The war-drum was silent, the cannon was mute,The sword in its scabbard lay still,And battle had gathered the last autumn fruitThat crimson-dyed river and rill,When a Goddess came down from her mansion on high,To gladden the world with her smile,Leaving only her robes in the realm of the sky,That their sheen might no mortal beguile.As she lit on the earth she was welcomed by Peace,Twin sisters in Eden of yore—But parted forever when fetter-bound GreeceDrove her exiled and chained from her shore;Never since had the angel of Liberty trodIn virginal beauty below;But, chased from the earth, she had mounted to God,Despoiled of her raiment of snow.Our sires gathered round her, entranced by her smile,Remembering the footprints of oldShe had graven on grottoes, in Scio's sweet Isle,Ere the doom of fair Athens was told."I am naked," she cried; "I am homeless on earth;Kings, Princes, and Lords are my foes,But I stand undismayed, though an orphan by birth,And condemned to the region of snows.""Hail, Liberty! hail"—our fathers exclaim—"To the glorious land of the West!With a diadem bright we will honor thy name,And enthrone thee America's guest;We will found a great nation and call it thine own,And erect here an altar to thee,Where millions shall kneel at the foot of thy throneAnd swear to forever be free!"Then each brought a vestment her form to enrobe,And screen her fair face from the sun,And thus she stood forth as the Queen of the globeWhen the work of our Fathers was done.A circlet of stars round her temples they wove,That gleamed like Orion's bright band,And an emblem of power, the eagle of Jove,They perched like a bolt in her hand;On her forehead, a scroll that contained but a lineWas written in letters of light,That our great "Constitution" forever might shine,A sun to illumine the night.Her feet were incased in broad sandals of gold,That riches might spring in her train;While a warrior's casque, with its visor uproll'd,Protected her tresses and brain;Round her waist a bright girdle of satin was bound,Formed of colors so blended and true,That when as a banner the scarf was unwound,It floated the "Red, White and Blue."Then Liberty calm, leant on Washington's arm,And spoke in prophetical strain:"Columbia's proud hills I will shelter from ills,Whilst her valleys and mountains remain;But palsied the hand that would pillage the bandOf sisterhood stars in my crown,And death to the knave whose sword would enslave,By striking your great charter down."Your eagle shall soar this western world o'er,And carry the sound of my name,Till monarchs shall quake and its confines forsake,If true to your ancestral fame!Your banner shall gleam like the polar star's beam,To guide through rebellion's Red sea,And in battle 'twill wave, both to conquer and save,If borne by the hands of the free!"
The war-drum was silent, the cannon was mute,The sword in its scabbard lay still,And battle had gathered the last autumn fruitThat crimson-dyed river and rill,When a Goddess came down from her mansion on high,To gladden the world with her smile,Leaving only her robes in the realm of the sky,That their sheen might no mortal beguile.
The war-drum was silent, the cannon was mute,The sword in its scabbard lay still,And battle had gathered the last autumn fruitThat crimson-dyed river and rill,When a Goddess came down from her mansion on high,To gladden the world with her smile,Leaving only her robes in the realm of the sky,That their sheen might no mortal beguile.
As she lit on the earth she was welcomed by Peace,Twin sisters in Eden of yore—But parted forever when fetter-bound GreeceDrove her exiled and chained from her shore;Never since had the angel of Liberty trodIn virginal beauty below;But, chased from the earth, she had mounted to God,Despoiled of her raiment of snow.
Our sires gathered round her, entranced by her smile,Remembering the footprints of oldShe had graven on grottoes, in Scio's sweet Isle,Ere the doom of fair Athens was told."I am naked," she cried; "I am homeless on earth;Kings, Princes, and Lords are my foes,But I stand undismayed, though an orphan by birth,And condemned to the region of snows."
"Hail, Liberty! hail"—our fathers exclaim—"To the glorious land of the West!With a diadem bright we will honor thy name,And enthrone thee America's guest;We will found a great nation and call it thine own,And erect here an altar to thee,Where millions shall kneel at the foot of thy throneAnd swear to forever be free!"
Then each brought a vestment her form to enrobe,And screen her fair face from the sun,And thus she stood forth as the Queen of the globeWhen the work of our Fathers was done.
A circlet of stars round her temples they wove,That gleamed like Orion's bright band,And an emblem of power, the eagle of Jove,They perched like a bolt in her hand;On her forehead, a scroll that contained but a lineWas written in letters of light,That our great "Constitution" forever might shine,A sun to illumine the night.
Her feet were incased in broad sandals of gold,That riches might spring in her train;While a warrior's casque, with its visor uproll'd,Protected her tresses and brain;Round her waist a bright girdle of satin was bound,Formed of colors so blended and true,That when as a banner the scarf was unwound,It floated the "Red, White and Blue."
Then Liberty calm, leant on Washington's arm,And spoke in prophetical strain:"Columbia's proud hills I will shelter from ills,Whilst her valleys and mountains remain;But palsied the hand that would pillage the bandOf sisterhood stars in my crown,And death to the knave whose sword would enslave,By striking your great charter down.
"Your eagle shall soar this western world o'er,And carry the sound of my name,Till monarchs shall quake and its confines forsake,If true to your ancestral fame!Your banner shall gleam like the polar star's beam,To guide through rebellion's Red sea,And in battle 'twill wave, both to conquer and save,If borne by the hands of the free!"
I stood at my washstand, one bright sunny morn,And gazed through the blinds at the upbringing corn,And mourn'd that my summers were passing away,Like the dew on the meadow that morning in May.I seized, for an instant, the Iris-hued soap,That glowed in the dish, like an emblem of hope,And said to myself, as I melted its snows,"The longer I use it, the lesser it grows."For life, in its morn, is full freighted and gay,And fair as the rainbow when clouds float away;Sweet-scented and useful, it sheds its perfume,Till wasted or blasted, it melts in the tomb.Thus day after day, whilst we lather and scrub,Time wasteth and blasteth with many a rub,Till thinner and thinner, the soap wears away,And age hands us over to dust and decay.Oh Bessie! dear Bess! as I dream of thee now,With the spice in thy breath, and the bloom on thy brow,To a cake of pure Lubin thy life I compare,So fragrant, so fragile, and so debonair!But fortune was fickle, and labor was vain,And want overtook us, with grief in its train,Till, worn out by troubles, death came in the blast;Butthykisses, like Lubin's, were sweet to the last!
I stood at my washstand, one bright sunny morn,And gazed through the blinds at the upbringing corn,And mourn'd that my summers were passing away,Like the dew on the meadow that morning in May.
I stood at my washstand, one bright sunny morn,And gazed through the blinds at the upbringing corn,And mourn'd that my summers were passing away,Like the dew on the meadow that morning in May.
I seized, for an instant, the Iris-hued soap,That glowed in the dish, like an emblem of hope,And said to myself, as I melted its snows,"The longer I use it, the lesser it grows."
For life, in its morn, is full freighted and gay,And fair as the rainbow when clouds float away;Sweet-scented and useful, it sheds its perfume,Till wasted or blasted, it melts in the tomb.
Thus day after day, whilst we lather and scrub,Time wasteth and blasteth with many a rub,Till thinner and thinner, the soap wears away,And age hands us over to dust and decay.
Oh Bessie! dear Bess! as I dream of thee now,With the spice in thy breath, and the bloom on thy brow,To a cake of pure Lubin thy life I compare,So fragrant, so fragile, and so debonair!
But fortune was fickle, and labor was vain,And want overtook us, with grief in its train,Till, worn out by troubles, death came in the blast;Butthykisses, like Lubin's, were sweet to the last!
The following additional particulars, as sequel to the Summerfield homicide, have been furnished by an Auburn correspondent:
Mr.Editor: The remarkable confession of the late Leonidas Parker, which appeared in your issue of the 13th ultimo, has given rise to a series of disturbances in this neighborhood, which, for romantic interest and downright depravity, have seldom been surpassed, even in California. Before proceeding to relate in detail the late transactions, allow me to remark that the wonderful narrative of Parker excited throughout this county sentiments of the most profound and contradictory character. I, for one, halted between two opinions—horror and incredulity; and nothing but subsequent events could have fully satisfied me of the unquestionable veracity of your San Francisco correspondent, and the scientific authenticity of the facts related.The doubt with which the story was at first received in this community—and which found utterance in a burlesque article in an obscure country journal, the Stars and Stripes, of Auburn—has finally been dispelled and we find ourselves forced to admit that we stand even now in the presence of the most alarming fate. Toomuch credit cannot be awarded to our worthy coroner for the promptitude of his action, and we trust that the Governor of the State will not be less efficient in the discharge of his duty.[Since the above letter was written the following proclamation has been issued.—P. J.]PROCLAMATION OF THE GOVERNOR.$10,000 REWARD!Department of State.By virtue of the authority in me vested, I do hereby offer the above reward of ten thousand dollars, in gold coin of the United States, for the Arrest of Bartholomew Graham, familiarly known as Black Bart. Said Graham is accused of the murder of C. P. Gillson, late of Auburn, county of Placer, on the 14th ultimo. He is five feet ten inches and a half in height, thick set, has a mustache sprinkled with gray, grizzled hair, clear blue eyes, walks stooping, and served in the late civil war under Price and Quantrell, in the Confederate army. He may be lurking in some of the mining-camps near the foot-hills, as he was a Washoe teamster during the Comstock excitement. The above reward will be paid for him,dead or alive, as he possessed himself of an important secret by robbing the body of the late Gregory Summerfield.By the Governor:H. G. Nicholson,Secretary of State.Given at Sacramento, this the fifth day of June, 1871.
Mr.Editor: The remarkable confession of the late Leonidas Parker, which appeared in your issue of the 13th ultimo, has given rise to a series of disturbances in this neighborhood, which, for romantic interest and downright depravity, have seldom been surpassed, even in California. Before proceeding to relate in detail the late transactions, allow me to remark that the wonderful narrative of Parker excited throughout this county sentiments of the most profound and contradictory character. I, for one, halted between two opinions—horror and incredulity; and nothing but subsequent events could have fully satisfied me of the unquestionable veracity of your San Francisco correspondent, and the scientific authenticity of the facts related.
The doubt with which the story was at first received in this community—and which found utterance in a burlesque article in an obscure country journal, the Stars and Stripes, of Auburn—has finally been dispelled and we find ourselves forced to admit that we stand even now in the presence of the most alarming fate. Toomuch credit cannot be awarded to our worthy coroner for the promptitude of his action, and we trust that the Governor of the State will not be less efficient in the discharge of his duty.
[Since the above letter was written the following proclamation has been issued.—P. J.]
PROCLAMATION OF THE GOVERNOR.$10,000 REWARD!Department of State.By virtue of the authority in me vested, I do hereby offer the above reward of ten thousand dollars, in gold coin of the United States, for the Arrest of Bartholomew Graham, familiarly known as Black Bart. Said Graham is accused of the murder of C. P. Gillson, late of Auburn, county of Placer, on the 14th ultimo. He is five feet ten inches and a half in height, thick set, has a mustache sprinkled with gray, grizzled hair, clear blue eyes, walks stooping, and served in the late civil war under Price and Quantrell, in the Confederate army. He may be lurking in some of the mining-camps near the foot-hills, as he was a Washoe teamster during the Comstock excitement. The above reward will be paid for him,dead or alive, as he possessed himself of an important secret by robbing the body of the late Gregory Summerfield.By the Governor:H. G. Nicholson,Secretary of State.Given at Sacramento, this the fifth day of June, 1871.
PROCLAMATION OF THE GOVERNOR.
$10,000 REWARD!
Department of State.
By virtue of the authority in me vested, I do hereby offer the above reward of ten thousand dollars, in gold coin of the United States, for the Arrest of Bartholomew Graham, familiarly known as Black Bart. Said Graham is accused of the murder of C. P. Gillson, late of Auburn, county of Placer, on the 14th ultimo. He is five feet ten inches and a half in height, thick set, has a mustache sprinkled with gray, grizzled hair, clear blue eyes, walks stooping, and served in the late civil war under Price and Quantrell, in the Confederate army. He may be lurking in some of the mining-camps near the foot-hills, as he was a Washoe teamster during the Comstock excitement. The above reward will be paid for him,dead or alive, as he possessed himself of an important secret by robbing the body of the late Gregory Summerfield.
By the Governor:
H. G. Nicholson,Secretary of State.
Given at Sacramento, this the fifth day of June, 1871.
Our correspondent continues:
I am sorry to say that Sheriff Higgins has not been so active in the discharge of his duty as the urgency of the case required, but he is perhaps excusable on account of the criminal interference of the editor above alluded to. But I am detaining you from more important matters. Your Saturday's paper reached here at 4 o'clock, Saturday, 13th May, and, as it now appearsfrom the evidence taken before the coroner, several persons left Auburn on the same errand, but without any previous conference. Two of these were named respectively Charles P. Gillson and Bartholomew Graham, or, as he was usually called, "Black Bart." Gillson kept a saloon at the corner of Prickly Ash Street and the Old Spring Road; and Black Bart was in the employ of Conrad & Co., keepers of the Norfolk livery stable. Gillson was a son-in-law of ex-Governor Roberts, of Iowa, and leaves a wife and two children to mourn his untimely end. As for Graham, nothing certain is known of his antecedents. It is said that he was engaged in the late robbery of Wells & Fargo's express at Grizzly Bend, and that he was an habitual gambler. Only one thing about him is certainly well known: he was a lieutenant in the Confederate army, and served under General Price and the outlaw Quantrell. He was a man originally of fine education, plausible manners and good family; but strong drink seems early in life to have overmastered him, and left him but a wreck of himself. But he was not incapable of generous, or rather, romantic, acts; for, during the burning of the Putnam House, in this town, last summer, he rescued two ladies from the flames. In so doing he scorched his left hand so seriously as to contract the tendons of two fingers, and this very scar may lead to his apprehension. There is no doubt about his utter desperation of character, and, if taken at all, it will probably be not alive.So much for the persons concerned in the tragedy at the Flat.Herewith I inclose copies of the testimony of the witnesses examined before the coroner's jury, together with the statement of Gillson, takenin articulo mortis:DEPOSITION OF DOLLIE ADAMS.State ofCalifornia,County of Placer.}ss.Said witness, being duly sworn, deposed as follows, to wit: My name is Dollie Adams; my age forty-seven years; I am the wife of Frank G. Adams, of this township, and reside on the North Fork of the American River, below Cape Horn, on Thompson's Flat; about one o'clockp. m., May 14, 1871, I left the cabin to gather wood to cook dinner for my husband and the hands at work for him on the claim; the trees are mostly cut away from the bottom, and I had to climb some distance up the mountain side before I could get enough to kindle the fire; I had gone about five hundred yards from the cabin, and was searching for small sticks of fallen timber, when I thought I heard some one groan, as if in pain; I paused and listened; the groaning became more distinct, and I started at once for the place whence the sounds proceeded; about ten steps off I discovered the man whose remains lie there (pointing to the deceased), sitting up, with his back against a big rock; he looked so pale that I thought him already dead, but he continued to moan until I reached his side; hearing me approach, he opened his eyes, and begged me, "For God's sake, give me a drop of water!" I asked him, "What is the matter?" He replied, "I am shot in the back." "Dangerously?" I demanded. "Fatally!" he faltered. Without waiting to question him further, I returned to the cabin, told Zenie—my daughter—what I had seen, and sent her off on a run for the men. Taking with me a gourd of water, some milk and bread—for I thought the poor gentleman might be hungry and weak, as well as wounded—I hurried back to his side, where I remained until "father"—as we all call my husband—came with the men. We removed him as gently as we could to the cabin; then sent for Dr. Liebner, and nursed him until he died, yesterday, just at sunset.Question by the Coroner: Did you hear his statement, taken down by the Assistant District Attorney?—A. I did.Q. Did you see him sign it?—A. Yes, sir.Q. Is this your signature thereto as witness?—A. It is, sir.(Signed)DollieAdams.DEPOSITION OF MISS X. V. ADAMS.Being first duly sworn, witness testified as follows: My name is Xixenia Volumnia Adams; I am the daughter of Frank G. Adams and the last witness; I reside with them on the Flat, and my age is eighteen years; a little past 1 o'clock on Sunday last my mother came running into the house and informed me that a man was dying from a wound, on the side-hill, and that I must go for father and the boys immediately. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to where they were "cleaning up," for they never cleaned up week-days on the Flat, and told the news; we all came back together and proceeded to the spot where the wounded man lay weltering in his blood; he was cautiously removed to the cabin, where he lingered until yesterday sundown, when he died.Question. Did he speak after he reached the cabin? A. He did frequently; at first with great pain, but afterward more audibly and intelligibly.Q. What did he say? A. First, to send for Squire Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney, as he had a statement to make; and some time afterward, to send for his wife; but we first of all sent for the doctor.Q. Who was present when he died? A. Only myself; he had appeared a great deal easier, and his wife had lain down to take a short nap, and my mother had gone to the spring and left me alone to watch; suddenly he lifted himself spasmodically in bed, glared around wildly and muttered something inaudible; seeing me, he cried out, "Run! run! run! He has it! Black Bart has got the vial! Quick! or he'll set the world afire! See, he opens it! Oh, my God! Look! look! look! Hold his hands! tie him! chain him down! Too late! too late! oh the flames! Fire! fire! fire!" His tone of voice gradually strengthened until the end of his raving; when he cried "fire!" his eyeballs glared, his mouth quivered, his body convulsed, and before Mrs. Gillson could reach his bedside he fell back stone dead.(Signed)X. V. Adams.The testimony of Adams corroborated in every particular that of his wife and daughter, but set forth more fully the particulars of his demoniac ravings. He would taste nothing from a glass or bottle, butshuddered whenever any article of that sort met his eyes. In fact, they had to remove from the room the cups, tumblers, and even the castors. At times he spoke rationally, but after the second day only in momentary flashes of sanity.The deposition of the attending physician, after giving the general facts with regard to the sickness of the patient and his subsequent demise, proceeded thus:I found the patient weak, and suffering from loss of blood and rest, and want of nourishment; occasionally sane, but for the most part flighty and in a comatose condition. The wound was an ordinary gunshot wound, produced most probably by the ball of a navy revolver, fired at the distance of ten paces. It entered the back near the left clavicle, beneath the scapula, close to the vertebrae between the intercostal spaces of the fifth and sixth ribs; grazing the pericardium it traversed the mediastinum, barely touching the œsophagus, and vena azygos, but completely severing the thoracic duct, and lodging in the xiphoid portion of the sternum. Necessarily fatal, there was no reason, however, why the patient could not linger for a week or more; but it is no less certain that from the effect of the wound he ultimately died. I witnessed the execution of the paper shown to me—as the statement of deceased—at his request; and at the time of signing the same he was in his perfect senses. It was taken down in my presence by Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney of Placer County, and read over to the deceased before he affixed his signature. I was not present when he breathed his last, having been called away by my patients in the town of Auburn, but I reached his bedside shortly afterward. In my judgment, no amount of care or medical attention could have prolonged his life more than a few days.(Signed)KarlLiebner, M. D.The statement of the deceased was then introduced to the jury as follows:People of theState ofCaliforniavs.BartholomewGraham.}Statement and Dying Confession of Charles P. Gillson, taken in articulo mortis by George Simpson, Notary Public.On the morning of Sunday, the 14th day of May, 1871, I left Auburn alone in search of the body of the late Gregory Summerfield, who was reported to have been pushed from the cars at Cape Horn, in this county, by one Leonidas Parker, since deceased. It was not fully light when I reached the track of the Central Pacific Railroad. Having mined at an early day on Thompson's Flat, at the foot of the rocky promontory now called Cape Horn, I was familiar with the zigzag paths leading down that steep precipice. One was generally used as a descent, the other as an ascent from the cañon below. I chose the latter, as being the freest from the chance of observation. It required the greatest caution to thread the narrow gorge; but I finally reached the rocky bench, about one thousand feet below the grade of the railroad. It was now broad daylight, and I commenced cautiously the search for Summerfield's body. There is quite a dense undergrowth of shrubs thereabouts, lining the interstices of the granite rocks so as to obscure the vision even at a short distance. Brushing aside a thick manzanita bush, I beheld the dead man at the same instant of time that another person arrived like an apparition upon the spot. It was Bartholomew Graham, known as "Black Bart." We suddenly confronted each other, the skeleton of Summerfield lying exactly between us. Our recognition was mutual. Graham advanced and I did the same; he stretched out his hand and we greeted one another across the prostrate corpse.Before releasing my hand, Black Bart exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "Swear, Gillson, in the presence of the dead, that you will forever be faithful, never betray me, and do exactly as I bid you, as long as you live!"I looked him full in the eye. Fate sat there, cold and remorseless as stone. I hesitated; with his left hand he slightly raised the lappels of his coat, and grasped the handle of a navy revolver."Swear!" again he cried.As I gazed, his eyeballs assumed a greenish tint, and hisbrow darkened into a scowl. "As your confederate," I answered, "never as your slave.""Be it so!" was his only reply.The body was lying upon its back, with the face upwards. The vultures had despoiled the countenance of every vestige of flesh, and left the sockets of the eyes empty. Snow and ice and rain had done their work effectually upon the exposed surfaces of his clothing, and the eagles had feasted upon the entrails. But underneath, the thick beaver cloth had served to protect the flesh, and there were some decaying shreds left of what had once been the terrible but accomplished Gregory Summerfield. A glance told us all these things. But they did not interest me so much as another spectacle, that almost froze my blood. In the skeleton gripe of the right hand, interlaced within the clenched bones, gleamed the wide-mouthed vial which was the object of our mutual visit. Graham fell upon his knees, and attempted to withdraw the prize from the grasp of its dead possessor. But the bones were firm, and when he finally succeeded in securing the bottle, by a sudden wrench, I heard the skeleton fingers snap like pipe-stems."Hold this a moment, whilst I search the pockets," he commanded.I did as directed.He then turned over the corpse, and thrusting his hand into the inner breast-pocket, dragged out a roll of MSS., matted closely together and stained by the winter's rains. A further search eventuated in finding a roll of small gold coin, a set of deringer pistols, a mated double-edged dirk, and a pair of silver-mounted spectacles. Hastily covering over the body with leaves and branches cut from the embowering shrubs, we shudderingly left the spot.We slowly descended the gorge toward the banks of the American River, until we arrived in a small but sequestered thicket, where we threw ourselves upon the ground. Neither had spoken a word since we left the scene above described. Graham was the first to break the silence which to me had become oppressive."Let us examine the vial and see if the contents are safe."I drew it forth from my pocket and handed it to him."Sealed hermetically, and perfectly secure," he added. Saying this he deliberately wrapped it up in a handkerchief and placed it in his bosom."What shall we do with our prize?" I inquired."Ourprize?" As he said this he laughed derisively, and cut a most scornful and threatening glance toward me."Yes," I rejoined firmly; "ourprize!""Gillson," retorted Graham, "you must regard me as a consummate simpleton, or yourself a Goliah. This bottle is mine, andmineonly. It is a great fortune forone, but of less value than a toadstool fortwo. I am willing to divide fairly. This secret would be of no service to a coward. He would not dare to use it. Your share of the robbery of the body shall be these MSS.; you can sell them to some poor devil of a printer, and pay yourself for your day's work."Saying this he threw the bundle of MSS. at my feet; but I disdained to touch them. Observing this, he gathered them up safely and replaced them in his pocket. "As you are unarmed," he said, "it would not be safe for you to be seen in this neighborhood during daylight. We will both spend the night here, and just before morning return to Auburn. I will accompany you part of the distance."With thesangfroidof a perfect desperado, he then stretched himself out in the shadow of a small tree, drank deeply from a whisky flagon which he produced, and pulling his hat over his eyes, was soon asleep and snoring. It was a long time before I could believe the evidence of my own senses. Finally, I approached the ruffian, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not stir a muscle. I listened; I heard only the deep, slow breathing of profound slumber. Resolved not to be balked and defrauded by such a scoundrel, I stealthily withdrew the vial from his pocket, and sprang to my feet, just in time to hear the click of a revolver behind me. I was betrayed! I remember only a dash and an explosion—a deathly sensation, a whirl of the rocks and trees about me, a hideous imprecation from the lips of my murderer, and I fell senseless to the earth. When I awoke to consciousness it was past midnight. I looked up at the stars, and recognized Lyra shining full in my face. That constellation I knew passed the meridian at this season of the year after twelve o'clock, and its slow march told me that many weary hours would intervene before daylight. My right arm was paralyzed, but I put forth my left, and it rested in a pool of my own blood. "Oh, for one drop of water!" I exclaimed, faintly; but only the low sighing of thenight blast responded. Again I fainted. Shortly after daylight I revived, and crawled to the spot where I was discovered on the next day by the kind mistress of this cabin. You know the rest. I accuse Bartholomew Graham of my assassination. I do this in the perfect possession of my senses, and with a full sense of my responsibility to Almighty God.(Signed)C. P. Gillson.GeorgeSimpson, Notary Public.Chris. Jacobs, Assistant District Attorney.DollieAdams,KarlLiebner,}Witnesses.The following is a copy of the verdict of the coroner's jury:County ofPlacer,Cape Horn Township.}ss.In re C. P. Gillson, late of said county, deceased.We, the undersigned, coroner's jury, summoned in the foregoing case to examine into the causes of the death of said Gillson, do find that he came to his death at the hands of Bartholomew Graham, usually called "Black Bart," on Wednesday, the 17th May, 1871. And we further find said Graham guilty of murder in the first degree, and recommend his immediate apprehension.(Signed)JohnQuillan,PeterMcIntyre,AbelGeorge,Alex. Scriber,Wm. A. Thompson.(Correct:)Thos. J. Alwyn,Coroner.The above documents constitute the papers introduced before the coroner. Should anything of further interest occur, I will keep you fully advised.PowhattanJones.
I am sorry to say that Sheriff Higgins has not been so active in the discharge of his duty as the urgency of the case required, but he is perhaps excusable on account of the criminal interference of the editor above alluded to. But I am detaining you from more important matters. Your Saturday's paper reached here at 4 o'clock, Saturday, 13th May, and, as it now appearsfrom the evidence taken before the coroner, several persons left Auburn on the same errand, but without any previous conference. Two of these were named respectively Charles P. Gillson and Bartholomew Graham, or, as he was usually called, "Black Bart." Gillson kept a saloon at the corner of Prickly Ash Street and the Old Spring Road; and Black Bart was in the employ of Conrad & Co., keepers of the Norfolk livery stable. Gillson was a son-in-law of ex-Governor Roberts, of Iowa, and leaves a wife and two children to mourn his untimely end. As for Graham, nothing certain is known of his antecedents. It is said that he was engaged in the late robbery of Wells & Fargo's express at Grizzly Bend, and that he was an habitual gambler. Only one thing about him is certainly well known: he was a lieutenant in the Confederate army, and served under General Price and the outlaw Quantrell. He was a man originally of fine education, plausible manners and good family; but strong drink seems early in life to have overmastered him, and left him but a wreck of himself. But he was not incapable of generous, or rather, romantic, acts; for, during the burning of the Putnam House, in this town, last summer, he rescued two ladies from the flames. In so doing he scorched his left hand so seriously as to contract the tendons of two fingers, and this very scar may lead to his apprehension. There is no doubt about his utter desperation of character, and, if taken at all, it will probably be not alive.
So much for the persons concerned in the tragedy at the Flat.
Herewith I inclose copies of the testimony of the witnesses examined before the coroner's jury, together with the statement of Gillson, takenin articulo mortis:
DEPOSITION OF DOLLIE ADAMS.State ofCalifornia,County of Placer.}ss.Said witness, being duly sworn, deposed as follows, to wit: My name is Dollie Adams; my age forty-seven years; I am the wife of Frank G. Adams, of this township, and reside on the North Fork of the American River, below Cape Horn, on Thompson's Flat; about one o'clockp. m., May 14, 1871, I left the cabin to gather wood to cook dinner for my husband and the hands at work for him on the claim; the trees are mostly cut away from the bottom, and I had to climb some distance up the mountain side before I could get enough to kindle the fire; I had gone about five hundred yards from the cabin, and was searching for small sticks of fallen timber, when I thought I heard some one groan, as if in pain; I paused and listened; the groaning became more distinct, and I started at once for the place whence the sounds proceeded; about ten steps off I discovered the man whose remains lie there (pointing to the deceased), sitting up, with his back against a big rock; he looked so pale that I thought him already dead, but he continued to moan until I reached his side; hearing me approach, he opened his eyes, and begged me, "For God's sake, give me a drop of water!" I asked him, "What is the matter?" He replied, "I am shot in the back." "Dangerously?" I demanded. "Fatally!" he faltered. Without waiting to question him further, I returned to the cabin, told Zenie—my daughter—what I had seen, and sent her off on a run for the men. Taking with me a gourd of water, some milk and bread—for I thought the poor gentleman might be hungry and weak, as well as wounded—I hurried back to his side, where I remained until "father"—as we all call my husband—came with the men. We removed him as gently as we could to the cabin; then sent for Dr. Liebner, and nursed him until he died, yesterday, just at sunset.Question by the Coroner: Did you hear his statement, taken down by the Assistant District Attorney?—A. I did.Q. Did you see him sign it?—A. Yes, sir.Q. Is this your signature thereto as witness?—A. It is, sir.(Signed)DollieAdams.DEPOSITION OF MISS X. V. ADAMS.Being first duly sworn, witness testified as follows: My name is Xixenia Volumnia Adams; I am the daughter of Frank G. Adams and the last witness; I reside with them on the Flat, and my age is eighteen years; a little past 1 o'clock on Sunday last my mother came running into the house and informed me that a man was dying from a wound, on the side-hill, and that I must go for father and the boys immediately. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to where they were "cleaning up," for they never cleaned up week-days on the Flat, and told the news; we all came back together and proceeded to the spot where the wounded man lay weltering in his blood; he was cautiously removed to the cabin, where he lingered until yesterday sundown, when he died.Question. Did he speak after he reached the cabin? A. He did frequently; at first with great pain, but afterward more audibly and intelligibly.Q. What did he say? A. First, to send for Squire Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney, as he had a statement to make; and some time afterward, to send for his wife; but we first of all sent for the doctor.Q. Who was present when he died? A. Only myself; he had appeared a great deal easier, and his wife had lain down to take a short nap, and my mother had gone to the spring and left me alone to watch; suddenly he lifted himself spasmodically in bed, glared around wildly and muttered something inaudible; seeing me, he cried out, "Run! run! run! He has it! Black Bart has got the vial! Quick! or he'll set the world afire! See, he opens it! Oh, my God! Look! look! look! Hold his hands! tie him! chain him down! Too late! too late! oh the flames! Fire! fire! fire!" His tone of voice gradually strengthened until the end of his raving; when he cried "fire!" his eyeballs glared, his mouth quivered, his body convulsed, and before Mrs. Gillson could reach his bedside he fell back stone dead.(Signed)X. V. Adams.
DEPOSITION OF DOLLIE ADAMS.
State ofCalifornia,County of Placer.
State ofCalifornia,County of Placer.
}ss.
Said witness, being duly sworn, deposed as follows, to wit: My name is Dollie Adams; my age forty-seven years; I am the wife of Frank G. Adams, of this township, and reside on the North Fork of the American River, below Cape Horn, on Thompson's Flat; about one o'clockp. m., May 14, 1871, I left the cabin to gather wood to cook dinner for my husband and the hands at work for him on the claim; the trees are mostly cut away from the bottom, and I had to climb some distance up the mountain side before I could get enough to kindle the fire; I had gone about five hundred yards from the cabin, and was searching for small sticks of fallen timber, when I thought I heard some one groan, as if in pain; I paused and listened; the groaning became more distinct, and I started at once for the place whence the sounds proceeded; about ten steps off I discovered the man whose remains lie there (pointing to the deceased), sitting up, with his back against a big rock; he looked so pale that I thought him already dead, but he continued to moan until I reached his side; hearing me approach, he opened his eyes, and begged me, "For God's sake, give me a drop of water!" I asked him, "What is the matter?" He replied, "I am shot in the back." "Dangerously?" I demanded. "Fatally!" he faltered. Without waiting to question him further, I returned to the cabin, told Zenie—my daughter—what I had seen, and sent her off on a run for the men. Taking with me a gourd of water, some milk and bread—for I thought the poor gentleman might be hungry and weak, as well as wounded—I hurried back to his side, where I remained until "father"—as we all call my husband—came with the men. We removed him as gently as we could to the cabin; then sent for Dr. Liebner, and nursed him until he died, yesterday, just at sunset.
Question by the Coroner: Did you hear his statement, taken down by the Assistant District Attorney?—A. I did.
Q. Did you see him sign it?—A. Yes, sir.
Q. Is this your signature thereto as witness?—A. It is, sir.
(Signed)DollieAdams.
DEPOSITION OF MISS X. V. ADAMS.
Being first duly sworn, witness testified as follows: My name is Xixenia Volumnia Adams; I am the daughter of Frank G. Adams and the last witness; I reside with them on the Flat, and my age is eighteen years; a little past 1 o'clock on Sunday last my mother came running into the house and informed me that a man was dying from a wound, on the side-hill, and that I must go for father and the boys immediately. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to where they were "cleaning up," for they never cleaned up week-days on the Flat, and told the news; we all came back together and proceeded to the spot where the wounded man lay weltering in his blood; he was cautiously removed to the cabin, where he lingered until yesterday sundown, when he died.
Question. Did he speak after he reached the cabin? A. He did frequently; at first with great pain, but afterward more audibly and intelligibly.
Q. What did he say? A. First, to send for Squire Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney, as he had a statement to make; and some time afterward, to send for his wife; but we first of all sent for the doctor.
Q. Who was present when he died? A. Only myself; he had appeared a great deal easier, and his wife had lain down to take a short nap, and my mother had gone to the spring and left me alone to watch; suddenly he lifted himself spasmodically in bed, glared around wildly and muttered something inaudible; seeing me, he cried out, "Run! run! run! He has it! Black Bart has got the vial! Quick! or he'll set the world afire! See, he opens it! Oh, my God! Look! look! look! Hold his hands! tie him! chain him down! Too late! too late! oh the flames! Fire! fire! fire!" His tone of voice gradually strengthened until the end of his raving; when he cried "fire!" his eyeballs glared, his mouth quivered, his body convulsed, and before Mrs. Gillson could reach his bedside he fell back stone dead.
(Signed)X. V. Adams.
The testimony of Adams corroborated in every particular that of his wife and daughter, but set forth more fully the particulars of his demoniac ravings. He would taste nothing from a glass or bottle, butshuddered whenever any article of that sort met his eyes. In fact, they had to remove from the room the cups, tumblers, and even the castors. At times he spoke rationally, but after the second day only in momentary flashes of sanity.
The deposition of the attending physician, after giving the general facts with regard to the sickness of the patient and his subsequent demise, proceeded thus:
I found the patient weak, and suffering from loss of blood and rest, and want of nourishment; occasionally sane, but for the most part flighty and in a comatose condition. The wound was an ordinary gunshot wound, produced most probably by the ball of a navy revolver, fired at the distance of ten paces. It entered the back near the left clavicle, beneath the scapula, close to the vertebrae between the intercostal spaces of the fifth and sixth ribs; grazing the pericardium it traversed the mediastinum, barely touching the œsophagus, and vena azygos, but completely severing the thoracic duct, and lodging in the xiphoid portion of the sternum. Necessarily fatal, there was no reason, however, why the patient could not linger for a week or more; but it is no less certain that from the effect of the wound he ultimately died. I witnessed the execution of the paper shown to me—as the statement of deceased—at his request; and at the time of signing the same he was in his perfect senses. It was taken down in my presence by Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney of Placer County, and read over to the deceased before he affixed his signature. I was not present when he breathed his last, having been called away by my patients in the town of Auburn, but I reached his bedside shortly afterward. In my judgment, no amount of care or medical attention could have prolonged his life more than a few days.(Signed)KarlLiebner, M. D.
I found the patient weak, and suffering from loss of blood and rest, and want of nourishment; occasionally sane, but for the most part flighty and in a comatose condition. The wound was an ordinary gunshot wound, produced most probably by the ball of a navy revolver, fired at the distance of ten paces. It entered the back near the left clavicle, beneath the scapula, close to the vertebrae between the intercostal spaces of the fifth and sixth ribs; grazing the pericardium it traversed the mediastinum, barely touching the œsophagus, and vena azygos, but completely severing the thoracic duct, and lodging in the xiphoid portion of the sternum. Necessarily fatal, there was no reason, however, why the patient could not linger for a week or more; but it is no less certain that from the effect of the wound he ultimately died. I witnessed the execution of the paper shown to me—as the statement of deceased—at his request; and at the time of signing the same he was in his perfect senses. It was taken down in my presence by Jacobs, the Assistant District Attorney of Placer County, and read over to the deceased before he affixed his signature. I was not present when he breathed his last, having been called away by my patients in the town of Auburn, but I reached his bedside shortly afterward. In my judgment, no amount of care or medical attention could have prolonged his life more than a few days.
(Signed)KarlLiebner, M. D.
The statement of the deceased was then introduced to the jury as follows:
People of theState ofCaliforniavs.BartholomewGraham.}Statement and Dying Confession of Charles P. Gillson, taken in articulo mortis by George Simpson, Notary Public.On the morning of Sunday, the 14th day of May, 1871, I left Auburn alone in search of the body of the late Gregory Summerfield, who was reported to have been pushed from the cars at Cape Horn, in this county, by one Leonidas Parker, since deceased. It was not fully light when I reached the track of the Central Pacific Railroad. Having mined at an early day on Thompson's Flat, at the foot of the rocky promontory now called Cape Horn, I was familiar with the zigzag paths leading down that steep precipice. One was generally used as a descent, the other as an ascent from the cañon below. I chose the latter, as being the freest from the chance of observation. It required the greatest caution to thread the narrow gorge; but I finally reached the rocky bench, about one thousand feet below the grade of the railroad. It was now broad daylight, and I commenced cautiously the search for Summerfield's body. There is quite a dense undergrowth of shrubs thereabouts, lining the interstices of the granite rocks so as to obscure the vision even at a short distance. Brushing aside a thick manzanita bush, I beheld the dead man at the same instant of time that another person arrived like an apparition upon the spot. It was Bartholomew Graham, known as "Black Bart." We suddenly confronted each other, the skeleton of Summerfield lying exactly between us. Our recognition was mutual. Graham advanced and I did the same; he stretched out his hand and we greeted one another across the prostrate corpse.Before releasing my hand, Black Bart exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "Swear, Gillson, in the presence of the dead, that you will forever be faithful, never betray me, and do exactly as I bid you, as long as you live!"I looked him full in the eye. Fate sat there, cold and remorseless as stone. I hesitated; with his left hand he slightly raised the lappels of his coat, and grasped the handle of a navy revolver."Swear!" again he cried.As I gazed, his eyeballs assumed a greenish tint, and hisbrow darkened into a scowl. "As your confederate," I answered, "never as your slave.""Be it so!" was his only reply.The body was lying upon its back, with the face upwards. The vultures had despoiled the countenance of every vestige of flesh, and left the sockets of the eyes empty. Snow and ice and rain had done their work effectually upon the exposed surfaces of his clothing, and the eagles had feasted upon the entrails. But underneath, the thick beaver cloth had served to protect the flesh, and there were some decaying shreds left of what had once been the terrible but accomplished Gregory Summerfield. A glance told us all these things. But they did not interest me so much as another spectacle, that almost froze my blood. In the skeleton gripe of the right hand, interlaced within the clenched bones, gleamed the wide-mouthed vial which was the object of our mutual visit. Graham fell upon his knees, and attempted to withdraw the prize from the grasp of its dead possessor. But the bones were firm, and when he finally succeeded in securing the bottle, by a sudden wrench, I heard the skeleton fingers snap like pipe-stems."Hold this a moment, whilst I search the pockets," he commanded.I did as directed.He then turned over the corpse, and thrusting his hand into the inner breast-pocket, dragged out a roll of MSS., matted closely together and stained by the winter's rains. A further search eventuated in finding a roll of small gold coin, a set of deringer pistols, a mated double-edged dirk, and a pair of silver-mounted spectacles. Hastily covering over the body with leaves and branches cut from the embowering shrubs, we shudderingly left the spot.We slowly descended the gorge toward the banks of the American River, until we arrived in a small but sequestered thicket, where we threw ourselves upon the ground. Neither had spoken a word since we left the scene above described. Graham was the first to break the silence which to me had become oppressive."Let us examine the vial and see if the contents are safe."I drew it forth from my pocket and handed it to him."Sealed hermetically, and perfectly secure," he added. Saying this he deliberately wrapped it up in a handkerchief and placed it in his bosom."What shall we do with our prize?" I inquired."Ourprize?" As he said this he laughed derisively, and cut a most scornful and threatening glance toward me."Yes," I rejoined firmly; "ourprize!""Gillson," retorted Graham, "you must regard me as a consummate simpleton, or yourself a Goliah. This bottle is mine, andmineonly. It is a great fortune forone, but of less value than a toadstool fortwo. I am willing to divide fairly. This secret would be of no service to a coward. He would not dare to use it. Your share of the robbery of the body shall be these MSS.; you can sell them to some poor devil of a printer, and pay yourself for your day's work."Saying this he threw the bundle of MSS. at my feet; but I disdained to touch them. Observing this, he gathered them up safely and replaced them in his pocket. "As you are unarmed," he said, "it would not be safe for you to be seen in this neighborhood during daylight. We will both spend the night here, and just before morning return to Auburn. I will accompany you part of the distance."With thesangfroidof a perfect desperado, he then stretched himself out in the shadow of a small tree, drank deeply from a whisky flagon which he produced, and pulling his hat over his eyes, was soon asleep and snoring. It was a long time before I could believe the evidence of my own senses. Finally, I approached the ruffian, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not stir a muscle. I listened; I heard only the deep, slow breathing of profound slumber. Resolved not to be balked and defrauded by such a scoundrel, I stealthily withdrew the vial from his pocket, and sprang to my feet, just in time to hear the click of a revolver behind me. I was betrayed! I remember only a dash and an explosion—a deathly sensation, a whirl of the rocks and trees about me, a hideous imprecation from the lips of my murderer, and I fell senseless to the earth. When I awoke to consciousness it was past midnight. I looked up at the stars, and recognized Lyra shining full in my face. That constellation I knew passed the meridian at this season of the year after twelve o'clock, and its slow march told me that many weary hours would intervene before daylight. My right arm was paralyzed, but I put forth my left, and it rested in a pool of my own blood. "Oh, for one drop of water!" I exclaimed, faintly; but only the low sighing of thenight blast responded. Again I fainted. Shortly after daylight I revived, and crawled to the spot where I was discovered on the next day by the kind mistress of this cabin. You know the rest. I accuse Bartholomew Graham of my assassination. I do this in the perfect possession of my senses, and with a full sense of my responsibility to Almighty God.(Signed)C. P. Gillson.GeorgeSimpson, Notary Public.Chris. Jacobs, Assistant District Attorney.DollieAdams,KarlLiebner,}Witnesses.
People of theState ofCaliforniavs.BartholomewGraham.
People of theState ofCaliforniavs.BartholomewGraham.
}
Statement and Dying Confession of Charles P. Gillson, taken in articulo mortis by George Simpson, Notary Public.
On the morning of Sunday, the 14th day of May, 1871, I left Auburn alone in search of the body of the late Gregory Summerfield, who was reported to have been pushed from the cars at Cape Horn, in this county, by one Leonidas Parker, since deceased. It was not fully light when I reached the track of the Central Pacific Railroad. Having mined at an early day on Thompson's Flat, at the foot of the rocky promontory now called Cape Horn, I was familiar with the zigzag paths leading down that steep precipice. One was generally used as a descent, the other as an ascent from the cañon below. I chose the latter, as being the freest from the chance of observation. It required the greatest caution to thread the narrow gorge; but I finally reached the rocky bench, about one thousand feet below the grade of the railroad. It was now broad daylight, and I commenced cautiously the search for Summerfield's body. There is quite a dense undergrowth of shrubs thereabouts, lining the interstices of the granite rocks so as to obscure the vision even at a short distance. Brushing aside a thick manzanita bush, I beheld the dead man at the same instant of time that another person arrived like an apparition upon the spot. It was Bartholomew Graham, known as "Black Bart." We suddenly confronted each other, the skeleton of Summerfield lying exactly between us. Our recognition was mutual. Graham advanced and I did the same; he stretched out his hand and we greeted one another across the prostrate corpse.
Before releasing my hand, Black Bart exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "Swear, Gillson, in the presence of the dead, that you will forever be faithful, never betray me, and do exactly as I bid you, as long as you live!"
I looked him full in the eye. Fate sat there, cold and remorseless as stone. I hesitated; with his left hand he slightly raised the lappels of his coat, and grasped the handle of a navy revolver.
"Swear!" again he cried.
As I gazed, his eyeballs assumed a greenish tint, and hisbrow darkened into a scowl. "As your confederate," I answered, "never as your slave."
"Be it so!" was his only reply.
The body was lying upon its back, with the face upwards. The vultures had despoiled the countenance of every vestige of flesh, and left the sockets of the eyes empty. Snow and ice and rain had done their work effectually upon the exposed surfaces of his clothing, and the eagles had feasted upon the entrails. But underneath, the thick beaver cloth had served to protect the flesh, and there were some decaying shreds left of what had once been the terrible but accomplished Gregory Summerfield. A glance told us all these things. But they did not interest me so much as another spectacle, that almost froze my blood. In the skeleton gripe of the right hand, interlaced within the clenched bones, gleamed the wide-mouthed vial which was the object of our mutual visit. Graham fell upon his knees, and attempted to withdraw the prize from the grasp of its dead possessor. But the bones were firm, and when he finally succeeded in securing the bottle, by a sudden wrench, I heard the skeleton fingers snap like pipe-stems.
"Hold this a moment, whilst I search the pockets," he commanded.
I did as directed.
He then turned over the corpse, and thrusting his hand into the inner breast-pocket, dragged out a roll of MSS., matted closely together and stained by the winter's rains. A further search eventuated in finding a roll of small gold coin, a set of deringer pistols, a mated double-edged dirk, and a pair of silver-mounted spectacles. Hastily covering over the body with leaves and branches cut from the embowering shrubs, we shudderingly left the spot.
We slowly descended the gorge toward the banks of the American River, until we arrived in a small but sequestered thicket, where we threw ourselves upon the ground. Neither had spoken a word since we left the scene above described. Graham was the first to break the silence which to me had become oppressive.
"Let us examine the vial and see if the contents are safe."
I drew it forth from my pocket and handed it to him.
"Sealed hermetically, and perfectly secure," he added. Saying this he deliberately wrapped it up in a handkerchief and placed it in his bosom.
"What shall we do with our prize?" I inquired.
"Ourprize?" As he said this he laughed derisively, and cut a most scornful and threatening glance toward me.
"Yes," I rejoined firmly; "ourprize!"
"Gillson," retorted Graham, "you must regard me as a consummate simpleton, or yourself a Goliah. This bottle is mine, andmineonly. It is a great fortune forone, but of less value than a toadstool fortwo. I am willing to divide fairly. This secret would be of no service to a coward. He would not dare to use it. Your share of the robbery of the body shall be these MSS.; you can sell them to some poor devil of a printer, and pay yourself for your day's work."
Saying this he threw the bundle of MSS. at my feet; but I disdained to touch them. Observing this, he gathered them up safely and replaced them in his pocket. "As you are unarmed," he said, "it would not be safe for you to be seen in this neighborhood during daylight. We will both spend the night here, and just before morning return to Auburn. I will accompany you part of the distance."
With thesangfroidof a perfect desperado, he then stretched himself out in the shadow of a small tree, drank deeply from a whisky flagon which he produced, and pulling his hat over his eyes, was soon asleep and snoring. It was a long time before I could believe the evidence of my own senses. Finally, I approached the ruffian, and placed my hand on his shoulder. He did not stir a muscle. I listened; I heard only the deep, slow breathing of profound slumber. Resolved not to be balked and defrauded by such a scoundrel, I stealthily withdrew the vial from his pocket, and sprang to my feet, just in time to hear the click of a revolver behind me. I was betrayed! I remember only a dash and an explosion—a deathly sensation, a whirl of the rocks and trees about me, a hideous imprecation from the lips of my murderer, and I fell senseless to the earth. When I awoke to consciousness it was past midnight. I looked up at the stars, and recognized Lyra shining full in my face. That constellation I knew passed the meridian at this season of the year after twelve o'clock, and its slow march told me that many weary hours would intervene before daylight. My right arm was paralyzed, but I put forth my left, and it rested in a pool of my own blood. "Oh, for one drop of water!" I exclaimed, faintly; but only the low sighing of thenight blast responded. Again I fainted. Shortly after daylight I revived, and crawled to the spot where I was discovered on the next day by the kind mistress of this cabin. You know the rest. I accuse Bartholomew Graham of my assassination. I do this in the perfect possession of my senses, and with a full sense of my responsibility to Almighty God.
(Signed)C. P. Gillson.
GeorgeSimpson, Notary Public.Chris. Jacobs, Assistant District Attorney.
DollieAdams,KarlLiebner,
DollieAdams,KarlLiebner,
}Witnesses.
The following is a copy of the verdict of the coroner's jury:
County ofPlacer,Cape Horn Township.}ss.In re C. P. Gillson, late of said county, deceased.We, the undersigned, coroner's jury, summoned in the foregoing case to examine into the causes of the death of said Gillson, do find that he came to his death at the hands of Bartholomew Graham, usually called "Black Bart," on Wednesday, the 17th May, 1871. And we further find said Graham guilty of murder in the first degree, and recommend his immediate apprehension.(Signed)JohnQuillan,PeterMcIntyre,AbelGeorge,Alex. Scriber,Wm. A. Thompson.(Correct:)Thos. J. Alwyn,Coroner.
County ofPlacer,Cape Horn Township.
County ofPlacer,Cape Horn Township.
}ss.
In re C. P. Gillson, late of said county, deceased.
We, the undersigned, coroner's jury, summoned in the foregoing case to examine into the causes of the death of said Gillson, do find that he came to his death at the hands of Bartholomew Graham, usually called "Black Bart," on Wednesday, the 17th May, 1871. And we further find said Graham guilty of murder in the first degree, and recommend his immediate apprehension.
(Signed)
JohnQuillan,PeterMcIntyre,AbelGeorge,Alex. Scriber,Wm. A. Thompson.
(Correct:)Thos. J. Alwyn,Coroner.
The above documents constitute the papers introduced before the coroner. Should anything of further interest occur, I will keep you fully advised.
PowhattanJones.
Since the above was in type we have received fromour esteemed San Francisco correspondent the following letter:
SanFrancisco, June 8, 1871.Mr.Editor: On entering my office this morning I found A bundle of MSS. which had been thrown in at the transom over the door, labeled, "The Summerfield MSS." Attached to them was an unsealed note from one Bartholomew Graham, in these words:DearSir: These are yours: you have earned them. I commend to your especial notice the one styled "De Mundo Comburendo." At a future time you may hear again fromBartholomewGraham.A casual glance at the papers convinces me that they are of great literary value. Summerfield's fame never burned so brightly as it does over this grave. Will you publish the MSS.?
SanFrancisco, June 8, 1871.
Mr.Editor: On entering my office this morning I found A bundle of MSS. which had been thrown in at the transom over the door, labeled, "The Summerfield MSS." Attached to them was an unsealed note from one Bartholomew Graham, in these words:
DearSir: These are yours: you have earned them. I commend to your especial notice the one styled "De Mundo Comburendo." At a future time you may hear again fromBartholomewGraham.
DearSir: These are yours: you have earned them. I commend to your especial notice the one styled "De Mundo Comburendo." At a future time you may hear again from
BartholomewGraham.
A casual glance at the papers convinces me that they are of great literary value. Summerfield's fame never burned so brightly as it does over this grave. Will you publish the MSS.?
Hurrah for the wings that never tire—For the nerves that never quail;For the heart that beats in a bosom of fire—For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respireWhere the eagle's breath would fail!As the genii bore Aladdin away,In search of his palace fair,On his magical wings to the land of Cathay,So here I will spread out my pinions to-dayOn the cloud-borne billows of air.Up! up! to its home on the mountain crag,Where the condor builds its nest,I mount far fleeter than hunted stag,I float far higher than Switzer flag—Hurrah for the lightning's guest!Away, over steeple and cross and tower—Away, over river and sea;I spurn at my feet the tempests that lower,Like minions base of a vanquished power,And mutter their thunders at me!Diablo frowns, as above him I pass,Still loftier heights to attain;Calaveras' groves are but blades of grass—Yosemite's sentinel peaks a massOf ant-hills dotting a plain!Sierra Nevada's shroud of snow,And Utah's desert of sand,Shall never again turn backward the flowOf that human tide which may come and goTo the vales of the sunset land!Wherever the coy earth veils her faceWith tresses of forest hair;Where polar pallors her blushes efface,Or tropical blooms lend her beauty and grace—I can flutter my plumage there!Where the Amazon rolls through a mystical land—Where Chiapas buried her dead—Where Central Australian deserts expand—Where Africa seethes in saharas of sand—Even there shall my pinions spread!No longer shall earth with her secrets beguile,For I, with undazzled eyes,Will trace to their sources the Niger and Nile,And stand without dread on the boreal isle,The Colon of the skies!Then hurrah for the wings that never tire—For the sinews that never quail;For the heart that throbs in a bosom of fire—For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respireWhen the eagle's breath would fail!
Hurrah for the wings that never tire—For the nerves that never quail;For the heart that beats in a bosom of fire—For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respireWhere the eagle's breath would fail!
Hurrah for the wings that never tire—For the nerves that never quail;For the heart that beats in a bosom of fire—For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respireWhere the eagle's breath would fail!
As the genii bore Aladdin away,In search of his palace fair,On his magical wings to the land of Cathay,So here I will spread out my pinions to-dayOn the cloud-borne billows of air.
Up! up! to its home on the mountain crag,Where the condor builds its nest,I mount far fleeter than hunted stag,I float far higher than Switzer flag—Hurrah for the lightning's guest!
Away, over steeple and cross and tower—Away, over river and sea;I spurn at my feet the tempests that lower,Like minions base of a vanquished power,And mutter their thunders at me!
Diablo frowns, as above him I pass,Still loftier heights to attain;Calaveras' groves are but blades of grass—Yosemite's sentinel peaks a massOf ant-hills dotting a plain!
Sierra Nevada's shroud of snow,And Utah's desert of sand,Shall never again turn backward the flowOf that human tide which may come and goTo the vales of the sunset land!
Wherever the coy earth veils her faceWith tresses of forest hair;Where polar pallors her blushes efface,Or tropical blooms lend her beauty and grace—I can flutter my plumage there!
Where the Amazon rolls through a mystical land—Where Chiapas buried her dead—Where Central Australian deserts expand—Where Africa seethes in saharas of sand—Even there shall my pinions spread!
No longer shall earth with her secrets beguile,For I, with undazzled eyes,Will trace to their sources the Niger and Nile,And stand without dread on the boreal isle,The Colon of the skies!
Then hurrah for the wings that never tire—For the sinews that never quail;For the heart that throbs in a bosom of fire—For the lungs whose cast-iron lobes respireWhen the eagle's breath would fail!
'Twas eventide in Eden. The mortals stood,Watchful and solemn, in speechless sorrow bound.He was erect, defiant, and unblenched.Tho' fallen, free—deceived, but not undone.She leaned on him, and drooped her pensive browIn token of the character she bore—The world's first penitent. Tears, gushing fast,Streamed from her azure eyes; and as they fledBeyond the eastern gate, where gleamed the swordsOf guarding Cherubim, the flowers themselvesBent their sad heads, surcharged with dewy tears,Wept by the stare o'er man's immortal woe.Far had they wandered, slow had been the pace,Grief at his heart and ruin on her face,Ere Adam turned to contemplate the spotWhere Earth began, where Heaven was forgot.He gazed in silence, till the crystal wallOf Eden trembled, as though doomed to fall:Then bidding Eve direct her tear-dimmed eyeTo where the foliage kissed the western sky,They saw, with horror mingled with surprise,The wall, the garden, and the foliage rise!Slowly it mounted to the vaulted dome,And paused as if to beckon mortals home;Then, like a cloud when winds are all at rest,It floated gently to the distant west,And left behind a crimson path of light,By which to track the Garden in its flight!Day after day, the exiles wandered on,With eyes still fixed, where Eden's smile last shone;Forlorn and friendless through the wilds they trod,Remembering Eden, but forgetting God,Till far across the sea-washed, arid plain,The billows thundered that the search was vain!Ah! who can tell how oft at eventide,When the gay west was blushing like a bride,Fair Eve hath whispered in her children's ear,"Beyond yon cloud will Eden reappear!"And thus, as slow millenniums rolled away,Each generation, ere it turned to clay,Has with prophetic lore, by nature blest,In search of Eden wandered to the West.I cast my thoughts far up the stream of time,And catch its murmurs in my careless rhyme.I hear a footstep tripping o'er the down:Behold! 'tis Athens, in her violet crown.In fancy now her splendors reappear;Her fleets and phalanxes, her shield and spear;Her battle-fields, blest ever by the free,—Proud Marathon, and sad Thermopylæ!Her poet, foremost in the ranks of fame,Homer! a god—but with a mortal's name;Historians, richest in primeval lore;Orations, sounding yet from shore to shore!Heroes and statesmen throng the enraptured gaze,Till glory totters 'neath her load of praise.Surely a clime so rich in old renownCould build an Eden, if not woo one down!Lo! Plato comes, with wisdom's scroll unfurl'd,The proudest gift of Athens to the world!Wisest of mortals, say, for thou can'st tell,Thou, whose sweet lips the Muses loved so well,Was Greece the Garden that our fathers trod;When men, like angels, walked the earth with God?"Alas!" the great Philosopher replied,"Though I love Athens better than a bride,Her laws are bloody and her children slaves;Her sages slumber in empoisoned graves;Her soil is sterile, barren are her seas;Eden still blooms in the Hesperides,Beyond the pillars of far Hercules!Westward, amid the ocean's blandest smile,Atlantis blossoms, a perennial Isle;A vast Republic stretching far and wide,Greater than Greece and Macedon beside!"The vision fades. Across the mental screenA mightier spirit stalks upon the scene;His tread shakes empires ancient as the sun;His voice resounds, and nations are undone;War in his tone and battle in his eye,The world in arms, a Roman dare defy!Throned on the summit of the seven hills,He bathes his gory heel in Tiber's rills;Stretches his arms across a triple zone,And dares be master of mankind, alone!All peoples send their tribute to his store;Wherever rivers glide or surges roar,Or mountains rise or desert plains expand,His minions sack and pillage every land.But not alone for rapine and for warThe Roman eagle spreads his pinions far;He bears a sceptre in his talons strong,To guard the right, to rectify the wrong,And carries high, in his imperial beak,A shield armored to protect the weak.Justice and law are dropping from his wing,Equal alike for consul, serf or king;Daggers for tyrants, for patriot-heroes fame,Attend like menials on the Roman name!Was Rome the Eden of our ancient state,Just in her laws, in her dominion great,Wise in her counsels, matchless in her worth,Acknowledged great proconsul of the earth?An eye prophetic that has read the leavesThe sibyls scattered from their loosened sheaves,A bard that sang at Rome in all her pride,Shall give response;—let Seneca decide!"Beyond the rocks where Shetland's breakers roar,And clothe in foam the wailing, ice-bound shore,Within the bosom of a tranquil sea,Where Earth has reared herUltima Thule,The gorgeous West conceals a golden clime,The petted child, the paragon of Time!In distant years, when Ocean's mountain waveShall rock a cradle, not upheave a grave,When men shall walk the pathway of the brine,With feet as safe as Terra watches mine,Then shall the barriers of the Western SeaDespised and broken down forever be;Then man shall spurn old Ocean's loftiest crest,And tear the secret from his stormy breast!"Again the vision fades. Night settles downAnd shrouds the world in black Plutonian frown;Earth staggers on, like mourners to a tomb,Wrapt in one long millennium of gloom.That past, the light breaks through the clouds of war,And drives the mists of Bigotry afar;Amalfi sees her burial tomes unfurl'd,And dead Justinian rules again the world.The torch of Science is illumed once more;Adventure gazes from the surf-beat shore,Lifts in his arms the wave-worn Genoese,And hails Iberia, Mistress of the Seas!What cry resounds along the Western main,Mounts to the stars, is echoed back again,And wakes the voices of the startled sea,Dumb until now, from past eternity?"Land! land!" is chanted from the Pinta's deck;Smiling afar, a minute glory-speck,But grandly rising from the convex sea,To crown Colon with immortality,The Western World emerges from the wave,God's last asylum for the free and brave!But where within this ocean-bounded clime,This fairest offspring of the womb of time,—Plato's Atlantis, risen from the sea,Utopia's realm, beyond old Rome's Thule,—Where shall we find, within this giant land,By blood redeemed, with Freedom's rainbow spann'd,The spot first trod by mortals on the earth,Where Adam's race was cradled into birth?'Twas sought by Cortez with his warrior band,In realms once ruled by Montezuma's hand;Where the old Aztec, 'neath his hills of snow,Built the bright domes of silver Mexico.Pizarro sought it where the Inca's rodProclaimed the prince half-mortal, demi-god,When the mild children of unblest PeruBefore the bloodhounds of the conqueror flew,And saw their country and their race undone,And perish 'neath the Temple of the Sun!De Soto sought it, with his tawny bride,Near where the Mississippi's waters glide,Beneath the ripples of whose yellow waveHe found at last both monument and grave.Old Ponce de Leon, in the land of flowers,Searched long for Eden 'midst her groves and bowers,Whilst brave La Salle, where Texan prairies smile,Roamed westward still, to reach the happy isle.The Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower's deck,Fleeing beyond a tyrant's haughty beck,In quest of Eden, trod the rock-bound shore,Where bleak New England's wintry surges roar;Raleigh, with glory in his eagle eye,Chased the lost realm beneath a Southern sky;Whilst Boone believed that Paradise was foundIn old Kentucky's "dark and bloody ground!"In vain their labors, all in vain their toil;Doomed ne'er to breathe that air nor tread that soil.Heaven had reserved it till a race sublimeShould launch its heroes on the wave of time!Go with me now, ye Californian band,And gaze with wonder at your glorious land;Ascend the summit of yon middle chain,When Mount Diablo rises from the plain,And cast your eyes with telescopic power,O'er hill and forest, over field and flower.Behold! how free the hand of God hath roll'dA wave of wealth across your Land of Gold!The mountains ooze it from their swelling breast,The milk-white quartz displays it in her crest;Each tiny brook that warbles to the sea,Harps on its strings a golden melody;Whilst the young waves are cradled on the shoreOn spangling pillows, stuffed with golden ore!Look northward! See the Sacramento glideThrough valleys blooming like a royal bride,And bearing onward to the ocean's shoreA richer freight than Arno ever bore!See! also fanned by cool refreshing gales,Fair Petaluma and her sister vales,Whose fields and orchards ornament the plainAnd deluge earth with one vast sea of grain!Look southward! Santa Clara smiles afar,As in the fields of heaven, a radiant star;Los Angeles is laughing through her vines;Old Monterey sits moody midst her pines;Far San Diego flames her golden bow,And Santa Barbara sheds her fleece of snow,Whilst Bernardino's ever-vernal downGleams like an emerald in a monarch's crown!Look eastward! On the plains of San JoaquinTen thousand herds in dense array are seen.Aloft like columns propping up the skiesThe cloud-kissed groves of Calaveras rise;Whilst dashing downward from their dizzy homeThe thundering falls of Yo Semite foam!Look westward! Opening on an ocean great,Behold the portal of the Golden Gate!Pillared on granite, destined e'er to standThe iron rampart of the sunset land!With rosy cheeks, fanned by the fresh sea-breeze,The petted child of the Pacific seas,See San Francisco smile! Majestic heirOf all that's brave, or bountiful, or fair,Pride of our land, by every wave carest,And hailed by nations, Venice of the West!Where then is Eden? Ah! why should I tell,What every eye and bosom know so well?Why thy name the land all other lands have blest,And traced for ages to the distant West?Why search in vain throughout th' historic pageFor Eden's garden and the Golden Age?Here, brothers, here! no further let us roam;This is theGarden! Eden is ourHome!
'Twas eventide in Eden. The mortals stood,Watchful and solemn, in speechless sorrow bound.He was erect, defiant, and unblenched.Tho' fallen, free—deceived, but not undone.She leaned on him, and drooped her pensive browIn token of the character she bore—The world's first penitent. Tears, gushing fast,Streamed from her azure eyes; and as they fledBeyond the eastern gate, where gleamed the swordsOf guarding Cherubim, the flowers themselvesBent their sad heads, surcharged with dewy tears,Wept by the stare o'er man's immortal woe.
'Twas eventide in Eden. The mortals stood,Watchful and solemn, in speechless sorrow bound.He was erect, defiant, and unblenched.Tho' fallen, free—deceived, but not undone.She leaned on him, and drooped her pensive browIn token of the character she bore—The world's first penitent. Tears, gushing fast,Streamed from her azure eyes; and as they fledBeyond the eastern gate, where gleamed the swordsOf guarding Cherubim, the flowers themselvesBent their sad heads, surcharged with dewy tears,Wept by the stare o'er man's immortal woe.
Far had they wandered, slow had been the pace,Grief at his heart and ruin on her face,Ere Adam turned to contemplate the spotWhere Earth began, where Heaven was forgot.He gazed in silence, till the crystal wallOf Eden trembled, as though doomed to fall:Then bidding Eve direct her tear-dimmed eyeTo where the foliage kissed the western sky,They saw, with horror mingled with surprise,The wall, the garden, and the foliage rise!Slowly it mounted to the vaulted dome,And paused as if to beckon mortals home;Then, like a cloud when winds are all at rest,It floated gently to the distant west,And left behind a crimson path of light,By which to track the Garden in its flight!
Day after day, the exiles wandered on,With eyes still fixed, where Eden's smile last shone;Forlorn and friendless through the wilds they trod,Remembering Eden, but forgetting God,Till far across the sea-washed, arid plain,The billows thundered that the search was vain!
Ah! who can tell how oft at eventide,When the gay west was blushing like a bride,Fair Eve hath whispered in her children's ear,"Beyond yon cloud will Eden reappear!"
And thus, as slow millenniums rolled away,Each generation, ere it turned to clay,Has with prophetic lore, by nature blest,In search of Eden wandered to the West.
I cast my thoughts far up the stream of time,And catch its murmurs in my careless rhyme.I hear a footstep tripping o'er the down:Behold! 'tis Athens, in her violet crown.In fancy now her splendors reappear;Her fleets and phalanxes, her shield and spear;Her battle-fields, blest ever by the free,—Proud Marathon, and sad Thermopylæ!Her poet, foremost in the ranks of fame,Homer! a god—but with a mortal's name;Historians, richest in primeval lore;Orations, sounding yet from shore to shore!Heroes and statesmen throng the enraptured gaze,Till glory totters 'neath her load of praise.Surely a clime so rich in old renownCould build an Eden, if not woo one down!
Lo! Plato comes, with wisdom's scroll unfurl'd,The proudest gift of Athens to the world!Wisest of mortals, say, for thou can'st tell,Thou, whose sweet lips the Muses loved so well,Was Greece the Garden that our fathers trod;When men, like angels, walked the earth with God?"Alas!" the great Philosopher replied,"Though I love Athens better than a bride,Her laws are bloody and her children slaves;Her sages slumber in empoisoned graves;Her soil is sterile, barren are her seas;Eden still blooms in the Hesperides,Beyond the pillars of far Hercules!Westward, amid the ocean's blandest smile,Atlantis blossoms, a perennial Isle;A vast Republic stretching far and wide,Greater than Greece and Macedon beside!"
The vision fades. Across the mental screenA mightier spirit stalks upon the scene;His tread shakes empires ancient as the sun;His voice resounds, and nations are undone;War in his tone and battle in his eye,The world in arms, a Roman dare defy!Throned on the summit of the seven hills,He bathes his gory heel in Tiber's rills;Stretches his arms across a triple zone,And dares be master of mankind, alone!All peoples send their tribute to his store;Wherever rivers glide or surges roar,Or mountains rise or desert plains expand,His minions sack and pillage every land.But not alone for rapine and for warThe Roman eagle spreads his pinions far;He bears a sceptre in his talons strong,To guard the right, to rectify the wrong,And carries high, in his imperial beak,A shield armored to protect the weak.
Justice and law are dropping from his wing,Equal alike for consul, serf or king;Daggers for tyrants, for patriot-heroes fame,Attend like menials on the Roman name!
Was Rome the Eden of our ancient state,Just in her laws, in her dominion great,Wise in her counsels, matchless in her worth,Acknowledged great proconsul of the earth?
An eye prophetic that has read the leavesThe sibyls scattered from their loosened sheaves,A bard that sang at Rome in all her pride,Shall give response;—let Seneca decide!
"Beyond the rocks where Shetland's breakers roar,And clothe in foam the wailing, ice-bound shore,Within the bosom of a tranquil sea,Where Earth has reared herUltima Thule,The gorgeous West conceals a golden clime,The petted child, the paragon of Time!In distant years, when Ocean's mountain waveShall rock a cradle, not upheave a grave,When men shall walk the pathway of the brine,With feet as safe as Terra watches mine,Then shall the barriers of the Western SeaDespised and broken down forever be;Then man shall spurn old Ocean's loftiest crest,And tear the secret from his stormy breast!"
Again the vision fades. Night settles downAnd shrouds the world in black Plutonian frown;Earth staggers on, like mourners to a tomb,Wrapt in one long millennium of gloom.That past, the light breaks through the clouds of war,And drives the mists of Bigotry afar;Amalfi sees her burial tomes unfurl'd,And dead Justinian rules again the world.The torch of Science is illumed once more;Adventure gazes from the surf-beat shore,Lifts in his arms the wave-worn Genoese,And hails Iberia, Mistress of the Seas!
What cry resounds along the Western main,Mounts to the stars, is echoed back again,And wakes the voices of the startled sea,Dumb until now, from past eternity?
"Land! land!" is chanted from the Pinta's deck;Smiling afar, a minute glory-speck,But grandly rising from the convex sea,To crown Colon with immortality,The Western World emerges from the wave,God's last asylum for the free and brave!
But where within this ocean-bounded clime,This fairest offspring of the womb of time,—Plato's Atlantis, risen from the sea,Utopia's realm, beyond old Rome's Thule,—Where shall we find, within this giant land,By blood redeemed, with Freedom's rainbow spann'd,The spot first trod by mortals on the earth,Where Adam's race was cradled into birth?
'Twas sought by Cortez with his warrior band,In realms once ruled by Montezuma's hand;Where the old Aztec, 'neath his hills of snow,Built the bright domes of silver Mexico.Pizarro sought it where the Inca's rodProclaimed the prince half-mortal, demi-god,When the mild children of unblest PeruBefore the bloodhounds of the conqueror flew,And saw their country and their race undone,And perish 'neath the Temple of the Sun!De Soto sought it, with his tawny bride,Near where the Mississippi's waters glide,Beneath the ripples of whose yellow waveHe found at last both monument and grave.Old Ponce de Leon, in the land of flowers,Searched long for Eden 'midst her groves and bowers,Whilst brave La Salle, where Texan prairies smile,Roamed westward still, to reach the happy isle.The Pilgrim Fathers on the Mayflower's deck,Fleeing beyond a tyrant's haughty beck,In quest of Eden, trod the rock-bound shore,Where bleak New England's wintry surges roar;Raleigh, with glory in his eagle eye,Chased the lost realm beneath a Southern sky;Whilst Boone believed that Paradise was foundIn old Kentucky's "dark and bloody ground!"
In vain their labors, all in vain their toil;Doomed ne'er to breathe that air nor tread that soil.Heaven had reserved it till a race sublimeShould launch its heroes on the wave of time!
Go with me now, ye Californian band,And gaze with wonder at your glorious land;Ascend the summit of yon middle chain,When Mount Diablo rises from the plain,And cast your eyes with telescopic power,O'er hill and forest, over field and flower.Behold! how free the hand of God hath roll'dA wave of wealth across your Land of Gold!The mountains ooze it from their swelling breast,The milk-white quartz displays it in her crest;Each tiny brook that warbles to the sea,Harps on its strings a golden melody;Whilst the young waves are cradled on the shoreOn spangling pillows, stuffed with golden ore!
Look northward! See the Sacramento glideThrough valleys blooming like a royal bride,And bearing onward to the ocean's shoreA richer freight than Arno ever bore!See! also fanned by cool refreshing gales,Fair Petaluma and her sister vales,Whose fields and orchards ornament the plainAnd deluge earth with one vast sea of grain!Look southward! Santa Clara smiles afar,As in the fields of heaven, a radiant star;Los Angeles is laughing through her vines;Old Monterey sits moody midst her pines;Far San Diego flames her golden bow,And Santa Barbara sheds her fleece of snow,Whilst Bernardino's ever-vernal downGleams like an emerald in a monarch's crown!Look eastward! On the plains of San JoaquinTen thousand herds in dense array are seen.Aloft like columns propping up the skiesThe cloud-kissed groves of Calaveras rise;Whilst dashing downward from their dizzy homeThe thundering falls of Yo Semite foam!Look westward! Opening on an ocean great,Behold the portal of the Golden Gate!Pillared on granite, destined e'er to standThe iron rampart of the sunset land!With rosy cheeks, fanned by the fresh sea-breeze,The petted child of the Pacific seas,See San Francisco smile! Majestic heirOf all that's brave, or bountiful, or fair,Pride of our land, by every wave carest,And hailed by nations, Venice of the West!
Where then is Eden? Ah! why should I tell,What every eye and bosom know so well?Why thy name the land all other lands have blest,And traced for ages to the distant West?Why search in vain throughout th' historic pageFor Eden's garden and the Golden Age?Here, brothers, here! no further let us roam;This is theGarden! Eden is ourHome!