The Squatter and the Don. María Amparo Ruiz de Burton

spoke to me about a dismissal of an appeal, and I made a note of it. Let me see, I think I have it in my pocket now,”—said George, feeling in his breast pocket for his memorandum book—“yes, here it is—‘For uncle to write to the attorney general about dismissing the appeal taken by the squatters in the Alamar grant, against Don Mariano's title, which was approved.’ Is that the correct idea? I only made this note to ask you for further particulars.”

      “You have it exactly. When I give you the number of the case, it is all that you need say to your uncle. What I want is to have the appeal dismissed, of course, but if the attorney general does not see fit to do so, he can, at least, remand back the case for a new trial. Anything rather than this killing suspense. Killing literally, for while we are waiting to have my title settled, the settlers (I don't mean to make puns), are killing my cattle by the hundred head, and I cannot stop them.”

      “But are there no laws to protect property in California?” George asked.

      “Yes, some sort of laws, which in my case seem more intended to help the law-breakers than to protect the law-abiding,” Don Mariano replied.

      “How so? Is there no law to punish the thieves who kill your cattle?”

      “There are some enactments so obviously intended to favor one class of citizens against another class, that to call them laws is an insult to law, but such as they are, we must submit to them. By those laws any man can come to my land, for instance, plant ten acres of grain, without any fence, and then catch my cattle which, seeing the green grass without a fence, will go to eat it. Then he puts them in a ‘corral’ and makes me pay damages and so much per head for keeping them, and costs of legal proceedings and many other trumped up expenses, until for such little fields of grain I may be obliged to pay thousands of dollars. Or, if the grain fields are large enough to bring more money by keeping the cattle away, then the settler shoots the cattle at any time without the least hesitation, only taking care that no one sees him in the act of firing upon the cattle. He might stand behind a bush or tree and fire, but then he is not seen. No one can swear that they saw him actually kill the cattle, and no jury can convict him, for although the dead animals may be there, lying on the ground shot, still no one saw the settler kill them. And so it is all the time. I must pay damages and expenses of litigation, or my cattle get killed almost every day.”

      “But this is infamous. Haven't you—the cattle owners—tried to have some law enacted that will protect your property?” George asked. “It seems to me that could be done.”

      “It could be done, perhaps, if our positions were reversed, and the Spanish people—‘the natives’—were the planters of the grain fields, and the Americans were the owners of the cattle. But as we, the Spaniards, are the owners of the Spanish—or Mexican—land grants and also the owners of the cattle ranchos, our State legislators will not make any law to protect cattle. They make laws ‘to protect agriculture’ (they say proudly), which means to drive to the wall all owners of cattle ranchos. I am told that at this session of the legislature a law more strict yet will be passed, which will be ostensibly ‘to protect agriculture,’ but in reality to destroy cattle and ruin the native Californians. The agriculture of this State does not require legislative protection. Such pretext is absurd.”

      “I thought that the rights of the Spanish people were protected by our treaty with Mexico,” George said.

      “Mexico did not pay much attention to the future welfare of the children she left to their fate in the hands of a nation which had no sympathies for us,” said Doña Josefa, feelingly.

      “I remember,” calmly said Don Mariano, “that when I first read the text of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, I felt a bitter resentment against my people; against Mexico, the mother country, who abandoned us—her children—with so slight a provision of obligatory stipulations for protection. But afterwards, upon mature reflection, I saw that Mexico did as much as could have been reasonably expected at the time. In the very preamble of the treaty the spirit of peace and friendship, which animated both nations, was carefully made manifest. That spirit was to be the foundation of the relations between the conqueror and conquered. How could Mexico have foreseen then that when scarcely half a dozen years should have elapsed the trusted conquerors would, ‘In Congress Assembled,’ pass laws which were to be retroactive upon the defenceless, helpless, conquered people, in order to despoil them? The treaty said that our rights would be the same as those enjoyed by all other American citizens. But, you see, Congress takes very good care not to enact retroactive laws for Americans; laws to take away from American citizens the property which they hold now, already, with a recognized legal title. No, indeed. But they do so quickly enough with us—with us, the Spano-Americans, who were to enjoy equal rights, mind you, according to the treaty of peace. This is what seems to me a breach of faith, which Mexico could neither presuppose nor prevent.”

      “It is nothing else, I am sorry and ashamed to say,” George said. “I never knew much about the treaty with Mexico, but I never imagined we had acted so badly.”

      “I think but few Americans know or believe to what extent we have been wronged by Congressional action. And truly, I believe that Congress itself did not anticipate the effect of its laws upon us, and how we would be despoiled, we, the conquered people,” said Don Mariano, sadly.

      “It is the duty of law-givers to foresee the effect of the laws they impose upon people,” said Doña Josefa.

      “That I don't deny, but I fear that the conquered have always but a weak voice, which nobody hears,” said Don Mariano. “We have had no one to speak for us. By the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo the American nation pledged its honor to respect our land titles just the same as Mexico would have done. Unfortunately, however, the discovery of gold brought to California the riff-raff of the world, and with it a horde of land-sharks, all possessing the privilege of voting, and most of them coveting our lands, for which they very quickly began to clamor. There was, and still is, plenty of good government land, which any one can take. But no. The forbidden fruit is the sweetest. They do not want government land. They want the land of the Spanish people, because we ‘have too much,’ they say. So, to win their votes, the votes of the squatters, our representatives in Congress helped to pass laws declaring all lands in California open to pre-emption, as in Louisiana, for instance. Then, as a coating of whitewash to the stain on the nation's honor, a ‘land commission’ was established to examine land titles. Because, having pledged the national word to respect our rights, it would be an act of despoliation, besides an open violation of pledged honor, to take the lands without some pretext of a legal process. So then, we became obliged to present our titles before the said land commission to be examined and approved or rejected. While these legal proceedings are going on, the squatters locate their claims and raise crops on our lands, which they convert into money to fight our titles. But don't let me, with my disagreeable subject spoil your dance. Go back to your lancers, and tell Lizzie to excuse me,” said Don Mariano.

      Lizzie would not excuse him. With the privilege of a future daughter-in-law, she insisted that Don Mariano should be her partner in the lancers, which would be a far pleasanter occupation than to be walking up and down the porch thinking about squatters.

      Don Mariano therefore followed Lizzie to their place in the dance. Mercedes sat at the piano to play for them. The other couples took their respective positions.

      The well-balanced mind and kindly spirit of Don Mariano soon yielded to the genial influences surrounding him. He would not bring his trouble to mar the pleasure of others. He danced with his children as gaily as the gayest. He insisted that Mr. Mechlin, too, should dance, and this gentleman graciously yielded and led Elvira through a quadrille, protesting that he had not danced for twenty years.

      “You have not danced because you were sick, but now you are well. Don't be lazy,” said Mrs. Mechlin.

      “You would be paying to San Diego climate a very poor compliment by refusing to dance now,” George added.

      “That is so, papa. Show us how well you feel,” Lizzie said.

      “I shall have to dance a hornpipe to do that,” Mr. Mechlin answered, laughing.