San Andreas independent., 1858-02-20
Written for the San Andreas independently
Grave of the Unknown.

/ ming in the neighborhood of San Andreas Just
at that hour when
"Fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air solemn stiffness holds"
He was old resident of the place. and had
witnessed many scene of violence and blood,
enacted in former times in this and neighbor-
ing 'Camps" The Immediate theme of our
conversation had been Joaquin and his Band
of Robbers" In answer to my question he
replied that he '.knew the bold Mexican WELL
and had on several occasions acted with the
officers in his pursuit" lie showed me the
old trail which the Band, when mounted, and
pursued were wont to take to escape to their
stronghold, on Bear Mountains or as it was
then called, the sHog's Back" This trail
crosses the road about half way between
Vague Camp and San Andreas, striking the
Calavcras mile above the Kentucky House.
When the robbers had once gained this noun
tain, between the chances of eludng their pur-
suers by the heetness of their horses, and the
danger of bringing them to bay amid the
strongholds of its many natural fortresses,
they were considered safe j and seldom was
posse bold enough to follow them farther than
| the Caaveras. He pointed out to me the
Chapparel hill towards the east on which
Capt. Elias, Mr.. Gatewood and several others,
had skirmished with the redoubted Chief and
a portion of his bravest and bodest followers,
in 1853 He showed me from the same spot,
the site of a horrible tragedy enacted about
that time, in which the Mexicans were the ag-
gressors and two amiable young Americans the
victims from the same spot he indicated II
tree, (now blighted 10y age and some incon-
siderate woodlands axc,) on which, one of
the Mexicans was afterwards hung by mob,
remarking, that Immediately beyond, on the
northern slope of the same hill, another Mexi-
can had suffered a similar fate for horse-steal-
ing. Though old Californian myself, and
for years familiar with the stormy scenes of a
border life, confess that the number and
character of his legends, enacted within so
narrow a space, overwhelmed me with aston
ishment, and was on the point of giving vent,
for the thousandth time, to an unamiable epithet
upon the quality of California, society,
he suddenly arrested my speech by the remark,
| that
Right here, a man was found murdered in
the Summer of 1852"
g Who was he" said I.
lie was stranger,-unknown to any of
us. He lived here, under this cluster of live
oaks, in a small tent, around which he had
thrown some green pine-boughs to furnish a
greater protection, during the violent heat of
our long Summer evenings from the slanting
rays Of the western sun. He was a miner, and
worked alone with rocker, on yonder ravine,
which puts into Vague gulch, and which was
then very rich with gold. In those DAYS no
one troubled himself about tie success of one
not an acquaintance. So, as you may imagine,
his life was monotonous enough. As to ,cho
he was, achence he came, or how much gold he
had accumulated, there is simply nothing
known; and after his murder, his body lay
unburied and undiscovered for, perhaps seve-
raj days,-so long that it was putrid when
found" ~ sat, said my friend, ''upon the
Inquest which the Coroner summoned over
his body, and our verdict was in accordance
with the facts have just stated We buried
him here where you perceive the turf seems
sunken, and this is his head, and yonder is
his foot-stone," pointing to a couple of rough
rocks which had been placed in the ground,
about six feet apart, to denote, in rude Chris
tan style, the hallowcd spot where the ashes
of humanity take their everlasting repose
l heaved a sigh, and my eyes were filled with
involuntary tears as, silently we gazed upon
the humble sepulchrc of the "unknown dead. {"
No name--no years-speled by the unlettered muse
had SCARED the native cast of the stone
Mentally supplied " the place of fame and
Elegy," with the solemn lines of the poet.
Montgomery:
Once, IN the flight of ages past,
There lived man; and who was he?
Mortal, where er thy lot be cast
That man resembled thee
Unknown the region Of his birth:
The land in which he died unknown:-
Ills NAME has vanished from the earth =
This truth survives alone:
That joy and grief and hone and fear
Alternate triumphed in his breast;
illS oiiss and woe-a smile,-a tear
Oblivion hides the restn
Was he young? Was he middle-aged? Did
the current of his affections ever mnele with
the purer stream of gentler soul? Had he
child? Had he wife? Had he mother to
mourn, like Rachel for her children, through
the dreary night of life long grief, in ever
despairlng hopelcssness for him who will glad
den their hearth !" no more forever?p Perhaps
even now, whilst we stand under the darkling
shadows of this quiet grove that invites the
lark and the robin to sing vespers over his
tomb, afar of-where the Alabama or the Pas
cagoula, winds down through fields of white
bowled cotton or forests of eternal green, gen.
tie lips are praying for his safety from harm.
Perhaps, among the CHEEKY cottages that peep
out through the glades of the blue Connecti-
cut, is one less gleesome than the rest, in
which poor maiden mourns the long absence
OF her lover Silence thy sorrow poor heart
"life's fitful fever over, he sleeps WELL" Per-
haps, where the broad Po rushes down from her
Alpine fountains, through the classic fields of
sunny Italy; or by the viny banks of the Rhine;
or where the Moldau reflects the sorrowing