The Squatter and the Don

“There are some enactments so obviously intended to favor one class of citizens against another class, that to call them laws is an insult to law, but such as they are, we must submit to them.”

The idea that laws did apply differently to different “classes” (here used as a euphemism for races) of people was culturally available in the 1872 timeline of the narrative and federal law by the 1885 publication of the novel. The Civil Rights Act of 1875 guaranteed access to public accommodations regardless of race. Favoring one “class” over another thus plays with the novel’s conceit of asking its reader to use 1885 knowledge and values to understand the tragedy of the events of 1872-1875 as portrayed in the text.

“I think but few Americans know or believe to what extent we have bene wronged by Congressional action. And truly, I believe that Congress itself did not anticipate the effect of its laws upon us.”

These words, from the perspective of Mariano, offers a qualification to the novel’s criticism of the American government as not extending necessarily to the American people. This invites readers to identify more with Mariano and agree with his political argument. The novel will grow increasingly critical of US lawmakers as it progresses.

“The heads of the families all came—the male heads, be it understood—as the squatters did not make any pretence to regard female opinion, with any more respect than other men.”

Ruiz de Burton initially published under a pseudonym without an identifiable gender, but even without knowing the author’s gender, the novel illustrates the effects of men’s disregard for women’s opinions, as women are regularly framed as moral arbiters. By contrast, the squatters who disregard women’s opinions are framed as antagonists.

“‘I don’t go ‘busquering’ around lassoing, unless I wish to do so,’ said the Don. ‘You can hire an Indian boy to do that part.’”

Mariano here reveals that, despite his worries over the unequal treatment of Spano-Americans against white Americans, his concerns for racial justice do not extend to Native Americans. Mariano’s anti-Indigenous sentiment separates this novel from other contemporary sentimental novels of the West, such as Helen Hunt Jackson’s Ramona.

“My pride as an American is somewhat different from that of my father. He thinks patriotism wants to criticise our legislation. Whereas, I think our theory of government is so lofty, so grand and exalted, that we must watch jealously that Congress may not misinterpret it; misrepresent the sentiments, the aspirations of the American people, and thus make a caricature of our beautiful idea. It is our duty and privilege to criticise our laws, and criticise severely.”

This speech orients the novel’s moral purpose in criticizing the government, which it here frames as highly patriotic instead of anti-patriotic. As the speech comes from Clarence, a white American, it resists dismissal by coming from someone who the “no fence” law has harmed. If Clarence, who could benefit from the law, finds it wrong, then it must be so, the novel suggests.

“Therefore, in my humble way and limited sphere, if I cannot repeal, I will at least evade such unjust laws to the best of my ability, and make them ineffective as far as I am individually concerned.”

This continuation of Clarence’s speech offers a call to arms and the action that the novel requests from its readers. The invocation of “spheres” alludes to the separate spheres model, a contemporary ideal that delineated which parts of life “belonged” to men or women; in citing it in a political speech, Ruiz de Burton signals to her female readers that they, too, can resist in their way, within their domestic sphere.

“The nights were lovely, with a full moon in the sure sky, and the sea air, neither cold nor warm, but of that California temperature, which seems to invite people to be happy, giving to all an idea of the perfect well-being we expect to find in the hereafter.”

The praise of Southern California climate here emerges as a preemptive rebuttal of the criticisms that will arise much later in the novel from the mouths of the corrupt railway men who seek to cut off railroad access to San Diego. Ruiz de Burton compares it to heaven, suggesting that the land has a higher, even divine purpose. This intensifies the novel’s view of the evil of denying the city property to line the pockets of a select, wealthy few.

“There seems to be a settled purpose with our law-givers to drive the natives to poverty, and crowd them out of existence. If we don’t turn them all into hardened and most desperate criminals, it will be because they are among the most incorruptible of the human race.”

George’s framework of injustice to President Grant combats racist stereotypes about Spano-Americans that, by 1885, present them as poor, lazy, and to blame for their misfortunes. Instead, he argues that laws have led these “natives” to any poor behavior and laud those who have resisted. Notably, “natives” here refers to Spano-Americans, who are descendants of Spanish colonizers, not Indigenous Americans; the narrative’s support for Spano-Americans, therefore, does not preclude anti-Indigenous sentiments.

“‘I think no one ought to be allowed to smoke on deck where ladies are,’ said George.

‘I think so too. We have too many rights, and more than our share of privileges,’ Clarence added.

‘Wait until we have woman suffrage. We will make things uncomfortable for inebriates and tobacco smokers,’ Elvira said, laughing.”

Though Elvira seems to speak positively about women’s suffrage, her joking makes this less obviously a strong political stance. Clarence’s recognition of men’s disproportionate privilege is clearer, though the novel does not suggest a clear vision of what should be done about this imbalance.

“It all depends upon that railroad, I am sorry to say, when we are so powerless to counteract hostile influences.”

This excerpt clearly outlines the immense significance of railroad access to 19th-century American cities. The Texas Pacific Railroad represents a future for San Diego. It thus opposes the “hostile influence” of monopolists, who gained traction in American society over the latter half of the 19th century.

“Because we, the natives of California, the Spano-Americans, were, at the close of the war with Mexico, left in the lap of the American nation, or, rather, huddled at her feet like motherless, helpless children.”

This passage, spoken by Mariano, relies on sentimental imagery more than fact. His emphasis on Spano-Americans as the natives of California elides the long inhabitants of Indigenous Americans. The image of America as a mother neglecting her children draws upon sentimental ideologies of proper, loving, American motherhood—thus framing the nation as immoral in its neglect.

“But why should the Texas Pacific not be granted aid? The public treasure had been lavished to help the Central Pacific, a northern road—why should the southern people not be entitled to the same privilege?”

This pair of rhetorical questions is meant to have an obvious answer to contemporary readers. Ruiz de Burton here alludes to the longstanding Republican control of the federal government in the Reconstruction era and how this control was frequently used to “punish” the South economically in the aftermath of the Civil War.

“La massa! and right welcome ye are, too, by everybody in this ‘ere family, and I knows it exactly.”

Tisha’s speech is presented via vernacular commonly associated with the enslaved or formerly enslaved in the 19th century. “Massa” invokes “master,” terminology that was widely associated with enslavers and used by those they enslaved. In showing Tisha, who came West with Mrs. Darrell from the North, using this language, the novel suggests that the relationship between Black servants and white employers is not necessarily materially different than enslavement—though it does not offer many rebukes of this relationship.

“‘That is inbred self-respect, a lady’s sense of decorum.’

‘I am glad you think so well of my sister, dear aunt; and I think she is naturally refined and lady-like. But as for running off to have tête-à-têtes with gentlemen is a thing never seen among our Spanish girls. I know that we, Spanish people, are criticised and much ridiculed for keeping girls too strictly guarded, and in some instances this may be so, but as a general thing, the girls themselves like to be guarded. We have all the freedom that is good for us.’”

This conversation between Elvira and Mrs. Mechlin offers another example of Ruiz de Burton’s anticipation of criticism of her characters. By framing the result of Mercedes’s careful care as “lady-like” instead of “sheltered,” she plays into a sentimental ideal frequently denied to women of color and held as exclusively belonging to white women.

“‘Their hearts are in their pockets, uncle, and I am afraid that after all our reluctance to believe that our Congressmen can be improperly influenced, we will have to submit—with shame and sorrow—and accept the fact that bribery has been at work, successfully. The chief of the lobby is our king.’

‘Not yet—not yet.’”

This conversation between George and his uncle invites 1885 readers, who might now accept bribery as a normal part of governmental workings, to recall a time in the not-so-distant past when this idea was shocking and horrifying. The implication is that, with public pressure, bribery can once again become a political taboo.

“‘The idea that they (the conquered) should be better off than Americans! They should have been put on an equality with other settlers, and much honor to them, too, would have been thereby, for why should these inferior people be more considered than the Americans?’

‘Inferior? What are you talking about? It is enough to see one of those Alamar ladies to learn that they are inferior to nobody,’ said Mrs. Darrell […] ‘Neither are the Californians considered better than Americans because the Government did not take all their lands from them.’”

Mrs. Darrell here outlines the racist logic that underpins what her husband calls “equality.” Darrell feels that he is the one suffering discrimination because he has not been permitted to take Mariano’s lands without pay, indicating that he is not truly invested in equality but rather in white supremacy.

“[Darrell] walked to the stable and took a heavy whip, one of this which teasers call ‘black snakes,’ which are used to drive mules with.”

Darrell’s choice of a whip to attack Mariano would have been politically laden to contemporary readers, as whips were considered a direct emblem of enslavement. For Darrell to wield it against Mariano in this context thus shows Darrell not only as objectionably racist but also as transparently villainous in this moment.

“When George left, Mercedes hurried to her bedside to pray. In all the sand tribulations of her mind, her heart turned to her Redeemer and the Blessed Virgin Mary.”

Though Ruiz de Burton was Catholic like many Spanish-descended Californians, she shows her awareness of anti-Catholic sentiment by waiting until Mercedes has been well-established as an appropriate sentimental heroine to offer direct invocations of Catholicism. Unlike Ruiz de Burton’s real-life marriage to a Protestant American, inter-religious marriages are no scandal in The Squatter and the Don, offering a tacit acceptance of both religious positions.

“Yes, he is my father, but not the father he used to be. There are different kinds of fathers. Some are kind and good, others are most unnatural and cruel. Are they entitled to the same love and respect?”

Clarence, a moral compass within the novel, here grapples with balancing filial piety with his disrespect for his father’s views. Ultimately, the question is not answered by the actions of the son but by those of the father, as Darrell comes to see Clarence’s political views as correct. This offers no clear answer as to what loyalty is owed to fathers who remain “unnatural and cruel.”

“By right, San Diego is the terminal point of a transcontinental railway.”

Mr. Holman’s statement here frames San Diego as part of the project of manifest destiny, suggesting that refusing to build the Texas Pacific is unpatriotic. By using “a” to describe the transcontinental railway (as opposed to “another” as a Northern route was already complete), Holman linguistically places the Southern road as equally as important to the Northern one, a highly contested idea at the time.

“[Huntington] almost takes it as an insult that any one but himself and his associates should have rights.”

Ruiz de Burton again preempts racist criticisms that would undermine her argument by putting the discussion of rights in the mouths of one of her white characters, Mr. Mechlin. This hearkens back to Darrell’s earlier comments about being angry that Mariano is being granted more privileges by not having his land stolen. In this connection, Ruiz de Burton puts Darrell and Huntington on a continuum of injustice.

“But if Gabriel had never complained, the eloquence of facts had said all that was to be said. In that hod full of bricks not only his own sad experience was represented, but the entire history of the native Californians of Spanish descent was epitomized.”

Ruiz de Burton here explicitly states that her readers should extrapolate a larger historical movement from the plight of her characters, providing guidelines for reading her text. Her emphasis on “Spanish descent,” however, cautious readers against extending this consideration to Indigenous Americans of California, effectively erasing an Indigenous narrative from California’s history.

“‘You cannot speak against such rich people; San Francisco society will turn against you. […]’

‘Then it is a crime to speak of the wrongs we have suffered, but it is not a crime to commit those wrongs.’”

Josefa’s words here outline the hypocrisy of San Francisco high society, dominated by those who have made money off railroads. The suffering of Spano-Americans is thus presented as twofold; they must not only suffer poverty but also can never speak of the true cause of this poverty without censure, which perpetuates negative stereotypes against them.