A La California. Albert S. Evans

studied equine anatomy thoroughly, and have done my best, laboring long and earnestly with a club, to convince that noble brute that the thing is a physical impossibility; but it is all of no use; he will persist in trying it, I suppose, and setting all my counsel and instruction at naught, until he disjoints his back, turns himself inside outwards, or is promoted to a position in the shafts of a sand-cart, where he cannot lift his heels. The perversity of men and Spanish horses is something beyond my comprehension.

      Speaking of hitting flies reminds me of a trifling incident, occurring about the commencement of our late civil war, on the Rio Grande. I saw an old, ​one-eyed Mexican vaquero hitting flies, one by one with a long rawhide whip, as they crawled up the side of a wall, and took occasion to compliment him on his dexterity. His broad sombrero was off in a moment, and with many low bows and protestatory shrugs and gestures he replied, in good Castilian, substantially as follows:

      "Yes, your Excellency, I have made it the study of my life, and have achieved some small measure of success in my efforts, as you do me the infinite honor to remark. I can now hit a fly and knock him off the side of a mule without disturbing the mule, or I can hit the mule and knock him out from under the fly without disturbing the fly. I am quite at your Excellency's service; which will you do me the honor to order me to do?"

      I ordered him to go and take a drink, and he demonstrated the soundness of my judgment and his title to my confidence by going and doing so without further parley. To the' credit of the Spanish Americans I will say that my confidence has seldom been abused by them, or proved to have been misplaced. I wish I could say as much for some of my own countrymen!

      This part of the coast of San Mateo and Santa Cruz is subject to periodical visitations of various kinds of fish, some of which are almost unaccountable and very peculiar indeed. The baracouta, a species of sea-pickerel greatly valued by the Italian and French cooks for soup and chowder, sometimes swarms in the waters close in shore, and is taken by cartloads. At other times the shore is literally ​covered with "horse-mackerel," and the whole population turns out to enjoy the sport of gathering them in. It has never been my good fortune to witness one of these grand fish-battles, but I find one described as follows in the Santa Cruz Sentinel.

      "We reached the fishing-grounds about twilight,—here the pen fails to do justice to the scene. It was low tide; the sea here forms a continuous, almost level beach, five or six miles long, and an average width of one hundred and fifty yards at low tide, with a hard, smooth bottom, and not a pebble nor a sea-weed visible the whole distance; probably there is no nicer nor finer drive in the State for the same distance: the ever-changeable bluff some one hundred feet in height, all the estuaries filled in with drift-wood, accumulating for years. Now imagine some four hundred people arriving between twilight and dark, the fine carriages, the omnibuses, two-horse teams, four-horse teams, six-horse teams, ox teams, carts and California go-carts, all filled with persons who have the highest expectation of making a big haul. The high piles of dry drift-wood, set ablaze for the distance of five miles, the moon shining with brightest rays on the silver sand and phosphorescent water. Men, women, and children taking their positions at equal distances, awaiting the coming of the fish, which occurs when the tide is on the point of coming in. The theory of the fish coming ashore I imagine is something like this: the bay, at present, is full of a small fish similar to anchovies, the natural food of the mackerel, which, being a very voracious fish, follows the ​anchovy into the breakers, when, the incoming tide being stronger than the fish is used to, it deposits him through the breakers, often casting great numbers of them high and dry, but most generally depositing them just through the breakers, into from three to six inches of water, which causes them to flounder and squirm to regain their element; then the real sport commences, men and boys roll up their trowsers, ladies tie their dresses around their waists, and also pitch in to secure the prizes; when the fish flounders he is both seen and heard, as he makes a great commotion; the cry is given, 'There he goes!' when all those in the immediate neighborhood make for the hapless wight. Then look out for collisions; but here woman gets her rights; she has as good a right to the fish as her would-be superior, especially if she catches fish herself. But to cut a long story short, five of us caught over five hundredweight, and got home by six o'clock in the morning. Horse-mackerel is considered a very game and edible dish."

      The afternoon was far advanced when I bade adieu to my hunter friend, took a parting drink from his canteen, rode down the hill into the open country bordering on the Bay of Monterey, and saw the grand panorama of the Valley of Santa Cruz, and the shores of the historic bay, with the deep, dark, wooded mountains, with majestic old Loma Prieta towering high above them all in the background, unfold itself before me in beauty to which tongue or pen can do no justice.