Hunted Down; or, Five Days in the Fog

"I suppose you know who I am? I am Granice."

They remarked, "Yes."

"Well," said I, "give me something to eat; I am almost starved."

Something told me there was nothing to fear from these people. Telling them to put down the curtains and lock the door, I sat down to the table and commenced to partake of a lunch which they sat before me. I feared to eat too heartily, as I had not tasted food for twenty-four hours. After eating and drinking and resting for about a half hour, I asked for a hat, as mine had been left at the Half-Way House the night before. One was given me, and also a blanket, and some victuals which I strapped up in the blanket; and throwing the whole over my shoulder, I signified my intention of departing, and left them, with the injunction to say nothing to any one about seeing me. They gave me their promise, which they faithfully kept.

I then took up my weary march again. It had been walk, walk, since the preceding night. After leaving my newly-made acquaintances, I struck off into the chilling fog, hardly knowing which way to turn. I had learned from these people that my brother and step-father were being hunted down by Meany and his mob, and I knew I must get away from the hot-bed of their rendezvous – Merced – as soon as possible before daylight the next morning.

I proceeded toward Modesto, on the railroad track, and kept up my weary tramp, tramp, tramp, scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, until near morning. At about four o'clock I reached a point about four miles from the Merced river and one or two from the railroad, and could proceed no farther. Spreading my blanket, a single one, on the fog-damp earth, I laid down and slept for about an hour – the first rest and sleep for more than fifty-eight hours, unless it be the short stop I made while at Merced. But the sleep did me more harm than good, as the cold chilled me through and through, and left my limbs so stiff that I could scarcely stand, much less walk. I managed to drag my weary body back to the railroad, and just as I reached it I saw a hand-car coming down the track at a rapid rate. It was going toward the Merced river, to the section-house at that point. One white man and four or five Chinamen were in the car. Hailing the man, he stopped. I asked for a ride. He told me to jump on, and I did so, and sat right among the Chinamen. I told the man that I was hunting work, but had been taken sick and was scarcely able to travel; that I was going to Modesto, where I had friends. He said I was welcome to a ride. I watched him narrowly, and saw that he did not suspicion anything. I rode as far as the Merced river with him, and as he was going no farther, I was obliged to get off. He will probably be surprised to learn that that sick man hunting for a job was Granice, who at that time was being hunted down for his life, and for whom there were large imaginary rewards offered for his capture. I would advise him not to chide himself for his short-sightedness in not discovering whom I was, and thereby letting the reward slip through his hands, as I can assure him, had he captured me, he would have received not one dime for his pains.

Sick, worn out, footsore, not knowing the fate of my poor mother, brother and step-father, I cautiously approached the saloon at Cressy station, and peering through the window without being seen, I saw six or seven men sitting around the stove; I recognized but one among the number; the rest were strangers to me. Knowing my enemies, I saw at a glance there were none among those men. Half frozen and famished, I walked fearlessly into the bar-room, and took a seat by the stove. Addressing the bar-keeper, I asked for a glass of brandy. He evidently saw from my appearance that I was very sick, and needed a strong stimulant; and filling a glass half full of brandy, he handed it to me; taking it, I drained every drop. I then commenced to warm my half-frozen body, but during the operation I was very silent. In a few minutes I felt revived, and I told the men that I was on my way to Modesto afoot, but that I was sick, and did not think I could hardly make the trip.

My acquaintance in the meantime said nothing, and did not even appear to recognize me. At last I succeeded in getting him to one side, and told him I wanted to get to Modesto by some means. He said he could not help me, but would not inform on me. He told me he knew the men present, and that they would help me, if anything, to get out of the clutches of the mob. I told him I wanted to be kept out of Meany's hands; also that he was in with the mob, to my way of thinking. He said they all understood that; that they, the men, would see me safely through. Here I eat breakfast, after which I went and hid myself in a barn. Peeping through the cracks of the same, I saw Meany and some of the mob, just as the afternoon train arrived, talking to one of the men I had seen in the saloon, and I thought I would be discovered sure. But in a few minutes the sheriff and posse (?) left, going up the river. I had guessed rightly; the men did not suspect me; if they did, they kept their own counsel.

I learned, during the afternoon, that my mother was on that train on her way to Merced, and that some one had whispered in her ear, your son is thus far safe. This was a great relief to me, for I had feared for her safety; I knew that rumors must have reached her of my being hunted down, and of the uncertainty of my escape from the mob, and I knew that her agony must be terrible.

I remained hid in the barn until nightfall, when I ventured forth, and was guided by two friends to a good hiding place, their main object being to keep me out of the clutches of the mob, as I informed them that I did not wish to evade the law, but wanted to reach Modesto when I could do so with safety. I did not look upon Meany as an officer, as he, to my knowledge, mixed with the mob, and deputized some of the ring leaders as his posse. I have his own word for this, because he told me, while returning with me to Modesto from my examination at Merced, that there was not a half-dozen men out but what he had deputized. I laid hid in my new retreat, which was in a barn, some four or five miles from Cressy Station. This barn was filled with hay, and I burrowed a hole, got into it, covered it up, and lay hid all day, venturing forth at night only, to stretch my aching limbs and to get water.

While hid in this barn, I suffered from cold, hunger and thirst.

While hid here, the mob was hunting for me everywhere, and whenever the cowardly crew came to a thicket of willows that they feared to inspect closely or in which they thought I might be hid, they fired into the same. The firing was distinctly seen and heard by myself at one particular point on the Merced river. In the corral of the barn in which I lay hid there were a dozen or so of fine horses, out of which I could have taken my pick, had I desired to effect my escape, but that was far from my intention. I was determined not to flee if I could possibly reach Modesto in safety. Had I have had no opportunity to have done so, as a last resort I would have armed myself, mounted a good horse, and leading another, struck a bee line for Mexico. Knowing the country so well, and for other reasons which I will not mention here, I could have reached that country without fear of arrest; and after stopping there six months or a year, I would have returned and stood my trial.

Luckily, I had an opportunity to reach Modesto, but not without incurring a great risk from the mob, whom I had to dodge on every hand in order to reach Cressy Station, where, under the protection of five friends, I took passage to Modesto on Saturday morning. Arriving there at seven o'clock, I immediately went to the Ross House, eat my breakfast, and then sent a messenger in quest of the sheriff. He being out of town, his deputy, Chas. Aull, came into the parlor. I was introduced, to him, and gave myself into his custody. That night the sheriff called out a large number of men to prevent a set of scoundrels from Merced from mobbing me.

I have written this simple, uncolored, true statement of facts in justice to Nick Breen, as Mr. Fleming, the deputy sheriff, told my mother that Mr. Meany had ordered Mr. Breen to take me to Modesto, and that he (Breen) had disobeyed orders. My mother went immediately to Mr. Breen and asked him if what Mr. Fleming said was true. "No," said Mr. B., "I wanted to take Harry to Modesto, but Meany's strict orders were, the Half-Way House."

The following beautiful poem was written after the authoress had spent several hours in jail with the prisoner in company with his mother, in which time they all dined together; the meal being furnished from a restaurant by his mother. Young Harry acted as host, calm and dignified, though pale from confinement and want of sun and air:

THE FATAL SLANDER; OR, HARRY'S DEFENSEBY MRS. L. E. DRAKEThe sun was shining bright without, where happy faces smiled,But within the lonesome prison walls sat one so pale and mild;No sigh escaped his peaceful lips, no tear bedimmed his eye,Though weary from the waiting to know if he must die.Kind stranger, do you wish to know what is the prisoner's crime?'Twas because some cruel monster his mother did malign,Which roused the sleeping passions of anger, hate and strife,When in a time unguarded he took the offender's life."Oh now," said he, "I'm ready to answer for this crime;You see I've killed the villain my mother did malign —That mother who has cherished me through all my childhood days,And rocked me on her bosom when weary of my plays;That mother, who in her early years her orphan boy has ledO'er weary wastes and craggy peaks, to earn our daily bread,Far over snow-capped mountains and through the sunny glens,To sell her own productions – her books – to stranger men;That mother, who at midnight hours, when daily toils were o'er,And millions, on their downy beds inside their palace doorWere resting from all sorrow while she, who forced to roam,Sat writing by the camp-fire – an authoress, with no home.How many, many were the days, when I was but a child,I stood beside that mother, and watched her pen the while,Until her hand grew weary; her mind would fain have rest.But the publisher was waiting; the book, her child might bless.Thus months and years rolled onward; when childhood's days were done,I stood beside that mother, a faithful, happy son.For years we toiled together, with books and pen and type,In hopes the future had for us a home – Oh, happy sight!But ah! stern fate, how cruel! when men who mock our laws,And strive with unrelenting hand to find some legal causeTo murder every cherished hope with slander's cruel knife,And drop by drop to steal away poor woman's helpless life."'Twas slander vile, young Harry saw upon the printed page;His mother dear, the victim, which caused the fires to rage;His cheeks grew pale with anguish, his heart could know no fear;He only thought of days gone by, and mother's name so dear.He only thought of years agone, when mother's face was young;Her arms were strong and willing, then, to guard her little son;But times have changed that youthful face, and age is creeping on,While he, in early manhood now, must be the stronger one.Shall he defend his mother's name? No duty is too great,Though prison walls or gallows high for him will anxious wait;And now within the lonely jail young Harry waits his doom;Though it be liberty or death, the time must shortly come.Oh, mothers dear and fathers, too! Oh, women, weak or strong!Remember Harry's cause is yours, for you he's suffered long;'Twas not for gold or laurel wreath, 'twas not for praise or fame,'Twas not for love of honors great, but love of woman's name.