Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-10-26
In the Hands of the
Mob.
[Theo. March in Lippincott's Magazine.l

lIheo. March In LlpplncottS Magazine
If there be anywhere typical American.
he will be found On the western plains, where
men develop into something which certainly
has not its likeness in the heavens above, the
earth beneath, or the waters under the earth.
In his most peaceful aspect he is unique. AS
"a rough, " he is unapproachable. Nothing in
history has ever equaled western desperate.
Bold, cruel, capricious, hardened, sentimental,
skilled in the use of arms, and accomplished
in horsemanship, there is about him ter
rlble power which lacks the elements
of fascination. Mark Twain, in his Rough
ing 1t" has drawn admirable portraits of
men notorious in the early days of western
settlements. 1t was my fortune, as q child,
to have certain knowledge of this class, and
to encounter them, once at least, in their
EARNED wrath"
My father was q sea-captain, who took
his family with him on his long voyages.
The trade with California, it is well
known, was a golden one for many
years, and whoever could take a share
in it readily braved the months of sailing and
the dangers Of Cape Horn. To those who
hurry across the continent in weeks time,
this length of voyage doubtless appears an
endless torture of suspended action. To us,
it was simply calm elysium. The slow
days and nights dropped silently behind Us
into the beautiful, fathomless sea, while we
set cur faces steadily forward in happy IN
concern and bright anticipation.
l was but a child, with one constant
companion in my little sister, and an occa-
sional gala day of play with Johnny Carter,
the cabin-boy. Johnny Carter belongs to this
story.
He was pretty, fair little fellow of about
IL years Just before the ship sailed, very
nice looking woman had come on board and
asked to see my father. She brought with
her this boy, and she represented him as any,
thing rather than
A creature all too bright and good
For human natures daily food
In short, Johnny was SO utterly a bad bow.
she begged my father to take him to sea,
in the hope of breaking off his ruinous asso-
Citations and changing the current of his
fancles from an eager search after the worst
evils of his home city. My father hesitated,
OF course, but the mother was importunate,
and the boy did not look form liable. In the
end, he consented, and Johnny was duly in
stalled as cabin-boy and general do-nothinc,
DO not remember ever seeing him at work.
He proved to be, as far as we saw. q mild
pleasant, easy-going little chap, very unlike
his mothers portrayal of him, and was soon
universal favorite. He was 50 young and
SO smalllit seemed folly to expect ANYTHING
thoroughly useful of him. He wandered
about the ship gathering up whatever knowl.
edge came in his way, waiting on the officers
helping the cook, taking care of the goats
- had cant
mates and with an eye to milk
for my mothers coffee-and sometimes
for whole day playing with us at
anything we fancied. He could dress doll
and set out toy dishes; he could make tiny
kites and frail bows and arrows; he could
arrange a scrap-book or set up fshing-taci,le,
and seemed equally happy and content in
cabin or forecastle. Yet when we reached
San Francisco he almost instantly and
n,iraculously disappeared, and left no trace.
My father was much annoyed. The mothers
tears and entreaties, her anxiety, her conf
dence in the good effects OF the voyage. and
her trust in my father, were constantly pres
ent to him. His best energies were expended
in the search for the lost boy, but in vain.
Had johnny taken to Jonah's whale as a.
craft, ne could not have been more pro-
foundry swallowed up At last nv father
accepted the situation as best he might. and.
after writing home full accounts of all that
had been done, seemed to dismiss the matter
from his mind, as one in which he had Der
formed his duty, spite of failure.
San Francisco at that time was city in
the rough. 1t is impossible to convey to
any thoroughly eastern and untraveled
mind any conception of it. Such curious
combinations OF single and muslin, paper
and slats Such motley, picturesque,
frightful, ridiculous crowd, forever coming
and going! Every nation had its represen-
tatives, every style of costume, every possible
bearing and gesture. Gentlemen of polish
and outcasts of society, the broadcloth of
Paris and the Indian blanket, the iovial Irish
man, pipe in mouth, and the stately Span
lard, the INDECENT South American, the be
wildered Chinaman, the wide-awake Yankee.
continually jostled and hustled each other on
the planks of the quay skirting the lonely
bay, and on the narrow stretch of Long
Wharf, extending an almost incredible dis
lance into its waters. Ladies there were few.
and children even fewer. My sister and 1
We're soon great pets; and the domestic life
OF the ship, under my mothers home
like sway, had charm for the home
less young fellows and lonely married
men engaged in the tremendous
struggle for existence or mighty wealth.
the chances meant always one or the other.
p Occasionally my father took me with him
for morning among his business friends. and
very delightful found these visits. tt was
after one Of them we found Johnny Carter.
We were walking along the quay to take the
boat for our return to the ship. The quay
was lined on the landward side with gam.
bling dens-great bare rooms, entirely open
to the street. At the far end, rough stage
lifted into prominence; sometimes a row Of
Ethiopian minstrels, sometimes three or four
painted women singers, sometimes a seedy
pianist and half-starved violinist Between
this stage and the street, row after row of
tables were set out, crowded with men
dressed in red shirts, broad slouched hats.
broad belts, and perfect armory of weapons.
Cries and blows and struggles were as COM
mon as the twang of the guitar or the voice
of the singer, and my father always hurried
me along, trembling as was, striving to dis
tract my attention from the sights and
sounds still recall with horror.
On this day of which write, he suddenly
paused before one Of the dens, and t'lo de-
fberately walked into its very It.i,.st. still
holding my hand. At a table naar the cen
tire of the room, he laid his hand on the
shoulder Of Johnny Carter, who was intently
watching the deft fingers of quartette of
gamblers. Piles OF gold-dust, eight-cornered