by Bret Harte
CHAPTER II.
A CLOUD OF WITNESSES.
The street into which Ramirez plunged at first sight appeared almostimpassable, and but for a certain regularity in the parallels ofirregular, oddly-built houses, its original intention as a thoroughfaremight have been open to grave doubt. It was dirty, it was muddy, it wasill-lighted; it was rocky and precipitous in some places, and sandy andmonotonous in others. The grade had been changed two or three times, andeach time apparently for the worse, but always with a noble disregardfor the dwellings, which were invariably treated as an accident in theoriginal design, or as obstacles to be overcome at any hazard. The nearresult of this large intent was to isolate some houses completely, torender others utterly inaccessible except by scaling ladders, and toproduce the general impression that they were begun at the top and builtdown. The remoter effect was to place the locality under a social ban,and work a kind of outlawry among the inhabitants. Several of the houseswere originally occupied by the Spanish native Californians, who, withthe conservative instincts of their race, still clung to their _casas_after the Americans had flown to pastures new and less rocky andinaccessible beyond. Their vacant places were again filled by othernative Californians, through that social law which draws the members ofan inferior and politically degraded race into gregarious solitude andisolation, and the locality became known as the Spanish Quarter. Thatthey lived in houses utterly inconsistent with their habits and tastes,that they affected a locality utterly foreign to their inclinations orcustoms, was not the least pathetic and grotesque element to acontemplative observer.
Before, or rather beneath one of these structures, Mr. Ramirez stopped,and began the ascent of a long flight of wooden steps, that at lastbrought him to the foundations of the dwelling. Another equally longexterior staircase brought him at last to the verandah or gallery of thesecond story, the first being partly hidden by an embankment. Here Mr.Ramirez discovered another flight of narrower steps leading down to aplatform before the front door. It was open. In the hall-way two orthree dark-faced men were lounging, smoking _cigaritos_, and enjoying,in spite of the fog, the apparently unsociable _n['e]glig['e]_ of shirtsleeves and no collars. At the open front windows of the parlour two orthree women were sitting, clad in the lightest and whitest of flouncedmuslin skirts, with heavy shawls over their heads and shoulders, as ifsummer had stopped at their waists, like an equator.
The house was feebly lighted, or rather the gloom of yellowish-brownedwalls and dark furniture, from which all lustre and polish had beensmoked, made it seem darker. Nearly every room and all the piazzas weredim with the yellow haze of burning _cigaritos_. There were light brownstains on the shirt sleeves of the men, there were yellowish streaks onthe otherwise spotless skirts of the women; every masculine and feminineforefinger and thumb was steeped to its first joint with yellow. Thefumes of burnt paper and tobacco permeated the whole house like somereligious incense, through which occasionally struggled an inspirationof red peppers and garlic.
Two or three of the loungers addressed Ramirez in terms of graverecognition. One of the women--the stoutest--appeared at the doorway,holding her shawl tightly over her shoulders with one hand, as if toconceal a dangerous dishabille above the waist and playfully shaking ablack fan at the young man with the other hand, applied to him thevarious epithets of "Ingrate," "Traitor," and "Judas," with greatvivacity and volubility. Then she faced him coquettishly. "And after solong, whence now, thou little blackguard?"
"It is of business my heart and soul," exclaimed Ramirez, with hasty andsomewhat perfunctory gallantry. "Who is above?"--"Those who testify."
"And Don Pedro?"
"He is there, and the Se[~n]or Perkins."
"Good. I will go on after a little," he nodded apologetically, as hehastily ascended the staircase. On the first landing above he paused,turned doubtfully toward the nearest door, and knocked hesitatingly.There was no response. Ramirez knocked again more sharply and decidedly.This resulted in a quick rattling of the lock, the sudden opening of thedoor, and the abrupt appearance of a man in ragged alpaca coat andfrayed trousers. He stared fiercely at Ramirez, said in English, "Whatin h----! next door!" and as abruptly slammed the door in Ramirez'sface. Ramirez entered hastily the room indicated by the savage stranger,and was at once greeted by a dense cloud of smoke and the sound ofwelcoming voices.
Around a long table covered with quaint-looking legal papers, maps, andparchments, a half-dozen men were seated. The greater number were pastthe middle age, dark-featured and grizzle-haired, and one, whosewrinkled face was the colour and texture of red-wood bark, was bowedwith decrepitude.
"He had one hundred and two years day before yesterday. He is theprincipal witness to Micheltorrena's signature in the Castro claim,"exclaimed Don Pedro.
"Is he able to remember?" asked Ramirez.
"Who knows?" said Don Pedro, shrugging his shoulder. "He will swear; itis enough!"
"What animal have we in the next room?" asked Ramirez. "Is it wolf orbear?"
"The Se[~n]or Perkins," said Don Pedro.
"Why is he?"
"He translates."
Here Ramirez related, with some vehemence how he mistook the room, andthe stranger's brusque salutation. The company listened attentively andeven respectfully. An American audience would have laughed. The presentcompany did not alter their serious demeanour; a breach of politeness toa stranger was a matter of grave importance even to these doubtfulcharacters. Don Pedro explained--
"Ah, so it is believed that God has visited him here." He tapped hisforehead. "He is not of their country fashion at all. He haspunctuality, he has secrecy, he has the habitude. When strikes the clockthree he is here; when it strikes nine he is gone. Six hours to work inthat room! Ah, heavens! The quantity of work--it is astounding! Folios!Volumes! Good! it is done. Punctually at nine of the night he takes up apaper left on his desk by his _padrone_, in which is enwrapped tendollars--the golden eagle, and he departs for that day. They tell to methat five dollars is gone at the gambling table, but no more! then fivedollars for subsistence--always the same. Always! Always! He is ascholar--so profound, so admirable! He has the Spanish, the French,perfect. He is worth his weight in gold to the lawyers--youunderstand--but they cannot use him. To them he says--'I translate, liesor what not! Who knows? I care not--but no more.' He is wonderful!"
The allusion to the gaming-table revived Victor's recollection, and hisintention in his present visit. "Thou hast told me, Don Pedro," he said,lowering his voice in confidence, "how much is fashioned the testimonyof the witnesses in regard of the old land grants by the Governors andAlcaldes. Good. Is it so?"
Don Pedro glanced around the room. "Of those that are here to-night fivewill swear as they are prepared by me--you comprehend--and there is aGovernor, a Military Secretary, an Alcalde, a Comandante, and saintspreserve us! an Archbishop! They are respectable _caballeros_; but theyhave been robbed, you comprehend, by the _Americanos_. What matters?They have been taught a lesson. They will get the best price for theirmemory. Eh? They will sell it where it pays best. Believe me, Victor; itis so."
"Good," said Victor. "Listen; if there was a man--a brigand, a devil--anAmerican!--who had extorted from Pico a grant--you comprehend--a grant,formal, and regular, and recorded--accepted of the Land Commission--andsome one, eh?--even myself, should say to you it is all wrong, myfriend, my brother--ah!"
"From Pico?" asked Don Pedro.
"_Si_, from Pico, in '47," responded Victor,--"a grant."
Don Pedro rose, opened a secretary in the corner, and took out somebadly-printed, yellowish blanks, with a seal in the right hand lowercorner.
"Custom House paper from Monterey," explained Don Pedro, "blank withGovernor Pico's signature and rubric. Comprehendest thou, Victor, myfriend? A second grant is simple enough!"
Victor's eyes sparkled.
"But two for the same land, my brother?"
Don Pedro shrugged his shoulders, and rolled a fresh _cigarito_.
"There are two for n
early every grant of his late Excellency. Art thoucertain, my brave friend, there are not _three_ to this of which thouspeakest? If there be but one--Holy Mother! it is nothing. Surely theland has no value. Where is this modest property? How many leaguessquare? Come, we will retire in this room, and thou mayest talkundisturbed. There is excellent _aguardiente_ too, my Victor, come," andDon Pedro rose, conducted Victor into a smaller apartment, and closedthe door.
Nearly an hour elapsed. During that interval the sound of Victor'svoice, raised in passionate recital, might have been heard by theoccupants of the larger room but that they were completely involved intheir own smoky atmosphere, and were perhaps politely oblivious of thestranger's business. They chatted, compared notes, and examined legaldocuments with the excited and pleased curiosity of men to whom businessand the present importance of its results was a novelty. At a fewminutes before nine Don Pedro reappeared with Victor. I grieve to saythat either from the reaction of the intense excitement of the morning,from the active sympathy of his friend, or from the equally soothinganodyne of _aguardiente_, he was somewhat incoherent, interjectional,and effusive. The effect of excessive stimulation on passionate natureslike Victor's is to render them either maudlin or affectionate. Mr.Ramirez was both. He demanded with tears in his eyes to be led to theladies. He would seek in the company of Manuela, the stout female beforeintroduced to the reader, that sympathy which an injured, deceived, andconfiding nature like his own so deeply craved.
On the staircase he ran against a stranger, precise, dignified,accurately clothed and fitted--the "Se[~n]or Perkins" just released fromhis slavery, a very different person from the one accidentally disclosedto him an hour before, on his probable way to the gaming table, and hishabitual enjoyment on the evening of the day. In his maudlin condition,Victor would have fain exchanged views with him in regard to the generaldeceitfulness of the fair, and the misfortunes that attend a sincerepassion, but Don Pedro hurried him below into the parlour, and out ofthe reach of the serenely contemptuous observation of the Se[~n]orPerkins's eye. Once in the parlour, and in the presence of thecoquettish Manuela, who was still closely shawled, as if yet uncertainand doubtful in regard to the propriety of her garments above the waist,Victor, after a few vague remarks upon the general inability of the sexto understand a nature so profoundly deep and so wildly passionate ashis own, eventually succumbed in a large black haircloth arm-chair, andbecame helplessly and hopelessly comatose.
"We must find a bed here for him to-night," said the sympathising, butpractical Manuela; "he is not fit, poor imbecile, to be sent to hishotel. Mother of God! what is this?"
In lifting him out of the chair into which he had subsided with a fataltendency to slide to the floor, unless held by main force, something hadfallen from his breast pocket, and Manuela had picked it up. It was thebowie-knife he had purchased that morning.
"Ah!" said Manuela, "desperate little brigand: he has been among the_Americanos_! Look, my uncle!"
Don Pedro took the weapon quietly from the brown hands of Manuela andexamined it coolly.
"It is new, my niece," he responded, with a slight shrug of hisshoulders. "The gloss is still upon its blade. We will take him to bed."
