Stokes records; notes regarding the ancestry and lives of Anson Phelps Stokes and Helen Louisa (Phelps) Stokes . our hands, and whatever you do we shall not only be satisfied with, but know thatyou understand it better than we do. See letters in Vol. IV, Appendix J. *At Maraposa I saw in a newspaper that the Vigilance Committee had visited theLos Angeles jail and taken out six men accused of horse-stealing, and had hanged themin the corridors. I suppose Los Angeles was at that time one of the toughest placesin the world; Americans having come in and bought land, old Spanish and Mexican familie
Stokes records; notes regarding the ancestry and lives of Anson Phelps Stokes and Helen Louisa (Phelps) Stokes . our hands, and whatever you do we shall not only be satisfied with, but know thatyou understand it better than we do. See letters in Vol. IV, Appendix J. *At Maraposa I saw in a newspaper that the Vigilance Committee had visited theLos Angeles jail and taken out six men accused of horse-stealing, and had hanged themin the corridors. I suppose Los Angeles was at that time one of the toughest placesin the world; Americans having come in and bought land, old Spanish and Mexican familiesgetting hold of some money and spending it rapidly, and bad characters from differentparts of the world congregating there. The same newspaper stated editorially that it hadengaged a fighting editor who would attend to all disputes, and added: Satisfaction guar-anteed in every case. Orders from the country solicited. One twelfth of the population of Los Angeles had died of smallpox within a few months. ni763 My Sister CAROLINE PHELPS STOKES At Ansonia about 1865. From a miniature belonging to my sister 0\h. TEMASCAL MINING COMPANY carpenter cant come; he busy building coffins. Had dance here lastnight. Don Abel had been the last alcalde of Los Angeles under theMexican regime, and was still greatly looked up to. In one wing ofhis house was a large office, in which he had formerly held had a dais at one end, where he sat. On the top of a bookcase atthe side of his desk, I saw a glass jar containing what appeared to meto be pickled clams. I asked what they were. He said, Those arethe ears of men who stole my horses. There was a broken lamp over the doorway opening from the streetinto the court of the house, and he explained that he could not keep alight there, so many drunken people shot at it. I drove with him to one of his ranches one day. We went in ahandsome victoria behind a fine pair of Kentucky horses. He had acavalry revolver lying between his feet. At the ranch
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