and the sky, the plaything of tempests, and subject to all the dangers of shipwreck and fire, is it possible to comprehend the intoxication of feeling with which one hears the sailor up aloft pronounce that magic word—"Land! land!" Everybody rushes on deck—the women burst into tears, for thus they translate every emotion of joy or sorrow—and the men, eager and triumphant, congratulate each other upon the distance and the dangers which are over at last. At sight of San Francisco, our passengers forgot all the sufferings of the journey, and began dreaming once again of the good fortune which awaited them. My sister and I followed the general example, and, for us, the present wore all the pleasant colours of the future. Poor France! thou wert soon forgotten, and we already opened our arms to this inhospitable land where gold is the only true God.
The Bay of San Francisco—Deserted Ships—The Mission-Dolores—Manners of the Chinese Emigrants—The Black Race—The Loungers of Jackson Street—Gaming Houses—The Black Band—The Committee of Vigilance—On Hanging.
On the 21st of November, 1852, we came in sight of the little islands called the Farellones, which lie at the mouth of the bay of San Francisco, and of Bonetta Point, which, towards the left, juts out to a considerable distance into the sea. At this spot, a pilot came on board to conduct our schooner through the narrow straits, which hereabouts are scarcely more than half a mile across. The steep rocks and sandy hills, all overgrown with brambles, which line the shore on every side next came into sight; and, immediately afterwards, a magnificent spectacle was presented to our view. We came, all at once, upon a fleet met together from every nation under heaven, as if to attest the importance of this modern city. Turning from the contemplation of these crowded masts, and parti-coloured flags, I beheld with surprise the scene of desolation presented by the sandy shores on the other side of the bay. There, all crowded together and falling to decay, lay the ruins of another fleet, scarcely less numerous than the first. Their faded flags hung in tatters from the broken masts; their decks had given way; and the moss was already growing in the interstices of the boards. They had long since been abandoned by their crews, all of whom, once landed, had fled away to the gold regions, and left their good ships to ruin and decay—melancholy examples of the greed of gain! Before the discovery of the gold mines, San Francisco was a harbour frequented by whalers, who put in there to refit and take in provisions. The dealings between the Indians and the European sailors were at that time limited to exchanges of skins. About half a century ago, a party of Spanish missionaries established themselves at some little distance from the coast, and built a small church called the Mission-Dolores, which exists to the present day. When these Californian solitudes were overrun by Americans and Europeans in search of gold, that lonely spot, whither religious faith alone had penetrated, became one of the busiest haunts of San Francisco. A fine road was opened, buildings of all kinds sprang up around the modest chapel, and the road of the Mission-Dolores has now become one of the gayest promenades of the city.
At the time of my arrival (November, 1852), San Francisco presented a sufficiently curious aspect, with its sandy streets, its planked foot-ways, and its houses built of wood, iron, and brick. A marvellous activity prevailed in all parts of the city; and I was particularly struck with the coming and going of this polyglot population, composed of men and women of all races, complexions, and national costumes. I was jostled every moment by the natives of eastern and western America, of Tahiti, of the Sandwich Isles, and of every part of the European continent. Emigration had been going on very extensively for the three or four years preceding my arrival, and the population of San Francisco had consequently augmented to a total of something like sixty thousand souls.
But this city changes its aspect from day to day. Stone buildings were even then springing up in every direction. Montgomery Street, one of its handsomest thoroughfares, was paved, and bordered with superb buildings. Shops, warehouses, cafés, and magnificent hotels enlivened the street towards evening with thousands of lamps; and, seeing the crowds that issue at night from the Metropolitan Theatre, one can with difficulty believe that, only six years before, the Indians, lasso in hand, scoured this very spot in pursuit of the wild horse and the buffalo.
San Francisco had by this time become somewhat less expensive than formerly. It was possible to hire a furnished room for forty piastres per month, the value of a piastre being about four and twopence. This was considerably cheaper than the rents of many previous years, when shops were let at 100, 200, and sometimes 600 piastres per month. Meat and game were also much more reasonable. Mutton was sold at one piastre per pound, and veal at half a piastre. Milk, having at first cost one piastre the bottle, had fallen to two shillings, one shilling, and, finally, sixpence. Vegetables, on account of their scarcity, were sold at enormous prices. A pound of potatoes was not purchaseable at less than one shilling, and eggs cost from three to six piastres the dozen. The washing of a dozen articles of linen cost five piastres; a bottle of champagne, five piastres; and the cleaning of a pair of boots, two shillings. On the other hand, salmon was plentiful, and sold in all the markets at one piastre per pound. In the early days of San Francisco, one piastre would scarcely pay for the most simple repast without wine.
A great part of this population came originally from China; and if I first name these emigrants, it is because their colony, established in the midst of foreigners, presents many curious features. Their unsocial habits are already well known. Although their industrial inclinations drew them hither to this young and fertile country, they nevertheless brought with them all the sullen and solitary instincts of their race. Thus, to avoid mingling with the Europeans, they congregated in a special quarter of the city. Sacramento Street, which is the centre of their colony, presents all the characteristics of a street in Canton, or any other Chinese city. Their commerce is exclusively confined to the products of their own country; and, in Dupont Street, they have gaming-tables always ready to tempt such of their countrymen as may be disposed to risk their hard-won gold.
An equally curious population may be found in another part of San Francisco. I allude to the blacks, who, like the Chinese, are settled altogether as one great family. They inhabit one entire side of Kearney Street; but the motives which have drawn them together arise from quite a different source. The Americans hate the negroes, and their antipathy is neither unknown nor dissembled. The contempt with which they are always treated, has, naturally enough, caused these latter to unite together in a quarter where they will neither trouble, nor be troubled by, their oppressors.
The reciprocal hate of these two races, the one so timid, and the other so arrogant, has induced between them a suspension of every social relation. The blacks are excluded from all public places frequented by their tyrants. They dare not show themselves at the cafés, the restaurants, or the theatres; and, having no other resource than dress, they parade the streets with cravats of the most dazzling colours, fingers loaded with rings, and dresses the delicate tints and textures of which contrast ridiculously with the ebon hue of the wearers. You chance, now and then, to meet a negro who is doing his best to imitate the manners of a gentleman; but he is sure to be absorbed in the perfection of his boots and gloves, and is altogether pervaded with an uneasy consciousness of his own dandyism. All the efforts of Mrs. Beecher Stowe have not yet availed to elevate the social position of the negro in the United States. The generous sympathy which this lady has manifested towards the coloured population appears simply ridiculous in the eyes of her own countrymen; and even in this free land, where the social rights of man have been at least conceded to them, the inferiority of their position is still so painfully apparent, that, after all, they can scarcely be said to have gained more than the mere privilege of making money and being their own masters.
The rest of the population consists chiefly of Americans, French, English, Germans, Dutch, Mexicans, Chilians, etc., etc.
Jackson Street is one of the most curious in San Francisco. On either side, the primitive wooden huts of the first settlers are still standing, and almost every dwelling is an eating-house, or "bar," as it is here generally called. After dark, when the gas is lighted, these establishments present a most extraordinary coup d'œil. The diggers, after a lucky day's labour, meet here for recreation; and this assemblage, gathered together from all parts of the world, makes up the strangest picture imaginable. The confusion of tongues and the variety of costume baffle description. Negresses, Mexicans, Peruvians, Chilians, and Chinese women decked out in furbelows and flounces, are seen hand in hand, and side by side with men who drink, and dance, and stamp, and shout for joy, to the sound of infernal music. Should you pause for a few moments before the door of one of these haunts, you are sure to witness some frightful quarrel, begun apparently in sport. This quarrel is but the lightning which precedes the thunder. The melée soon becomes general, and you had best escape while yet you may; for the quarter will be in a commotion for the rest of the evening. Blood is sure to flow, and a formidable fight, in which many lives are sacrificed, but too frequently follows.
Still more curious is it to observe these people in the gaming-houses. There, by the light of glittering chandeliers, the contrast between these white, black, and bronzed faces becomes more startling than ever, crowded as they are around tables heaped with gold, silver, and ingots. When these gaming-houses were first started, and the gold-fever was at its height, many a serious fraças took place in the rooms, and, more than once, the winners found themselves paid with a pistol shot. It was then proposed to abolish the gaming-houses altogether; but, as the government exacted enormous rents for the hire of these establishments, they were eventually suffered to remain. The games are various. The Mexicans play chiefly at monti; the French at roulette, vingt-et-un, trente-et-quarante, and lansquenet; and the Americans at faro. I shall never forget the countenances of those professional gamblers who form, as it were, an essential part of these establishments. They are ready to play for others as well as for themselves, and there are few tables without three or four of these auxiliaries. Unruffled and business-like, they play on perpetually, and take no notice of whatever may be going forward. Playing for themselves, they win, on the average, from four to five dollars per diem; playing for others, they contrive to gain from eight to twelve. The windfall-gatherers are also deserving of mention. They are mostly Americans, who make it their business to pounce upon such stray coins, as are not immediately claimed by the winners. Watchful of every venture, they follow each turn of the cards, and, if a dollar be for one instant forgotten or left upon the table, an eager hand clutches and bears it off before the unsuspecting player has time even to recognize the thief. The proprietors of the gaming-houses favour these predatory individuals, and even help to distract the attention of the novice whom they have selected for their victim. This system of robbery is a sore trial to inexperienced players, and the consequences are often serious. The player who finds himself defrauded, scruples not to shoot the thief as if he were a dog. All these houses are provided with good orchestras, and the music sounds well to the chinking of the gold.
There is yet another and a more formidable class infesting these places. It is known by the name of the Black Band, and consists of a party of American swindlers. Well-dressed, skilful, and audacious, they follow their daring craft with utter impunity, and are the terror of the population. If they go into a gaming-house, it is with no idea of wasting their time on the chances of the cards. They find it more profitable and convenient simply to sweep off all the gold from the tables, after which they coolly walk away, and no one dares to stop them. These frauds are, as it were, consecrated by time and tradition. The police and the local government have as yet no power to put a stop to them, and, though the scandalous misdemeanours committed by the members of the Black Band would fill a volume, they are yet suffered to tyrannize over the entire community. Every day during my stay, some merchant's house was plundered, and did the loser dare to lodge a complaint against the robbers, they not only returned to the charge, but destroyed everything of value that came in their way. Nor was this all. They dined, drank, and helped themselves at all places of public resort, with their customary audacity; and, although their excesses had greatly diminished since the first peopling of the colony, there was not yet established, in 1852, any legal force sufficiently powerful to operate against them.
Arrived at San Francisco, we established ourselves in Montgomery Street, and hired a little furnished apartment, at a rent of three hundred francs per month. Considering that the walls were never dry, and that our bed was always soaked in rainy weather, we may be said to have paid somewhat dearly for our accommodation. We consoled ourselves, however, with the panorama which lay extended before our windows, and agreed that so glorious a prospect was cheap at any price; for it comprehended, not only the greater part of the city and the surrounding mountains, but included a bird's-eye view of the room in which the Committee of Vigilance had established its tribunal. This room was situated over a baker's shop, close under our windows, and a piece of cord attached to a pulley hung out from the first story, as an emblem of that simple and summary process known by the name of Lynch law. Not many days after our arrival, an execution took place. I chanced to awake very early that morning, and on opening my window saw two men busily occupied in fixing a new and unusually long cord to the pulley before mentioned. Already distant cries and the trampling of many feet announced something unusual, and in another moment the street was filled by an eager and angry crowd. I foresaw the terrible scene which was about to take place, and, seized by an overwhelming terror, dragged my sister from the room, and left the house by a back door. In another quarter of an hour we were in the country, where we remained and spent the day with some friends. I afterwards ascertained that the criminal was a Spanish assassin. Arriving at the scaffold with a cigar in his mouth, he calmly addressed the crowd, and smoked till the very moment when the fatal noose was tied. The story that I had heard, and the sight that I had seen, left so painful an impression on my mind, that I was soon weary of my lodging in Montgomery Street, and hastened to seek another.
This terrible Lynch law is so called after an unfortunate man of that name, who became its first victim. The fatal and frequent errors which must necessarily ensue from this illegal system, may easily be conceived.