Dusty Books, Frontier Librarian

Chapter 2

Dangers Ignored... A great adventure For Dusty... A Gambling incident... The Trial... Lawyers of different styles... The Defense... The Prosecution... A statement from a surprise source... A broken Defense... 'Guilty as Hell!'... A Sentence by Committee... Restitution has its rewards... Sentence carried out... Rejected Mercy... Philosophical Discussion on Gambling and Religion... Food... Shakespeare...

We were taking the shortest and most time economical route to California available at the time. Six Weeks was the estimate by boat, when compared to the 3 or 4 months by wagon it was a far superior method to travel. There were some dangers, though explained very carefully, that were paid little attention to by this group of adventurers, or rather young and old fools. Just a little later I am told that certain disreputable Captains would load their vessels with human cargo, packed cheek by jowl, and with little regard to comfort, human condition, or sanitation. We were lucky in this. We were full to capacity, but each man had a bunk, there was adequate food and some water, though rationed a bit later. Days were pleasant and nights were fair at least at first, it being spring. We were out in the sea lanes and expected to see ships coming back, but were soon to be disappointed. We saw no returning ships. To some this would cause consternation, but I inquired of one of the sailors and was told that many barks were abandoned in the San Francisco Bay, left at anchor there, the crew from the Captain on down come down with the Gold Fever. This was to prove true.

It was calm down the Eastern Seaboard, with a good wind, but calm seas and no storms. We settled into a life of relative boredom. I should say I was more amused than some, since it was such a great adventure for me to travel in such a craft. I almost opened up my library on board, but would have been in competition with the Captain's free one and so thought better of it. I thought to stay on the good side of the Captain, since I had established cordial relations with him by giving him that cask of Rum. He never once appeared with his personal sails in the wind, so to speak. I think his notion was of a medicinal use of the spirit.

For some it was a time of gambling with spirited card games going on into the night. One fellow was caught cheating, actually having a spare ace up his sleeve!

He was tried by the captain, and not hung for his troubles, though that was an option to be sure, cheating being on a par with horse theft in that era. The 'Trial' such as it was, was not too much of an affair, though I believe it was made more so by the nature of the trip. It was an event to be sure!

We had several 'Lawyers' on the voyage, more than likely ex-law clerks familiar with and habitue of altogether another type of bar. The Captain thought the notion of a real trial was a novel idea, but he balked at the idea of a jury. He would be the judge. He explained later to me in a moment in his cabin having a wee drop of rum, that he had been involved in a jury trial once. The jurors were bribed and he ended up on the short end of the verdict.

Allowing the morning for preparations by the 'Attorneys' ersatz or otherwise, he set the trial time for 1pm on the deck, there being no bigger space on the vessel. Interest in, and betting on, the trial ran hot as the morning progressed.

The bet of hanging or not was the most popular. Odds went back and forth, the bulk of men betting on the hanging verdict. As it ended up much more money than was filched was bet on the proceedings.

There were a few dramatic moments. The Defense Attorney was a flowery speaker trying to impress the judge and the rest of us and make major hay with us from the get go. With a great deal of words and legal ipso factos, accompanied by a great sawing of his arms and a great deal of heavy breathing, he made an opening statement. Were it not outside and on deck and was a stage, he would be drummed off of the performance had it been in a theatrical setting.

The Prosecutor, a bumpkin yokel sort of fellow, seemingly perpetually slouched would have none of the rhetorical madness of his colleague. He was later a State Senator in California, I learned. His statement was that the man was guilty and it was up to the judge to make the punishment fit the crime. He sat quite suddenly for so lanky a lad, never missing an opportunity to sit, is what I made of it. The judge, who was prepared for a more lengthy diatribe was caught off guard for a moment. The Judge called a recess, the first time I ever really saw evidence of a thirst in his eyes. Everyone followed suit in their own way and refreshed themselves adequately to their particular fill.

We came back in session with the Judge visibly in better fettle. The prosecutor called a very scurvy lot to be character witnesses, and no one believed any of it, judge included. To believe them this was all a frame up of the first water, and our man in the docket, as guilty and caught with his hand in the cookie jar in front of God and everybody, was as pure an innocent as the snow driven by the angels, or somesuch malarkey. This was entertaining simply because one didn't know how far they would go.

The Prosecution did not deviate from his economy. He called only one witness, the Captain's First Mate, who was off duty and in the room at the time of the crime. This stalwart lad testified that he had not seen the ace up the sleeve but only saw it after it had fluttered to the floor. This brought a veritable ululation of contempt from the Defense. The fellow allowed as he had seen someone who saw it all, and politely said he wished to discuss this with the Judge. No reason was given at the time, but I was to learn later the delicacy of the situation.

They talked in animated whispers. Then the conference concluded, the Judge made an announcement to the effect that his mate had informed him of the identity of the witness, and if no one had any objections he was about to testify, but wished to make a brief statement for some reason before starting. The Defense made a remark concerning the parentage of ' this polecat', and said that whatever fabrication they had dreamed up was just to embarrass his client, but that he would allow it, only if allowed to expose it later.

The First Mate was dismissed, and a Clergyman named Anderson was called to the only bar he had ever visited, I'm sure. He explained that he did not frequent gambling dens or participate in the 'casting of lots' as he put it, biblically. He said the trip wasn't agreeing with him. He had been sick much of the voyage and had just had a stomach episode over the side of the vessel, and had wandered into the card room, literally in a haze, seeking the ship's 'doctor', who indeed was in the room at the time, involved in his own game of stud poker. Anderson had entered the room just as the 'one' of hearts, as he put it, no card player he, fell out of the defendant's cuff.

The Prosecutor rested the case after the Defense, when with uncharacteristic brevity he asked the Reverend Anderson if he had a bet on the outcome of the proceedings. My supposition at the time was that only he and the Ships cat were not involved.

The answer was a shocked and resounding 'Not I, Sir!' in a very Episcopalian high Dudgeon indeed. He was an absolutely unimpeachable witness. We shall meet with this callow fellow shortly again in this narrative. This must have been great grist for his sermon mill.

The Defense Rested, the Judge waiving the closing arguments without challenge, the Defense now lounging and gesturing passively from his chair, utterly and completely beaten. The defendant looked as if he sensed his impending doom.

The verdict was open and shut, and I am quoting here for the sake of accuracy not bad taste: 'Guilty as Hell!' is the way the old salt of a Judge put it. I think he wanted to go back to just being a sea captain, but he had one more difficult task, and he asked for opinions and arguments for the punishment to be rendered in the case.

There ensued a discussion with the Judge asking questions of the Defense, the Prosecution, the First Mate, Reverend Anderson, and one or two others who had an opinion. All this debate served to do was intensify the betting which was now being openly carried out on the deck. Final odds were 17 to 1 for the hanging.

Finally the Judge called a halt and stated he had a verdict. Some wag yelled 'Can't we hang him first?' The judge banged for order with a belaying pin and everyone paused respectively for fear of being conked. He paused, asking the defendant to stand. He said: 'You, Sir, are not going to hang!' This was greeted with a groan from the more bloodthirsty elements, who added an undercurrent of lynch mob to the show.

The now officially guilty party was made to return all he had filched from every player. Before the Judge could continue, the Defendant stated with great triumph he had bet on his own survival and won! He made the statement that he had bested us all in the end. But this was not to be. The Judge called a conference of the Lawyers and himself, and ultimately they got the best of the defendant. The Judge determined that the lawyers were to be paid for their trouble as well as himself as Judge, the fine being whatever the man had won. I don't think they had any notion of his bets, but they ended up splitting $3000!, all to cover the expenses of the trial, and their dignity.

No one thought bad of any of them for this except the defendant. After all they had cheated fair and square! The Defendant yelled he would appeal, a desperate plea, which was greeted with a peal of laughter and added a note of levity, unintentional on his part.

"So what is to be done to me?" The wretch said now as contrite and beaten as I've ever seen a man. His Honor stated that they would take his cards and burn them, and any other gambling paraphenalia (sic) he might possess. They would leave him off the adjacent seacoast of Georgia, on one of the sea islands at low tide, and if he was lucky there would be part of the island left at high tide. The culprit's expression fell. All he could cheat now were seagulls and possibly death.

His Honor, now a Captain once more said as a warning to all that anyone else caught in such a pickle would BE hung, and without trial. He had a sailor tie a hangman's noose and hang it from one of the masts and it was unused for the remainder of our adventure at sea. The Captain kept good control of things on board, and we all had confidence in him and his abilities to govern and to lead.

And so it was at dawn the next day, we left the culprit on shore. Anderson gave him a cask of water as an act of mercy. The culprit thanked him at first, thinking it was some sort of alcohol, but spit out a bit when he found it was water. Where he got the idea that Anderson would give him a spirit other than that of the eternal is still a mystery to me.

I had a few philosophical talks with one of the older fellows on board. He said as he smoked his corncob pipe that sometimes the gambler in the man took over. He observed as an example that if the odds were good enough the defendant would have bet against his survival with equal fervor, collecting his fortune as he was to be hung. I don't doubt the wisdom of that thought. I have my little reminder of the wages of gambling. My leg tells me every time I have to move my body from one place to another.

I had spoken of Anderson, the unfortunate Clergyman in an unfamiliar place at the right moment. A least he prevented a possible miscarriage of justice. He did it at the expense of his dignity. He was the only person embarrassed. His problem was simple. He was seasick at the drop of the vessel in a trough. His normally pallid face was positively green most of the time, but he did his best. We even had Sunday Morning services that he conducted. There was another small group of Hebrews that had theirs on Saturday at sundown. I'm afraid to admit I was immune to such things, preferring to get mine directly from the book that is the most bought and the least read of any, and I know my books, Dear Reader! I do nominally subscribe to Christian doctrine, but preferring to base my personal theology on the words of the Master himself, and paying no attention or very little to middlemen.

Food was simple, but plentiful. Lucky I was used to beans. The cornbread maker should have had a lesson from my Mother, whose baking in comparison to this 'cook' was 'beyond the pale cast of thought', as Hamlet might quip. Just to keep my wits about me, even though I do take a 'wee dram' now and again, I made tea. It is a habit I picked up in summer at the farm. A jar with water and tea leaves in it is placed in the sun. When it turns color the tea is ready. I cooled it after creation by lowering it over the side, tied securely to a rope of course. I was accused of a preposterous form of fishing, until I gave a sample to a sailor, who adopted the method for himself forthwith. In the evening I made hot tea.

I did a few of my Shakespeare readings much to the amusement of some, the Hebrews particularly taking a shine to a few bits from ' Merchant of Venice'.

I had a loyal following of some 30 strong, give or take, and passed a few evenings in the company of these fellows in deep philosophical discussion. I do not know if this was as deep as card games and drinking or not, but it was preferable to me at the time. I was to become a bit less straight laced as I aged. I like a good game of chance, but there has to be some chance in it to make it right for my gambler's soul. I was focused on California, and all my gambling was to be done in Gold fields!

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