The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

  THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS

  I

  "God of my soul! Do not speak of hope to me. Hope? For what are thosethree frigates, swarming with a horde of foreign bandits, creeping aboutour bay? For what have the persons of General Vallejo and Judge Leesebeen seized and imprisoned? Why does a strip of cotton, painted with agaping bear, flaunt itself above Sonoma? Oh, abomination! Oh, execrableprofanation! Mother of God, open thine ocean and suck them down! Smitethem with pestilence if they put foot in our capital! Shrivel theirfingers to the bone if they dethrone our Aztec Eagle and flourish theirstars and stripes above our fort! O California! That thy sons and thydaughters should live to see thee plucked like a rose by the usurper!And why? Why? Not because these piratical Americans have the right toone league of our land; but because, Holy Evangelists! they want it! Ourlands are rich, our harbours are fine, gold veins our valleys, thereforewe must be plucked. The United States of America are mightier thanMexico, therefore they sweep down upon us with mouths wide open. HolyGod! That I could choke but one with my own strong fingers. Oh!" DonaEustaquia paused abruptly and smote her hands together,--"O that I werea man! That the women of California were men!"

  On this pregnant morning of July seventh, eighteen hundred andforty-six, all aristocratic Monterey was gathered in the sala of DonaModeste Castro. The hostess smiled sadly. "That is the wish of myhusband," she said, "for the men of our country want the Americans."

  "And why?" asked one of the young men, flicking a particle of dust fromhis silken riding jacket. "We shall then have freedom from the constantwar of opposing factions. If General Castro and Governor Pico are notcalling Juntas in which to denounce each other, a Carillo is pitting hisambition against an Alvarado. The Gringos will rule us lightly and bringus peace. They will not disturb our grants, and will give us rich pricesfor our lands--"

  "Oh, fool!" interrupted Dona Eustaquia. "Thrice fool! A hundred yearsfrom now, Fernando Altimira, and our names will be forgotten inCalifornia. Fifty years from now and our walls will tumble upon uswhilst we cook our beans in the rags that charity--American charity--hasflung us! I tell you that the hour the American flag waves above thefort of Monterey is the hour of the Californians' doom. We have lived inArcadia--ingrates that you are to complain--they will run over us likeants and sting us to death!"

  "That is the prediction of my husband," said Dona Modeste. "Liberty,Independence, Decency, Honour, how long will they be his watch-words?"

  "Not a day longer!" cried Dona Eustaquia, "for the men of California arecowards."

  "Cowards! We? No man should say that to us!" The caballeros were ontheir feet, their eyes flashing, as if they faced in uniform the navy ofthe United States, rather than confronted, in lace ruffles and silkensmallclothes, an angry scornful woman.

  "Cowards!" continued Fernando Altimira. "Are not men flocking aboutGeneral Castro at San Juan Bautista, willing to die in a cause alreadylost? If our towns were sacked or our women outraged would not theweakest of us fight until we died in our blood? But what is coming isfor the best, Dona Eustaquia, despite your prophecy; and as we cannothelp it--we, a few thousand men against a great nation--we resignourselves because we are governed by reason instead of by passion. Noone reverences our General more than Fernando Altimira. No grander manever wore a uniform! But he is fighting in a hopeless cause, and thefewer who uphold him the less blood will flow, the sooner the strugglewill finish."

  Dona Modeste covered her beautiful face and wept. Many of the womensobbed in sympathy. Bright eyes, from beneath gay rebosas or delicatemantillas, glanced approvingly at the speaker. Brown old men and womenstared gloomily at the floor. But the greater number followed everymotion of their master-spirit, Dona Eustaquia Ortega.

  She walked rapidly up and down the long room, too excited to sit down,flinging the mantilla back as it brushed her hot cheek. She was a womannot yet forty, and very handsome, although the peachness of youth hadleft her face. Her features were small but sharply cut; the squarechin and firm mouth had the lines of courage and violent emotions, herpiercing intelligent eyes interpreted a terrible power of love and hate.But if her face was so strong as to be almost unfeminine, it was frankand kind.

  Dona Eustaquia might watch with joy her bay open and engulf the hatedAmericans, but she would nurse back to life the undrowned bodies flungupon the shore. If she had been born a queen she would have slain inanger, but she would not have tortured. General Castro had flung his hatat her feet many times, and told her that she was born to command. Eventhe nervous irregularity of her step to-day could not affect the extremeelegance of her carriage, and she carried her small head with theimperious pride of a sovereign. She did not speak again for a moment,but as she passed the group of young men at the end of the room her eyesflashed from one languid face to another. She hated their rich breechesand embroidered jackets buttoned with silver and gold, the lacehandkerchiefs knotted about their shapely throats. No man was a man whodid not wear a uniform.

  Don Fernando regarded her with a mischievous smile as she approached hima second time.

  "I predict, also," he said, "I predict that our charming Dona Eustaquiawill yet wed an American--"

  "What!" she turned upon him with the fury of a lioness. "Hold thyprating tongue! I marry an American? God! I would give every league ofmy ranchos for a necklace made from the ears of twenty Americans. Iwould throw my jewels to the pigs, if I could feel here upon my neckthe proof that twenty American heads looked ready to be fired from thecannon on the hill!"

  Everybody in the room laughed, and the atmosphere felt lighter. Muslingowns began to flutter, and the seal of disquiet sat less heavily uponcareworn or beautiful faces. But before the respite was a moment old ayoung man entered hastily from the street, and throwing his hat on thefloor burst into tears.

  "What is it?" The words came mechanically from every one in the room.

  The herald put his hand to his throat to control the swelling muscles."Two hours ago," he said, "Commander Sloat sent one Captain WilliamMervine on shore to demand of our Commandante the surrender of the town.Don Mariano walked the floor, wringing his hands, until a quarter of anhour ago, when he sent word to the insolent servant of a pirate-republicthat he had no authority to deliver up the capital, and bade him go toSan Juan Bautista and confer with General Castro. Whereupon the Americanthief ordered two hundred and fifty of his men to embark in boats--donot you hear?"

  A mighty cheer shook the air amidst the thunder of cannon; then another,and another.

  Every lip in the room was white.

  "What is that?" asked Dona Eustaquia. Her voice was hardly audible.

  "They have raised the American flag upon the Custom-house," said theherald.

  For a moment no one moved; then as by one impulse, and without a word,Dona Modeste Castro and her guests rose and ran through the streets tothe Custom-house on the edge of the town.

  In the bay were three frigates of twenty guns each. On the rocks, in thestreet by the Custom-house and on its corridors, was a small army of menin the naval uniform of the United States, respectful but determined.About them and the little man who read aloud from a long roll of paper,the aristocrats joined the rabble of the town. Men with sunken eyes whohad gambled all night, leaving even serape and sombrero on the gamingtable; girls with painted faces staring above cheap and gaudy satins,who had danced at fandangos in the booths until dawn, then wanderedabout the beach, too curious over the movements of the American squadronto go to bed; shopkeepers, black and rusty of face, smoking big pipeswith the air of philosophers; Indians clad in a single garment ofcalico, falling in a straight line from the neck; eagle-beaked oldcrones with black shawls over their heads; children wearing only a smocktwisted about their little waists and tied in a knot behind; a fewAmerican residents, glancing triumphantly at each other; caballeros,gay in the silken attire of summer, sitting in angry disdain upon theirplunging, superbly trapped horses; last of all, the elegant women intheir lace mantillas and flowered rebosas, weeping and clinging to eachother
. Few gave ear to the reading of Sloat's proclamation.

  Benicia, the daughter of Dona Eustaquia, raised her clasped hands, thetears streaming from her eyes. "Oh, these Americans! How I hate them!"she cried, a reflection of her mother's violent spirit on her sweetface.

  Dona Eustaquia caught the girl's hands and flung herself upon her neck."Ay! California! California!" she cried wildly. "My country is flung toits knees in the dirt."

  A rose from the upper corridor of the Custom-house struck her daughterfull in the face.

  II

  The same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala where her mother was lyingon a sofa, and exclaimed excitedly: "My mother! My mother! It is notso bad. The Americans are not so wicked as we have thought. Theproclamation of the Commodore Sloat has been pasted on all the walls ofthe town and promises that our grants shall be secured to us under thenew government, that we shall elect our own alcaldes, that we shallcontinue to worship God in our own religion, that our priests shallbe protected, that we shall have all the rights and advantages of theAmerican citizen--"

  "Stop!" cried Dona Eustaquia, springing to her feet. Her face stillburned with the bitter experience of the morning. "Tell me of no morelying promises! They will keep their word! Ay, I do not doubt but theywill take advantage of our ignorance, with their Yankee sharpness! Iknow them! Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, it must; andat least I have thee." She caught the girl in her arms, and covered theflower-like face with passionate kisses. "My little one! My darling!Thou lovest thy mother--better than all the world? Tell me!"

  The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face which could expresssuch fierceness of love and hate.

  "My mother! Of course I love thee. It is because I have thee that I donot take the fate of my country deeper heart. So long as they do not puttheir ugly bayonets between us, what difference whether the eagle or thestars wave above the fort?"

  "Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country which is part of mysoul! But perhaps it is as well, for thou lovest thy mother the more. Isit not so, my little one?"

  "Surely, my mother; I love no one in the world but you."

  Dona Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's fair cheek with herfinger.

  "Not even Don Fernando Altimira?"

  "No, my mother."

  "Nor Flujencio Hernandez? Nor Juan Perez? Nor any of the caballeros whoserenade beneath thy window?"

  "I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from one throat as fromanother."

  Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. "And yet I would have thee marrysome day, my little one. I was happy with thy father--thanks to God hedid not live to see this day--I was as happy, for two little years, asthis poor nature of ours can be, and I would have thee be the same. Butdo not hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! Thine eyes have yetthe roguishness of youth; I would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouthis like a child's; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life the dayit trembles with passion. Dear little one! Thou hast been more than adaughter to me; thou hast been my only companion. I have striven toimpart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the intellect of thyfather. And I am proud of thee, very, very proud of thee!"

  Benicia pinched her mother's chin, her mischievous eyes softening. "Ay,my mother, I have done my little best, but I never shall be you. I amafraid I love to dance through the night and flirt my breath away betterthan I love the intellectual conversation of the few people you thinkworthy to sit about you in the evenings. I am like a little butterflysitting on the mane of a mountain lion--"

  "Tush! Tush! Thou knowest more than any girl in Monterey, and I amsatisfied with thee. Think of the books thou hast read, the languagesthou hast learned from the Senor Hartnell. Ay, my little one, nobodybut thou wouldst dare to say thou cared for nothing but dancing andflirting, although I will admit that even Ysabel Herrera could scarcerival thee at either."

  "Ay, my poor Ysabel! My heart breaks every night when I say a prayer forher." She tightened the clasp of her arms and pressed her face close toher mother's. "Mamacita, darling," she said coaxingly, "I have a bigfavour to beg. Ay, an enormous one! How dare I ask it?"

  "Aha! What is it? I should like to know. I thought thy tenderness was alittle anxious."

  "Ay, mamacita! Do not refuse me or it will break my heart. On Wednesdaynight Don Thomas Larkin gives a ball at his house to the officers of theAmerican squadron. Oh, mamacita! mamacita! _darling!_ do, do let me go!"

  "Benicia! Thou wouldst meet those men? Valgame Dios! And thou art achild of mine!"

  She flung the girl from her, and walked rapidly up and down the room,Benicia following with her little white hands outstretched. "Dearestone, I know just how you feel about it! But think a moment. They havecome to stay. They will never go. We shall meet them everywhere--everynight--every day. And my new gown, mamacita! The beautiful silverspangles! There is not such a gown in Monterey! Ay, I must go. And theysay the Americans hop like puppies when they dance. How I shall laughat them! And it is not once in the year that I have a chance to speakEnglish, and none of the other girls can. And all the girls, all thegirls, all the girls, will go to this ball. Oh, mamacita!"

  Her mother was obliged to laugh. "Well, well, I cannot refuse youanything; you know that! Go to the ball! Ay, yi, do not smother me! Asyou have said--that little head can think--we must meet these insolentbraggarts sooner or later. So I would not--" her cheeks blanchedsuddenly, she caught her daughter's face between her hands, and bent herpiercing eyes above the girl's soft depths. "Mother of God! That couldnot be. My child! Thou couldst never love an American! A Gringo! AProtestant! Holy Mary!"

  Benicia threw back her head and gave a long laugh--the light ripplinglaugh of a girl who has scarcely dreamed of lovers. "I love an American?Oh, my mother! A great, big, yellow-haired bear! When I want only tolaugh at their dancing! No, mamacita, when I love an American thou shalthave his ears for thy necklace."

  III

  Thomas O. Larkin, United States Consul to California until theoccupation left him without duties, had invited Monterey to meet theofficers of the _Savannah, Cyane,_ and _Levant_, and only Dona ModesteCastro had declined. At ten o'clock the sala of his large house on therise of the hill was thronged with robed girls in every shade and deviceof white, sitting demurely behind the wide shoulders of coffee-coloureddowagers, also in white, and blazing with jewels. The young matrons werethere, too, although they left the sala at intervals to visit the roomset apart for the nurses and children; no Monterena ever left her littleones at home. The old men and the caballeros wore the black coats andwhite trousers which Monterey fashion dictated for evening wear; thehair of the younger men was braided with gay ribbons, and diamondsflashed in the lace of their ruffles.

  The sala was on the second floor; the musicians sat on the corridorbeyond the open windows and scraped their fiddles and twanged theirguitars, awaiting the coming of the American officers. Before long theregular tramp of many feet turning from Alvarado Street up the littlePrimera del Este, facing Mr. Larkin's house, made dark eyes flash, laceand silken gowns flutter. Benicia and a group of girls were standing byDona Eustaquia. They opened their large black fans as if to wave backthe pink that had sprung to their cheeks. Only Benicia held her headsaucily high, and her large brown eyes were full of defiant sparkles.

  "Why art thou so excited, Blandina?" she asked of a girl who had graspedher arm. "I feel as if the war between the United States and Mexicobegan tonight."

  "Ay, Benicia, thou hast so gay a spirit that nothing ever frightensthee! But, Mary! How many they are! They tramp as if they would gothrough the stair. Ay, the poor flag! No wonder--"

  "Now, do not cry over the flag any more. Ah! there is not one to comparewith General Castro!"

  The character of the Californian sala had changed for ever; the blue andgold of the United States had invaded it.

  The officers, young and old, looked with much interest at the faces,soft, piquant, tropical, which made the effect of pansies lookinginquisitively over a snowdrif
t. The girls returned their glances withapproval, for they were as fine and manly a set of men as ever had faceddeath or woman. Ten minutes later California and the United States wereflirting outrageously.

  Mr. Larkin presented a tall officer to Benicia. That the young man wasvery well-looking even Benicia admitted. True, his hair was golden, butit was cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a bear; hismustache and brows were brown; his gray eyes were as laughing as herown.

  "I suppose you do not speak any English, senorita," he said helplessly.

  "No? I spik Eenglish like the Spanish. The Spanish people no havedifficult at all to learn the other langues. But Senor Hartnell hesay it no is easy at all for the Eenglish to spik the French and theSpanish, so I suppose you no spik one word our langue, no?"

  He gallantly repressed a smile. "Thankfully I may say that I do not,else would I not have the pleasure of hearing you speak English. Neverhave I heard it so charmingly spoken before."

  Benicia took her skirt between the tips of her fingers and swayed hergraceful body forward, as a tule bends in the wind.

  "You like dip the flag of the conqueror in honey, senor. Ay! We needhave one compliment for every tear that fall since your eagle stab hisbeak in the neck de ours."

  "Ah, the loyal women of Monterey! I have no words to express myadmiration for them, senorita. A thousand compliments are not worth onetear."

  Benicia turned swiftly to her mother, her eyes glittering with pleasure."Mother, you hear! You hear!" she cried in Spanish. "These Americans arenot so bad, after all."

  Dona Eustaquia gave the young man one of her rare smiles; it flashedover her strong dark face, until the light of youth was there once more.

  "Very pretty speech," she said, with slow precision. "I thank you, SenorRussell, in the name of the women of Monterey."

  "By Jove! Madam--senora--I assure you I never felt so cut up in mylife as when I saw all those beautiful women crying down there by theCustom-house. I am a good American, but I would rather have thrown theflag under your feet than have seen you cry like that. And I assure you,dear senora, every man among us felt the same. As you have been goodenough to thank me in the name of the women of Monterey, I, in behalf ofthe officers of the United States squadron, beg that you will forgiveus."

  Dona Eustaquia's cheek paled again, and she set her lips for a moment;then she held out her hand.

  "Senor," she said, "we are conquered, but we are Californians; andalthough we do not bend the head, neither do we turn the back. We haveinvite you to our houses, and we cannot treat you like enemies. I willsay with--how you say it--truth?--we did hate the thought that youcome and take the country that was ours. But all is over and cannotbe changed. So, it is better we are good friends than poor ones;and--and--my house is open to you, senor."

  Russell was a young man of acute perceptions; moreover, he had heardof Dona Eustaquia; he divined in part the mighty effort by which goodbreeding and philosophy had conquered bitter resentment. He raised thelittle white hand to his lips.

  "I would that I were twenty men, senora. Each would be your devotedservant."

  "And then she have her necklace!" cried Benicia, delightedly.

  "What is that?" asked Russell; but Dona Eustaquia shook her fanthreateningly and turned away.

  "I no tell you everything," said Benicia, "so no be too curiosa. You nodance the contradanza, no?"

  "I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain waltz; will you notgive it to me?"

  Benicia, disregarding the angry glances of approaching caballeros, laidher hand on the officer's shoulder, and he spun her down the room.

  "Why, you no dance so bad!" she said with surprise. "I think always theAmericanos dance so terreeblay."

  "Who could not dance with a fairy in his arms?"

  "What funny things you say. I never been called fairy before."

  "You have never been interpreted." And then, in the whirl-waltz of thatday, both lost their breath.

  When the dance was over and they stood near Dona Eustaquia, he took thefan from Benicia's hand and waved it slowly before her. She laughedoutright.

  "You think I am so tired I no can fan myself?" she demanded. "How queerare these Americanos! Why, I have dance for three days and three nightsand never estop."

  "Senorita!"

  "Si, senor. Oh, we estop sometimes, but no for long. It was at Sonomatwo months ago. At the house de General Vallejo."

  "You certainly are able to fan yourself; but it is no reflection uponyour muscle. It is only a custom we have."

  "Then I think much better you no have the custom. You no look like a manat all when you fan like a girl."

  He handed her back the fan with some choler.

  "Really, senorita, you are very frank. I suppose you would have a manlie in a hammock all day and roll cigaritos."

  "Much better do that than take what no is yours."

  "Which no American ever did!"

  "Excep' when he pulled California out the pocket de Mexico."

  "And what did Mexico do first? Did she not threaten the United Stateswith hostilities for a year, and attack a small detachment of our troopswith a force of seven thousand men--"

  "No make any difference what she do. Si she do wrong, that no is excusefor you do wrong."

  Two angry young people faced each other.

  "You steal our country and insult our men. But they can fight, Madre deDios! I like see General Castro take your little Commodore Sloat by theneck. He look like a little gray rat."

  "Commodore Sloat is a brave and able man, Miss Ortega, and no officer inthe United States navy will hear him insulted."

  "Then much better you lock up the ears."

  "My dear Captain Russell! Benicia! what is the matter?"

  Mr. Larkin stood before them, an amused smile on his thin intellectualface. "Come, come, have we not met to-night to dance the waltz of peace?Benicia, your most humble admirer has a favour to crave of you. I wouldhave my countrymen learn at once the utmost grace of the Californian.Dance El Jarabe, please, and with Don Fernando Altimira."

  Benicia lifted her dainty white shoulders. She was not unwilling toavenge herself upon the American by dazzling him with her grace andbeauty. Her eye's swift invitation brought Don Fernando, scowling, toher side. He led her to the middle of the room, and the musicians playedthe stately jig.

  Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at Russell from beneathher curling lashes, then fixed her eyes upon the floor, nor raised themagain. She held her reed-like body very erect and took either side ofher spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, lifting it just enoughto show the arched little feet in their embroidered stockings and satinslippers. Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and together theyrattled their feet on the floor with dexterity and precision, whilst thegirls sang the words of the dance. The officers gave genuine applause,delighted with this picturesque fragment of life on the edge of thePacific. Don Fernando listened to their demonstrations with sombrecontempt on his dark handsome face; Benicia indicated her pleasure bysundry archings of her narrow brows, or coquettish curves of her redlips. Suddenly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother, with along sweeping movement, like the bending and lifting of grain in thewind. As she approached Russell he took a rose from his coat and threwit at her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her thickbraids, and the next moment he was at her side again.

  IV

  Dona Eustaquia slipped from the crowd and out of the house. Drawing areboso about her head she walked swiftly down the street and across theplaza. Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the town, but thearistocratic quarter was very quiet, and she walked unmolested to thehouse of General Castro. The door was open, and she went down the longhall to the sleeping room of Dona Modeste. There was no response to herknock, and she pushed open the door and entered. The room was dimly litby the candles on the altar. Dona Modeste was not in the big mahoganybed, for the heavy satin coverlet was still over it. Dona Eustaquiacrossed the room t
o the altar and lifted in her arms the small figurekneeling there.

  "Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our prayers have been unheard, andthou art better in bed or with thy friends."

  Dona Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, but took DonaEustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. Her white skin shone in the dimlight, and with her black hair and green tragic eyes made her look likea little witch queen, for neither suffering nor humiliation could bendthat stately head.

  "Religion is my solace," she said, "my only one; for I have not a brainof iron nor a soul of fire like thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more causeto pray to-night."

  "It is true, then, that Jose is in retreat? Ay, Mary!"

  "My husband, deserted by all but one hundred men, is flying southwardfrom San Juan Bautista. I have it from the wash-tub mail. That never iswrong."

  "Ingrates! Traitors! But it is true, Modeste--surely, no?--that ourgeneral will not surrender? That he will stand against the Americans?"

  "He will not yield. He would have marched upon Monterey and forced themto give him battle here but for this base desertion. Now he will go toLos Angeles and command the men of the South to rally about him."

  "I knew that he would not kiss the boots of the Americans like the restof our men! Oh, the cowards! I could almost say to-night that I likebetter the Americans than the men of my own race. _They_ are Castros! Ishall hate their flag so long as life is in me; but I cannot hate thebrave men who fight for it. But my pain is light to thine. Thy heart iswrung, and I am sorry for thee."

  "My day is over. Misfortune is upon us. Even if my husband's life isspared--ay! shall I ever see him again?--his position will be takenfrom him, for the Americans will conquer in the end. He will beCommandante-General of the army of the Californias no longer, but--holyGod!--a ranchero, a caballero! He at whose back all California hasgalloped! Thou knowest his restless aspiring soul, Eustaquia, hisambition, his passionate love of California. Can there be happiness forsuch a man humbled to the dust--no future! no hope? Ay!"--she sprang toher feet with arms uplifted, her small slender form looking twice itsheight as it palpitated against the shadows, "I feel the bitterness ofthat spirit! I know how that great heart is torn. And he is alone!"She flung herself across Dona Eustaquia's knees and burst into violentsobbing.

  Dona Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her friend, but her eyes weremore angry than soft. "Weep no more, Modeste," she said. "Rather, ariseand curse those who have flung a great man into the dust. But comfortthyself. Who can know? Thy husband, weary with fighting, disgusted withmen, may cling the closer to thee, and with thee and thy children forgetthe world in thy redwood forests or between the golden hills of thyranchos."

  Dona Modeste shook her head. "Thou speakest the words of kindness, butthou knowest Jose. Thou knowest that he would not be content to be asother men. And, ay! Eustaquia, to think that it was opposite our owndear home, our favourite home, that the American flag should first havebeen raised! Opposite the home of Jose Castro!"

  "To perdition with Fremont! Why did he, of all places, select San JuanBautista in which to hang up his American rag?"

  "We never can live there again. The Gabilan Mountains would shut out thevery face of the sun from my husband."

  "Do not weep, my Modeste; remember thy other beautiful ranchos. Dios demi alma!" she added with a flash of humour, "I revere San Juan Bautistafor your husband's sake, but I weep not that I shall visit you there nomore. Every day I think to hear that the shaking earth of that beautifulvalley has opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. God grantthat Fremont's hair stood up more than once. But go to bed, my friend.Look, I will put you there." As if Dona Modeste were an infant, sheundressed and laid her between the linen sheets with their elaboratedrawn work, then made her drink a glass of angelica, folded and laidaway the satin coverlet, and left the house.

  She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head high. Monterey at thattime was infested by dogs, some of them very savage. Dona Eustaquia'sstrong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on her way to GeneralCastro's house she had paid no attention to the snarling muzzles thrustagainst her gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang upon herwith a savage yelp and would have caught her by the throat had not aheavy stick cracked its skull. A tall officer in the uniform of theUnited States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair and looked at herwith blue eyes as piercing as her own.

  "You will pardon me, madam," he said, "if I insist upon attending you toyour door. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets ofMonterey at night."

  Dona Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haughtily. "I thank you much,senor, for your kind rescue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten bythe dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with me. I go only tothe house of the Senor Larkin. It is there, at the end of the littlestreet beyond the plaza."

  "My dear madam, you must not deprive the United States of the pleasureof protecting California. Pray grant my humble request to walk behindyou and keep off the dogs."

  Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort.

  "Walk by me, if you wish," she said graciously. "Why are you not at thehouse of Don Thomas Larkin?"

  "I am on my way there now. Circumstances prevented my going earlier."His companion did not seem disposed to pilot the conversation, and hecontinued lamely, "Have you noticed, madam, that the English frigate_Collingwood_ is anchored in the bay?"

  "I saw it in the morning." She turned to him with sudden hope. "Havethey--the English--come to help California?"

  "I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to capture California at thefirst whisper of war between Mexico and the United States; you know thatEngland has always cast a covetous eye upon your fair land. It is saidthat the English admiral stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-daywhen he saw the American flag flying on the fort."

  "All are alike!" she exclaimed bitterly, then controlled herself."You--do you admeer our country, senor? Have you in America somethingmore beautiful than Monterey?"

  The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad of a change oftopic, for he suspected to whom he was talking. "Madam, I have neverseen anything more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey. Whata situation! What exquisite proportions! That wide curve of snow-whitesand about the dark blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with aknife. And that semicircle of hills behind the town, with its pine andbrush forest tapering down to the crescent's points! Nor could anythingbe more picturesque than this scattered little town with its bright redtiles above the white walls of the houses and the gray walls of theyards; its quaint church surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio;its beautiful, strangely dressed women and men who make this corner ofthe earth resemble the pages of some romantic old picture-book--"

  "Ay!" she interrupted him. "Much better you feel proud that you conquerus; for surely, senor, California shall shine like a diamond in the verycentre of America's crown." Then she held out her hand impulsively.

  "Mucho gracias, senor--pardon--thank you very much. If you love mycountry, senor, you must be my friend and the friend of my daughter. Iam the Senora Dona Eustaquia Carillo de Ortega, and my house is thereon the hill--you can see the light, no? Always we shall be glad to seeyou."

  He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand.

  "And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the United States navy,do sincerely thank the most famous woman of Monterey for her gracioushospitality. And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm of the Americanwho is not the conqueror but the conquered."

  "That was very pretty--speech. When you abuse me I put you out the door.This is the house of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball. You come in,no? You like I take your arm? Very well"

  And so the articles of peace were signed.

  V

  "Yes, yes, indeed, Blandina," exclaimed Benicia, "they had no chance atall last night, for we danced until dawn, and perhaps they were afraidof Don Thomas Larkin. But we shall talk and have music to-night, andthose fine new tabl
es that came on the last ship from Boston must not bedestroyed."

  "Well, if you really think--" said Blandina, who always thought exactlyas Benicia did. She opened a door and called:--

  "Flujencio."

  "Well, my sister?"

  A dreamy-looking young man in short jacket and trousers of red silkentered the room, sombrero in one hand, a cigarito in the other.

  "Flujencio, you know it is said that these 'Yankees' always 'whittle'everything. We are afraid they will spoil the furniture to-night; sotell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, and you go downto the store and buy a box of penknives. Then they will have plenty toamuse themselves with and will not cut the furniture."

  "True! True! What a good idea! Was it Benicia's?" He gave her a glanceof languid adoration. "I will buy those knives at once, before I forgetit," and he tossed the sombrero on his curls and strode out of thehouse.

  "How dost thou like the Senor Lieutenant Russell, Benicia?"

  Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became very pink.

  "Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, very proud, and thinkstoo well of his hateful country. But I shall teach him how to flirt. Hethinks he can, but he cannot."

  "Thou canst do it, Benicia--look! look!"

  Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were sauntering slowly by andlooking straight through the grated window at the beautiful girls intheir gayly flowered gowns. They saluted, and the girls bent theirslender necks, but dared not speak, for Dona Francesca Hernandez was inthe next room and the door was open. Immediately following the Americanofficers came Don Fernando Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he sawthe erect swinging figures of the conquerors, but Benicia kissed thetips of her fingers as he flung his sombrero to the ground, and hegalloped, smiling, on his way.

  That night the officers of the United States squadron met the society ofMonterey at the house of Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, towhich they could be admiring spectators only, much to the delight of thecaballeros, Benicia took the guitar presented by Flujencio, and lettingher head droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk by thebreeze, sang the most coquettish song she knew. Her mahogany brown hairhung unconfined over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered silkwith its pointed waist and full skirt. Her large brown eyes werealternately mischievous and tender, now and again lighted by a suddenflash. Her cheeks were pink; her round babylike arms curved with all thegrace of the Spanish woman. As she finished the song she dropped hereyelids for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked straight atRussell.

  "By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog!" said a brother officer. "She's theprettiest girl in the room! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, asthese ardent Californians do?"

  "RUSSELL CROSSED THE ROOM AND SAT BESIDE BENICIA."]

  "My cap is in the next room, but I will go over and fling myself thereinstead."

  Russell crossed the room and sat down beside Benicia.

  "I should like to hear you sing under those cypresses out on the oceanabout six or eight miles from here," he said to her. "I rode down thecoast yesterday. Jove! what a coast it is!"

  "We will have a merienda there on some evening," said Dona Eustaquia,who sat beside her daughter. "It is very beautiful on the big rocks towatch the ocean, under the moonlight."

  "A merienda?"

  "A peek-neek."

  "Good! You will not forget that?"

  She smiled at his boyishness. "It will be at the next moon. I promise."

  Benicia sang another song, and a half-dozen caballeros stood abouther, regarding her with glances languid, passionate, sentimental,reproachful, determined, hopeless. Russell, leaning back in his chair,listened to the innocent thrilling voice of the girl, and watched heradorers, amused and stimulated. The Californian beauty was like no otherwoman he had known, and the victory would be as signal as the capture ofMonterey. "More blood, perhaps," he thought, "but a victory is a pooraffair unless painted in red. It will do these seething caballeros goodto learn that American blood is quite as swift as Californian."

  As the song finished, the musicians began a waltz; Russell took theguitar from Benicia's hand and laid it on the floor.

  "This waltz is mine, senorita," he said.

  "I no know--"

  "Senorita!" said Don Fernando Altimira, passionately, "the first waltzis always mine. Thou wilt not give it to the American?"

  "And the next is mine!"

  "And the next contradanza!"

  The girl's faithful retinue protested for their rights. Russell couldnot understand, but he translated their glances, and bent his lips toBenicia's ear. That ear was pink and her eyes were bright with roguishtriumph.

  "I want this dance, dear senorita. I may go away any day. Orders maycome to-morrow which will send me where I never can see you again. Youcan dance with these men every night of the year--"

  "I give to you," said Benicia, rising hurriedly. "We must be hospitableto the stranger who comes to-day and leaves to-morrow," she said inSpanish to the other men. "I have plenty more dances for you."

  After the dance, salads and cakes, claret and water, were brought to thewomen by Indian girls, who glided about the room with borrowed grace,their heads erect, the silver trays held well out. They wore bright redskirts and white smocks of fine embroidered linen, open at the throat,the sleeves very short. Their coarse hair hung in heavy braids; theirbright little eyes twinkled in square faces scrubbed until they shonelike copper.

  "Captain," said Russell to Brotherton, as the men followed the host intothe supper room, "let us buy a ranch, marry two of these stunninggirls, and lie round in hammocks whilst these Western houris bring usaguardiente and soda. What an improvement on Byron and Tom Moore! Itis all so unhackneyed and unexpected. In spite of Dana and Robinson Iexpected mud huts and whooping savages. This is Arcadia, and the womenare the most elegant in America."

  "Look here, Ned," said his captain, "you had better do less flirting andmore thinking while you are in this odd country. Your talents will getrusty, but you can rub them up when you get home. Neither Californianmen nor women are to be trifled with. This is the land of passion, notof drawing-room sentiment."

  "Perhaps I am more serious than you think. What is the matter?" He spoketo a brother officer who had joined them and was laughing immoderately.

  "Do you see those Californians grinning over there?" The speakerbeckoned to a group of officers, who joined him at once. "What job doyou suppose they have put up on us? What do you suppose that mysterioustable in the sala means, with its penknives and wooden sticks? I thoughtit was a charity bazaar. Well, it is nothing more nor less than a trickto keep us from whittling up the furniture. We are all Yankees to them,you know. Preserve my Spanish!"

  The officers shouted with delight. They marched solemnly back into thesala, and seating themselves in a deep circle about the table,whittled the slugs all over the floor, much to the satisfaction of theCalifornians.

  VI

  After the entertainment was over, Russell strolled about the town. Thenew moon was on the sky, the stars thick and bright; but dark cornerswere everywhere, and he kept his hand on his pistol. He found himselfbefore the long low house of Dona Eustaquia Ortega. Not a lightglimmered; the shutters were of solid wood. He walked up and down,trying to guess which was Benicia's room.

  "I am growing as romantic as a Californian," he thought; "but thiswonderful country pours its colour all through one's nature. If Icould find her window, I believe I should serenade her in true Spanishfashion. By Jove, I remember now, she said something about lookingthrough her window at the pines on the hill. It must be at the back ofthe house, and how am I going to get over that great adobe wall? Thatgate is probably fastened with an iron bar--ah!"

  He had walked to the corner of the wall surrounding the large yardbehind and at both sides of Dona Eustaquia's house, and he saw,ascending a ladder, a tall figure, draped in a serape, its faceconcealed by the shadow of a sombrero. He drew his pistol, then laughedat himself, al
though not without annoyance. "A rival; and he has gotahead of me. He is going to serenade her."

  The caballero seated himself uncomfortably on the tiles that roofed thewall, removed his sombrero, and Russell recognized Fernando Altimira. Amoment later the sweet thin chords of the guitar quivered in the quietair, and a tenor, so fine that even Russell stood entranced, sang toBenicia one of the old songs of Monterey:--

  EL SUSPIRO

  Una mirada un suspiro, Una lagrima querida, Es balsamo a la herida Que abriste en mi corazon.

  Por esa lagrima cara Objeto de mi termina, Yo te ame bella criatura Desde que te vi llorar.

  Te acuerdas de aquella noche En que triste y abatida Una lagrima querida Vi de tus ojos brotar.

  Although Russell was at the base of the high wall he saw that a lightflashed. The light was followed by the clapping of little hands. "Jove!"he thought, "am I really jealous? But damn that Californian!"

  Altimira sang two more songs and was rewarded by the samedemonstrations. As he descended the ladder and reached the open streethe met Russell face to face. The two men regarded each other for amoment. The Californian's handsome face was distorted by a passionatescowl; Russell was calmer, but his brows were lowered.

  Altimira flung the ladder to the ground, but fire-blooded as he was, thepoliteness of his race did not desert him, and his struggle with Englishflung oil upon his passion.

  "Senor," he said, "I no know what you do it by the house of the SenoritaBenicia so late in the night. I suppose you have the right to walk inthe town si it please yourself."

  "Have I not the same right as you--to serenade the Senorita Benicia? IfI had known her room, I should have been on the wall before you."

  Altimira's face flushed with triumph. "I think the Senorita Beniciano care for the English song, senor. She love the sweet words of hercountry: she no care for words of ice."

  Russell smiled. "Our language may not be as elastic as yours, DonFernando, but it is a good deal more sincere. And it can express as muchand perhaps--"

  "You love Benicia?" interrupted Altimira, fiercely.

  "I admire the Senorita Ortega tremendously. But I have seen her twiceonly, and although we may love longer, we take more time to get there,perhaps, than you do."

  "Ay! Dios de mi vida! You have the heart of rock! You chip it off inlittle pieces, one to-day, another to-morrow, and give to the woman. I,senor, I love Benicia, and I marry her. You understand? Si you take her,I cut the heart from your body. You understand?"

  "I understand. We understand each other." Russell lifted his cap. TheCalifornian took his sombrero from his head and made a long sweepingbow; and the two men parted.

  VII

  On the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat transferred his authorityto Commodore Stockton, and the new commander of the Pacific squadronorganized the California Battalion of Mounted Riflemen, appointingFremont major and Gillespie captain. He ordered them South at once tointercept Castro. On the twenty-eighth, Stockton issued a proclamationin which he asserted that Mexico was the instigator of the presentdifficulties, and justified the United States in seizing theCalifornias. He denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, aboasting and abusive chief, and accused him of having violated everyprinciple of national hospitality and good faith toward Captain Fremontand his surveying party. Stockton sailed for the South the same dayin the _Congress_, leaving a number of officers to Monterey and theindignation of the people.

  "By Jove, I don't dare to go near Dona Eustaquia," said Russell toBrotherton. "And I'm afraid we won't have our picnic. It seems to me theCommodore need not have used such strong language about California'sidol. The very people in the streets are ready to unlimb us; and as forthe peppery Dona--"

  "Speak more respectfully of Dona Eustaquia, young man," said the olderofficer, severely. "She is a very remarkable woman and not to be spokenslightingly of by young men who are in love with her daughter."

  "God forbid that I should slight her, dear Captain. Never have I sorespected a woman. She frightens the life out of me every time sheflashes those eyes of hers. But let us go and face the enemy at once,like the brave Americans we are."

  "Very well." And together they walked along Alvarado Street from theharbour, then up the hill to the house of Dona Eustaquia.

  That formidable lady and her daughter were sitting on the corridordressed in full white gowns, slowly wielding large black fans, for thenight was hot. Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she rose andcourtesied to the officers, but her mother merely bent her head; nor didshe extend her hand. Her face was very dark.

  Brotherton went directly to the point.

  "Dear Dona Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our Commodore has used suchharsh language in regard to General Castro. But remember that he hasbeen here a few days only and has had no chance to learn the many nobleand valiant qualities of your General. He doubtless has been prejudicedagainst him by some enemy, and he adores Fremont:--there is the trouble.He resents Castro's treating Fremont as an enemy before the UnitedStates had declared its intentions. But had he been correctly informed,he undoubtedly would have conceived the same admiration and respect foryour brave General that is felt by every other man among us."

  Dona Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but shook her head sternly."Much better he took the trouble to hear true. He insult allCalifornians by those shemful words. All the enemies of our dear Generalbe glad. And the poor wife! Poor my Modeste! She fold the arms and raisethe head, but the heart is broken."

  "Jove! I almost wish they had driven us out! Dear senora--" Russell andBenicia were walking up and down the corridor--"we have become friends,true friends, as sometimes happens--not often--between man and woman.Cease to think of me as an officer of the United States navy, only as aman devoted to your service. I have already spent many pleasant hourswith you. Let me hope that while I remain here neither CommodoreStockton nor party feeling will exclude me from many more."

  She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a gesture peculiar to her,and looked upward with a glance half sad, half bitter.

  "I much appreciate your friendship, Capitan Brotherton. You give me muchadvice that is good for me, and tell me many things. It is like theocean wind when you have live long in the hot valley. Yes, dear friend,I forget you are in the navy of the conqueror."

  "Mamacita," broke in Benicia's light voice, "tell us now when we canhave the peek-neek."

  "To-morrow night."

  "Surely?"

  "Surely, ninita."

  "Castro," said Russell, lifting his cap, "peace be with thee."

  VIII

  The great masses of rock on the ocean's coast shone white in themoonlight. Through the gaunt outlying rocks, lashed apart by furiousstorms, boiled the ponderous breakers, tossing aloft the sparklingclouds of spray, breaking in the pools like a million silver fishes.High above the waves, growing out of the crevices of the massive rocksof the shore, were weird old cypresses, their bodies bent from theocean as if petrified in flight before the mightier foe. On their gauntoutstretched arms and gray bodies, seamed with time, knobs like humanmuscles jutted; between the broken bark the red blood showed. Fromtheir angry hands, clutching at the air or doubled in imprecation, longstrands of gray-green moss hung, waving and coiling, in the night wind.Only one old man was on his hands and knees as if to crawl from thefield; but a comrade spurned him with his foot and wound his bony handabout the coward's neck. Another had turned his head to the enemy,pointing his index finger in scorn, although he stood alone on high.

  All along the cliffs ran the ghostly army, sometimes with strainingarms fighting the air, sometimes thrust blankly outward, all with lifequivering in their arrested bodies, silent and scornful in their defeat.Who shall say what winter winds first beat them, what great waves firstfought their deathless trunks, what young stars first shone over them?They have outstood centuries of raging storm and rending earthquake.Tradition says that until convulsion wrenched the Golden Gate apart theSan Franciscan waters rolled
through the long valleys and emptied intothe Bay of Monterey. But the old cypresses were on the ocean justbeyond; the incoming and the outgoing of the inland ocean could nottrouble them; and perhaps they will stand there until the end of time.

  Down the long road by the ocean rode a gay cavalcade. The caballeros hadhaughtily refused to join the party, and the men wore the blue and goldof the United States.

  But the women wore fluttering mantillas, and their prancinghigh-stepping horses were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In alumbering "wagon of the country," drawn by oxen, running on solid wheelscut from the trunks of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of theolder people of the town, disapproving, but overridden by the impatiententhusiasm of Dona Eustaquia. Through the pine woods with their softlymoving shadows and splendid aisles, out between the cypresses and rockybeach, wound the stately cavalcade, their voices rising above thesociable converse of the seals and the screeching of the seagullsspiking the rocks where the waves fought and foamed. The gold on theshoulders of the men flashed in the moonlight; the jewels of the womensparkled and winked. Two by two they came like a conquering army to therescue of the cypresses. Brotherton, who rode ahead with Dona Eustaquia,half expected to see the old trees rise upright with a deep shout ofwelcome.

  When they reached a point where the sloping rocks rose high above surfand spray, they dismounted, leaving the Indian servants to tether thehorses. They climbed down the big smooth rocks and sat about in groups,although never beyond the range of older eyes, the cypresses loweringabove them, the ocean tearing through the outer rocks to swirl andgrumble in the pools. The moon was so bright, its light so broad andsilver, they almost could imagine they saw the gorgeous mass of colourin the pools below.

  "You no have seaweed like that in Boston," said Benicia, who had acomprehensive way of symbolizing the world by the city from which shegot many of her clothes and all of her books.

  "Indeed, no!" said Russell. "The other day I sat for hours watchingthose great bunches and strands that look like richly coloured chenille.And there were stones that looked like big opals studded with vividjewels. God of my soul, as you say, it was magnificent! I never saw suchbrilliant colour, such delicate tints! And those great rugged defiantrocks out there, lashed by the waves! Look at that one; misty with sprayone minute, bare and black the next! They look like an old castle whichhas been battered down with cannon. Captain, do you not feel romantic?"

  "I feel that I never want to go into an art gallery again. No wonder thewomen of California are original."

  "Benicia," said Russell, "I have tried in vain to learn a Spanish song.But teach me a Spanish phrase of endearment. All our 'darlings' and'dearests' are too flat for California."

  "Bueno; I teach you. Say after me: Mi muy querida prima. That is verysweet. Say."

  "Mi muy--"

  "Querida prima."

  "Que--What is it in English?"

  "My--very--darling--first. It no sound so pretty in English."

  "It does very well. My--very--darling--first--if all these people werenot about us, I should kiss you. You look exactly like a flower."

  "Si you did, Senor Impertinencio, you get that for thanks."

  Russell jumped to his feet with a shout, and shook from his neck alittle crab with a back like green velvet and legs like carven garnet.

  "Did you put that crab on my neck, senorita?"

  "Si, senor."

  A sulky silence of ten minutes ensued, during which Benicia sent littlestones skipping down into the silvered pools, and Russell, againrecumbent, stared at the horizon.

  "Si you no can talk," she said finally, "I wish you go way and let DonHenry Tallant come talk to me. He look like he want."

  "No doubt he does; but he can stay where he is. Let me kiss your hand,Benicia, and I will forgive you."

  Benicia hit his mouth lightly with the back of her hand, but he capturedit and kissed it several times.

  "Your mustache feels like the cat's," said she.

  He flung the hand from him, but laughed in a moment. "How sentimentalyou are! Making love to you is like dragging a cannon uphill! Will younot at least sing me a love-song? And please do not make faces in thetender parts."

  Benicia tossed her spirited head, but took her guitar from its case andcalled to the other girls to accompany her. They withdrew from theirvarious flirtations with audible sighs, but it was Benicia's merienda,and in a moment a dozen white hands were sweeping the long notes fromthe strings.

  Russell moved to a lower rock, and lying at Benicia's feet lookedupward. The scene was all above him--the great mass of white rocks,whiter in the moonlight; the rigid cypresses aloft; the beautiful faces,dreamy, passionate, stolid, restless, looking from the lace mantillas;the graceful arms holding the guitars; the sweet rich voices threadingthrough the roar of the ocean like the melody in a grand recitativo; theold men and women crouching like buzzards on the stones, their sharpeyes never closing; enfolding all with an almost palpable touch, thewarm voluptuous air. Now and again a bird sang a few notes, a strangesound in the night, or the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echothrough the pines.

  The song finished. "Benicia, I love you," whispered Russell.

  "We will now eat," said Benicia. "Mamma,"--she raised her voice,--"shallI tell Raphael to bring down the supper?"

  "Yes, nina."

  The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by Russell. The Indianservants were some distance off, and as the young people ran through apine grove the bold officer of the United States squadron captured theCalifornian and kissed her on the mouth. She boxed his ears and escapedto the light.

  Benicia gave her orders, Raphael and the other Indians followed her withthe baskets, and spread the supper of tomales and salads, dulces andwine, on a large table-like rock, just above the threatening spray; thegirls sang each in turn, whilst the others nibbled the dainties DonaEustaquia had provided, and the Americans wondered if it were not avision that would disappear into the fog bearing down upon them.

  A great white bank, writhing and lifting, rolling and bending, cameacross the ocean slowly, with majestic stealth, hiding the swingingwaves on which it rode so lightly, shrouding the rocks, enfolding themen and women, wreathing the cypresses, rushing onward to the pines.

  "We must go," said Dona Eustaquia, rising. "There is danger to stay. Thelungs, the throat, my children. Look at the poor old cypresses."

  The fog was puffing through the gaunt arms, festooning the rigid hands.It hung over the green heads, it coiled about the gray trunks. The sterndefeated trees looked like the phantoms of themselves, a long silentbattalion of petrified ghosts. Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed,and during the long ride homeward through the pine woods she had littleto say to her equally silent companion.

  IX

  Dona Eustaquia seldom gave balls, but once a week she opened her salasto the more intellectual people of the town. A few Americans were everattendant; General Vallejo often came from Sonoma to hear the latestAmerican and Mexican news in her house; Castro rarely had been absent;Alvarado, in the days of his supremacy, could always be found there, andshe was the first woman upon whom Pio Pico called when he deigned tovisit Monterey. A few young people came to sit in a corner with Benicia,but they had little to say.

  The night after the picnic some fifteen or twenty people were gatheredabout Dona Eustaquia in the large sala on the right of the hall; a fewothers were glancing over the Mexican papers in the little sala on theleft. The room was ablaze with many candles standing, above the headsof the guests, in twisted silver candelabra, the white walls reflectingtheir light. The floor was bare, the furniture of stiff mahogany andhorse-hair, but no visitor to that quaint ugly room ever thought oflooking beyond the brilliant face of Dona Eustaquia, the lovely eyes ofher daughter, the intelligence and animation of the people she gatheredabout her. As a rule Dona Modeste Castro's proud head and strange beautyhad been one of the living pictures of that historical sala, but she wasnot there to-night.

  As Captain Br
otherton and Lieutenant Russell entered, Dona Eustaquia waswaging war against Mr. Larkin.

  "And what hast thou to say to that proclamation of thy little Americanhero, thy Commodore"--she gave the word a satirical roll, impossible totranscribe--"who is heir to a conquest without blood, who struts intohistory as the Commander of the United States Squadron of the Pacific,holding a few hundred helpless Californians in subjection? O warlikename of Sloat! O heroic name of Stockton! O immortal Fremont, princeof strategists and tacticians, your country must be proud of you! Yournewspapers will glorify you! Sometime, perhaps, you will have a littlehistory bound in red morocco all to yourselves; whilst Castro--" shesprang to her feet and brought her open palm down violently upon thetable, "Castro, the real hero of this country, the great man ready todie a thousand deaths for the liberty of the Californians, a man who wasmade for great deeds and born for fame, he will be left to rust and rotbecause we have no newspapers to glorify him, and the Gringos send whatthey wish to their country! Oh, profanation! That a great man should becovered from sight by an army of red ants!"

  "By Jove!" said Russell, "I wish I could understand her! Doesn't shelook magnificent?"

  Captain Brotherton made no reply. He was watching her closely, gatheringthe sense of her words, full of passionate admiration for the woman. Hertall majestic figure was quivering under the lash of her fiery temper,quick to spring and strike. The red satin of her gown and the diamondson her finely moulded neck and in the dense coils of her hair grew dimbefore the angry brilliancy of her eyes.

  The thin sensitive lips of Mr. Larkin curled with their accustomedhumour, but he replied sincerely, "Yes, Castro is a hero, a great man ona small canvas--"

  "And they are little men on a big canvas!" interrupted Dona Eustaquia.

  Mr. Larkin laughed, but his reply was non-committal. "Remember, theyhave done all that they have been called upon to do, and they have doneit well. Who can say that they would not be as heroic, if opportunityoffered, as they have been prudent?"

  Dona Eustaquia shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, but resumed herseat. "You will not say, but you know what chance they would have withCastro in a fair fight. But what chance has even a great man, when atthe head of a few renegades, against the navy of a big nation? ButFremont! Is he to cast up his eyes and draw down his mouth to the world,whilst the man who acted for the safety of his country alone, who showedforesight and wisdom, is denounced as a violator of internationalcourtesy?"

  "No," said one of the American residents who stood near, "history willright all that. Some day the world will know who was the great and whothe little man."

  "Some day! When we are under our stones! This swaggering CommodoreStockton adores Fremont and hates Castro. His lying proclamation will beread in his own country--"

  The door opened suddenly and Don Fernando Altimira entered the room."Have you heard?" he cried. "All the South is in arms! The DepartmentalAssembly has called the whole country to war, and men are flocking tothe standard! Castro has sworn that he will never give up the countryunder his charge. Now, Mother of God! let our men drive the usurper fromthe country."

  Even Mr. Larkin sprang to his feet in excitement. He rapidly translatedthe news to Brotherton and Russell.

  "Ah! There will be a little blood, then," said the younger officer. "Itwas too easy a victory to count."

  Every one in the room was talking at once. Dona Eustaquia smote herhands together, then clasped and raised them aloft.

  "Thanks to God!" she cried. "California has come to her senses at last!"

  Altimira bent his lips to her ear. "I go to fight the Americans," hewhispered.

  She caught his hand between both her own and pressed it convulsively toher breast. "Go," she said, "and may God and Mary protect thee. Go, myson, and when thou returnest I will give thee Benicia. Thou art a sonafter my heart, a brave man and a good Catholic."

  Benicia, standing near, heard the words. For the first time Russell sawthe expression of careless audacity leave her face, her pink colourfade.

  "What is that man saying to your mother?" he demanded.

  "She promise me to him when he come back; he go to join General Castro."

  "Benicia!" He glanced about. Altimira had left the house. Every one wastoo excited to notice them. He drew her across the hall and into thelittle sala, deserted since the startling news had come. "Benicia," hesaid hurriedly, "there is no time to be lost. You are such a butterfly Ihardly know whether you love me or not."

  "I no am such butterfly as you think," said the girl, pathetically. "Ioften am very gay, for that is my spirit, senor; but I cry sometimes inthe night."

  "Well, you are not to cry any more, my very darling first!" He took herin his arms and kissed her, and she did not box his ears. "I may beordered off at any moment, and what may they not do with you while I amgone? So I have a plan! Marry me to-morrow!"

  "Ay! Senor!"

  "To-morrow. At your friend Blandina's house. The Hernandez like theAmericans; in fact, as we all know, Tallant is in love with Blandina andthe old people do not frown. They will let us marry there."

  "Ay! Cielo santo! What my mother say? She kill me!"

  "She will forgive you, no matter how angry she may be at first. Sheloves you--almost as much as I do."

  The girl withdrew from his arms and walked up and down the room. Herface was very pale, and she looked older. On one side of the room hunga large black cross, heavily mounted with gold. She leaned her faceagainst it and burst into tears. "Ay, my home! My mother!" she criedunder her breath. "How I can leave you? Ay, triste de mi!" She turnedsuddenly to Russell, whose face was as white as her own, and put to himthe question which we have not yet answered. "What is this love?" shesaid rapidly. "I no can understand. I never feel before. Always I laughwhen men say they love me; but I never laugh again. In my heart issomething that shake me like a lion shake what it go to kill, and makeme no care for my mother or my God--and you are a Protestant! I havelove my mother like I have love that cross; and now a man come--astranger! a conqueror! a Protestant! an American! And he twist my heartout with his hands! But I no can help. I love you and I go."

  X

  The next morning, Dona Eustaquia looked up from her desk as Beniciaentered the room. "I am writing to Alvarado," she said. "I hope to bethe first to tell him the glorious news. Ay! my child, go to thy altarand pray that the bandoleros may be driven wriggling from the land likesnakes out of a burning field!"

  "But, mother, I thought you had learned to like the Gringos."

  "I like the Gringos well enough, but I hate their flag! Ay! I will pullit down with my own hands if Castro and Pico roll Stockton and Fremontin the dust!"

  "I am sorry for that, my mother, for I am going to marry an Americanto-day."

  Her mother laughed and glanced over the closely written page.

  "I am going to marry the Lieutenant Russell at Blandina's house thismorning."

  "Ay, run, run. I must finish my letter."

  Benicia left the sala and crossing her mother's room entered her own.From the stout mahogany chest she took white silk stockings and satinslippers, and sitting down on the floor put them on. Then she opened thedoors of her wardrobe and looked for some moments at the many prettyfrocks hanging there. She selected one of fine white lawn, half coveredwith deshalados, and arrayed herself. She took from the drawer of thewardrobe a mantilla of white Spanish lace, and draped it about her headand shoulders, fastening it back above one ear with a pink rose. Aroundher throat she clasped a string of pearls, then stood quietly in themiddle of the room and looked about her. In one corner was a littlebrass bedstead covered with a heavy quilt of satin and lace. Thepillow-cases were almost as fine and elaborate as her gown. In theopposite corner was an altar with little gold candlesticks and an ivorycrucifix. The walls and floor were bare but spotless. The ugly wardrobebuilt into the thick wall never had been empty: Dona Eustaquia'sgenerosity to the daughter she worshipped was unbounded.

  Benicia drew a long hysterical breath and went
over to the window. Itlooked upon a large yard enclosed by the high adobe wall upon which herlovers so often had sat and sung to her. No flowers were in the garden,not even a tree. It was as smooth and clean as the floor of a ballroom.About the well in the middle were three or four Indian servantsquarrelling good-naturedly. The house stood on the rise of one of thecrescent's horns. Benicia looked up at the dark pine woods on thehill. What days she had spent there with her mother! She whirled aboutsuddenly and taking a large fan from the table returned to the sala.

  Dona Eustaquia laughed. "Thou silly child, to dress thyself like abride. What nonsense is this?"

  "I will be a bride in an hour, my mother."

  "Go! Go, with thy nonsense! I have spoiled thee! What other girl inMonterey would dare to dress herself like this at eleven in the morning?Go! And do not ruin that mantilla, for thou wilt not get another. Thouart going to Blandina's, no? Be sure thou goest no farther! I would notlet thee go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou speakestto no man in the street."

  "No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the street, but one awaits mein the house. Hasta luego." And she flitted out of the door and up thestreet.

  XI

  A few hours later Dona Eustaquia sat in the large and cooler salawith Captain Brotherton. He read Shakespeare to her whilst she fannedherself, her face aglow with intelligent pleasure. She had not broachedto him the uprising in the South lest it should lead to bitter words.Although an American and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood soclose to her.

  He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia entered the room. DonaEustaquia's heavy brows met.

  "Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk with on the street," shesaid in Spanish.

  "But, mamacita, he is my husband. We were married this morning atBlandina's," Excitement had tuned Benicia's spirit to its accustomedpitch, and her eyes danced with mischief. Moreover, although sheexpected violent reproaches, she knew the tenacious strength of hermother's affection, and had faith in speedy forgiveness.

  Brotherton opened his eyes, but Dona Eustaquia moved back her headimpatiently. "That silly joke!" Then she smiled at her own impatience.What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled children would disobeyat times. "Welcome, my son," she said to Russell, extending her hand."We celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and the Captainhelps us, no? my friend."

  "Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato sauce," cried Russell."And rice with saffron; and that delightful dish with which Iremonstrate all night--olives and cheese and hard-boiled eggs and redpeppers all rolled up in corn-meal cakes."

  "Enchiladas? You have them! Now, both you go over to the corner and talknot loud, for I wish to hear my friend read."

  Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bidden. Benicia, with agay laugh, kissed her mother and flitted like a butterfly about theroom, singing gay little snatches of song.

  "Oh, mamacita, mamacita," she chanted. "Thou wilt not believe thou hastlost thy little daughter. Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son. Thouwilt not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass bed--"

  "Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue! Sit down!" And this Benicia finallyconsented to do, although smothered laughter came now and again from thecorner.

  Dona Eustaquia sat easily against the straight back of her chair,looking very handsome and placid as Brotherton read and expounded "AsYou Like It" to her. Her gown of thin black silk threw out the finegray tones of her skin; about her neck and chest was a heavy chain ofCalifornian gold; her dense lustreless hair was held high with a shellcomb banded with gold; superb jewels weighted her little white hands; inher small ears were large hoops of gold studded with black pearls. Shewas perfectly contented in that hour. Her woman's vanity was at peaceand her eager mind expanding.

  The party about the supper table in the evening was very gay. The longroom was bare, but heavy silver was beyond the glass doors of thecupboard; a servant stood behind each chair; the wines were as fineas any in America, and the favourite dishes of the Americans had beenprepared. Even Brotherton, although more nervous than was usual withhim, caught the contagion of the hour and touched his glass more thanonce to that of the woman whose overwhelming personality had more thanhalf captured a most indifferent heart.

  After supper they sat on the corridor, and Benicia sang her mockinglove-songs and danced El Son to the tinkling of her own guitar.

  "Is she not a light-hearted child?" asked her mother. "But she has herserious moments, my friend. We have been like the sisters. Every path ofthe pine woods we walk together, arm in arm. We ride miles on the beachand sit down on the rocks for hours and try to think what the sealssay one to the other. Before you come I have friends, but no othercompanion; but it is good for me you come, for she think only offlirting since the Americans take Monterey. Mira! Look at her flash theeyes at Senor Russell. It is well he has the light heart like herself."

  Brotherton made no reply.

  "Give to me the guitar," she continued.

  Benicia handed her the instrument and Dona Eustaquia swept the chordsabsently for a moment then sang the song of the troubadour. Her richvoice was like the rush of the wind through the pines after the lighttrilling of a bird, and even Russell sat enraptured. As she sang thecolour came into her face, alight with the fire of youth. Her low noteswere voluptuous, her high notes rang with piercing sadness. As shefinished, a storm of applause came from Alvarado Street, which pulsedwith life but a few yards below them.

  "No American woman ever sang like that," said Brotherton. He rose andwalked to the end of the corridor. "But it is a part of Monterey."

  "Most enchanting of mothers-in-law," said Russell, "you have made itdoubly hard for us to leave you; but it grows late and my wife and Imust go. Good night," and he raised her hand to his lips.

  "Good night, my son."

  "Mamacita, good night," and Benicia, who had fluttered into the houseand found a reboso, kissed her mother, waved her hand to Brotherton, andstepped from the corridor to the street.

  "Come here, senorita!" cried her mother. "No walk to-night, for I havenot the wish to walk myself."

  "But I go with my husband, mamma."

  "Oh, no more of that joke without sense! Senor Russell, go home, thatshe have reason for one moment."

  "But, dear Dona Eustaquia, won't you understand that we are reallymarried?"

  Dona Eustaquia's patience was at an end. She turned to Brotherton andaddressed a remark to him. Russell and Benicia conferred a moment, thenthe young man walked rapidly down the street.

  "Has he gone?" asked Dona Eustaquia. "Then let us go in the house, forthe fog comes from the bay."

  They went into the little sala and sat about the table. Dona Eustaquiapicked up a silver dagger she used as a paper cutter and tapped a bookwith it.

  "Ay, this will not last long," she said to Brotherton. "I much am afraidyour Commodore send you to the South to fight with our men."

  "I shall return," said Brotherton, absently. His eyes were fixed on thedoor.

  "But it will not be long that you will be there, my friend. Many peopleare not killed in our wars. Once there was a great battle at PointRincon, near Santa Barbara, between Castro and Carillo. Carillo havebeen appointed governor by Mejico, and Alvarado refuse to resign. Theyfight for three days, and Castro manage so well he lose only one man,and the others run away and not lose any."

  Brotherton laughed. "I hope all our battles may be as bloodless," hesaid, and then drew a short breath.

  Russell, accompanied by Don Jorje and Dona Francesca Hernandez and thepriest of Monterey, entered the room.

  Dona Eustaquia rose and greeted her guests with grace and hospitality.

  "But I am glad to see you, my father, my friends. And you always arewelcome, Senor Russell; but no more joke. Where is our Blandina? Sitdown--Why, what is it?"

  The priest spoke.

  "I have that to tell you, Dona Eustaquia, which I fear will give yougreat displeasure. I hoped not to be the one to tell it. I was we
ak toconsent, but these young people importuned me until I was weary. DonaEustaquia, I married Benicia to the Senor Russell to-day."

  Dona Eustaquia's head had moved forward mechanically, her eyes staringincredulously from the priest to the other members of the apprehensivegroup. Suddenly her apathy left her, her arm curved upward like the neckof a snake; but as she sprang upon Benicia her ferocity was that of atiger.

  "What!" she shrieked, shaking the girl violently by the shoulder. "What!ingrate! traitor! Thou hast married an American, a Protestant!"

  Benicia burst into terrified sobs. Russell swung the girl from hermother's grasp and placed his arm around her.

  "She is mine now," he said. "You must not touch her again."

  "Yours! Yours!" screamed Dona Eustaquia, beside herself. "Oh, Mother ofGod!" She snatched the dagger from the table and, springing backward,plunged it into the cross.

  "By that sign I curse thee," she cried. "Accursed be the man who hasstolen my child! Accursed be the woman who has betrayed her mother andher country! God! God!--I implore thee, let her die in her happiesthour."

  XII

  On August twelfth Commodore Hull arrived on the frigate _Warren_, fromMazatlan, and brought the first positive intelligence of the declarationof war between Mexico and the United States. Before the middle ofthe month news came that Castro and Pico, after gallant defence, butoverwhelmed by numbers, had fled, the one to Sonora, the other to BajaCalifornia. A few days after, Stockton issued a proclamation to theeffect that the flag of the United States was flying over every townin the territory of California; and Alcalde Colton announced that therancheros were more than satisfied with the change of government.

  A month later a mounted courier dashed into Monterey with a note fromthe Alcalde of Los Angeles, wrapped about a cigarito and hidden in hishair. The note contained the information that all the South was inarms again, and that Los Angeles was in the hands of the Californians.Russell was ordered to go with Captain Mervine, on the _Savannah_,to join Gillespie at San Pedro; Brotherton was left at Monterey withLieutenant Maddox and a number of men to quell a threatened uprising.Later came the news of Mervine's defeat and the night of Talbot fromSanta Barbara; and by November California was in a state of generalwarfare, each army receiving new recruits every day.

  Dona Eustaquia, hard and stern, praying for the triumph of her people,lived alone in the old house. Benicia, praying for the return of herhusband and the relenting of her mother, lived alone in her little houseon the hill. Friends had interceded, but Dona Eustaquia had closed herears. Brotherton went to her one day with the news that LieutenantRussell was wounded.

  "I must tell Benicia," he said, "but it is you who should do that."

  "She betray me, my friend."

  "Oh, Eustaquia, make allowance for the lightness of youth. She barelyrealized what she did. But she loves him now, and suffers bitterly. Sheshould be with you."

  "Ay! She suffer for another! She love a strange man--an American--betterthan her mother! And it is I who would die for her! Ay, you coldAmericans! Never you know how a mother can love her child."

  "The Americans know how to love, senora. And Benicia was thoroughlyspoiled by her devoted mother. She was carried away by her wild spirits,nothing more."

  "Then much better she live on them now."

  Dona Eustaquia sat with her profile against the light. It looked severeand a little older, but she was very handsome in her rich black gown andthe gold chain about her strong throat. Her head, as usual, was held alittle back. Brotherton sat down beside her and took her hand.

  "Eustaquia," he said, "no friendship between man and woman was everdeeper and stronger than ours. In spite of the anxiety and excitement ofthese last months we have found time to know each other very intimately.So you will forgive me if I tell you that the more a friend loves youthe more he must be saddened by the terrible iron in your nature. Onlythe great strength of your passions has saved you from hardening into anugly and repellent woman. You are a mother; forgive your child; rememberthat she, too, is about to be a mother--"

  She caught his hand between both of hers with a passionate gesture. "Oh,my friend," she said, "do not too much reproach me! You never have achild, you cannot know! And remember we all are not make alike. If youare me, you act like myself. If I am you, I can forgive more easy. ButI am Eustaquia Ortega, and as I am make, so I do feel now. No judge toohard, my friend, and--_infelez de mi!_ do not forsake me."

  "I will never forsake you, Eustaquia." He rose suddenly. "I, too, am alonely man, if not a hard one, and I recognize that cry of the soul'sisolation."

  He left her and went up the hill to Benicia's little house, half hiddenby the cypress trees that grew before it.

  She was sitting in her sala working an elaborate deshalados on a baby'sgown. Her face was pale, and the sparkle had gone out of it; but sheheld herself with all her mother's pride, and her soft eyes were deeper.She rose as Captain Brotherton entered, and took his hand in both ofhers. "You are so good to come to me, and I love you for your friendshipfor my mother. Tell me how she is."

  "She is well, Benicia." Then he exclaimed suddenly: "Poor little girl!What a child you are--not yet seventeen."

  "In a few months, senor. Sit down. No? And I no am so young now. When wesuffer we grow more than by the years; and now I go to have the baby,that make me feel very old."

  "But it is very sad to see you alone like this, without your husband oryour mother. She will relent some day, Benicia, but I wish she would doit now, when you most need her."

  "Yes, I wish I am with her in the old house," said the girl,pathetically, although she winked back the tears. "Never I can be happywithout her, even si _he_ is here, and you know how I love him. But Ihave love her so long; she is--how you say it?--like she is part of me,and when she no spik to me, how I can be happy with all myself when partis gone. You understand, senor?"

  "Yes, Benicia, I understand." He looked through the bending cypresses,down the hill, upon the fair town. He had no relish for the task whichhad brought him to her. She looked up and caught the expression of hisface.

  "Senor!" she cried sharply. "What you go to tell me?"

  "There is a report that Ned is slightly wounded; but it is not serious.It was Altimira who did it, I believe."

  She shook from head to foot, but was calmer than he had expected. Shelaid the gown on a chair and stood up. "Take me to him. Si he is wound,I go to nurse him."

  "My child! You would die before you got there. I have sent a specialcourier to find out the truth. If Ned is wounded, I have arranged tohave him sent home immediately."

  "I wait for the courier come back, for it no is right I hurt the baby siI can help. But si he is wound so bad he no can come, then I go to him.It no is use for you to talk at all, senor, I go."

  Brotherton looked at her in wonderment. Whence had the butterfly gone?Its wings had been struck from it and a soul had flown in.

  "Let me send Blandina to you," he said. "You must not be alone."

  "I am alone till he or my mother come. I no want other. I love Blandinabefore, but now she make me feel tired. She talk so much and no sayanything. I like better be alone."

  "Poor child!" said Brotherton, bitterly, "truly do love and sufferingage and isolate." He motioned with his hand to the altar in her bedroom,seen through the open door. "I have not your faith, I am afraid I havenot much of any; but if I cannot pray for you, I can wish with all thestrength of a man's heart that happiness will come to you yet, Benicia."

  She shook her head. "I no know; I no believe much happiness come inthis life. Before, I am like a fairy; but it is only because I no am_un_happy. But when the heart have wake up, senor, and the knife havegone in hard, then, after that, always, I think, we are a little sad."

  XIII

  General Kearney and Lieutenant Beale walked rapidly up and down beforethe tents of the wretched remnant of United States troops with which theformer had arrived overland in California. It was bitterly cold in spiteof the fine drizzling rain
. Lonely buttes studded the desert, whosepalms and cacti seemed to spring from the rocks; high on one of them wasthe American camp. On the other side of a river flowing at the foot ofthe butte, the white tents of the Californians were scattered among thedark huts of the little pueblo of San Pasqual.

  "Let me implore you, General," said Beale, "not to think of meetingAndres Pico. Why, your men are half starved; your few horses arebroken-winded; your mules are no match for the fresh trained mustangs ofthe enemy. I am afraid you do not appreciate the Californians. They arenumerous, brave, and desperate. If you avoid them now, as CommodoreStockton wishes, and join him at San Diego, we stand a fair chanceof defeating them. But now Pico's cavalry and foot are fresh andenthusiastic--in painful contrast to yours. And, moreover, they knowevery inch of the ground."

  Kearney impatiently knocked the ashes out of his pipe. He had littleregard for Stockton, and no intention of being dictated to by atruculent young lieutenant who spoke his mind upon all occasions.

  "I shall attack them at daybreak," he said curtly. "I have one hundredand thirty good men; and has not Captain Gillespie joined me with hisbattalion? Never shall it be said that I turned aside to avoid a handfulof boasting Californians. Now go and get an hour's sleep before westart."

  The young officer shrugged his shoulders, saluted, and walked downthe line of tents. A man emerged from one of them, and he recognizedRussell.

  "Hello, Ned," he said. "How's the arm?"

  "'Twas only a scratch. Is Altimira down there with Pico, do you know? Heis a brave fellow! I respect that man; but we have an account to settle,and I hope it will be done on the battle-field."

  "He is with Pico, and he has done some good fighting. Most of theCalifornians have. They know how to fight and they are perfectlyfearless. Kearney will find it out to-morrow. He is mad to attack them.Why, his men are actually cadaverous. Bueno! as they say here; Stocktonsent me to guide him to San Diego. If he prefers to go through theenemy's lines, there is nothing for me to do but take him."

  "Yes, but we may surprise them. I wish to God this imitation war wereover!"

  "It will be real enough before you get through. Don't worry. Well, goodnight. Luck to your skin."

  At daybreak the little army marched down the butte, shivering with cold,wet to the skin. Those on horseback naturally proceeded more rapidlythan those mounted upon the clumsy stubborn mules; and Captain Johnson,who led the advance guard of twelve dragoons, found himself, when hecame in sight of the enemy's camp, some distance ahead of the main bodyof Kearney's small army. To his surprise he saw that the Californianswere not only awake, but horsed and apparently awaiting him. Whether hewas fired by valour or desperation at the sight is a disputed point;but he made a sudden dash down the hill and across the river, almostflinging himself upon the lances of the Californians.

  Captain Moore, who was ambling down the hill on an old white horse atthe head of fifty dragoons mounted on mules, spurred his beast as hewitnessed the foolish charge of the advance, and arrived upon the fieldin time to see Johnson fall dead and to take his place. Pico, seeingthat reenforcements were coming, began to retreat, followed hotly byMoore and the horsed dragoons. Suddenly, however, Fernando Altimiraraised himself in his stirrups, looked back, laughed and galloped acrossthe field to General Pico.

  "Look!" he said. "Only a few men on horses are after us. The mules arestumbling half a mile behind."

  Pico wheeled about, gave the word of command, and bore down upon theAmericans. Then followed a hand-to-hand conflict, the Californianslancing and using their pistols with great dexterity, the Americansdoing the best they could with their rusty sabres and clubbed guns.

  They were soon reenforced by Moore's dragoons and Gillespie's battalion,despite the unwilling mules; but the brutes kicked and bucked at everypistol shot and fresh cloud of smoke. The poor old horses wheezed andpanted, but stood their ground when not flung out of position by thefrantic mules. The officers and soldiers of the United States army werea sorry sight, and in pointed contrast to the graceful Californians ontheir groomed steeds, handsomely trapped, curvetting and rearing andprancing as lightly as if on the floor of a circus. Kearney cursed hisown stupidity, and Pico laughed in his face. Beale felt satisfaction andcompunction in saturating the silk and silver of one fine saddle withthe blood of its owner. The point of the dying man's lance pierced hisface, but he noted the bleaching of Kearney's, as one dragoon afteranother was flung upon the sharp rocks over which his bewildered brutestumbled, or was caught and held aloft in the torturing arms of thecacti.

  On the edge of the battle two men had forgotten the Aztec Eagle and theStars and Stripes; they fought for love of a woman. Neither had had timeto draw his pistol; they fought with lance and sabre, thrusting andparrying. Both were skilful swordsmen, but Altimira's horse was farsuperior to Russell's, and he had the advantage of weapons.

  "One or the other die on the rocks," said the Californian, "and si Ikill you, I marry Benicia."

  Russell made no reply. He struck aside the man's lance and wounded hiswrist. But Altimira was too excited to feel pain. His face was quiveringwith passion.

  It is not easy to parry a lance with a sabre, and still more difficultto get close enough to wound the man who wields it. Russell rosesuddenly in his stirrups, described a rapid half-circle with his weapon,brought it down midway upon the longer blade, and snapped the latter intwo. Altimira gave a cry of rage, and spurring his horse sought to ridehis opponent down; but Russell wheeled, and the two men simultaneouslysnatched their pistols from the holsters. Altimira fired first, but hishand was unsteady and his ball went through a cactus. Russell raisedhis pistol with firm wrist, and discharged it full in the face of theCalifornian.

  Then he looked over the field. Moore, fatally lanced, lay under a palm,and many of his men were about him. Gillespie was wounded, Kearney hadreceived an ugly thrust. The Californians, upon the arrival of the mainbody of the enemy's troops, had retreated unpursued; the mules attachedto one of the American howitzers were scampering over to the oppositeranks, much to the consternation of Kearney. The sun, looking over themountain, dissipated the gray smoke, and cast a theatrical light on thefaces of the dead. Russell bent over Altimira. His head was shattered,but his death was avenged. Never had an American troop suffered a morehumiliating defeat. Only six Californians lay on the field; and whenthe American surgeon, after attending to his own wounded, offered hisservices to Pico's, that indomitable general haughtily replied that hehad none.

  "By Jove!" said Russell to Beale that night, "you know yourCalifornians! I am prouder than ever of having married one! That army isof the stuff of which my mother-in-law is made!"

  XIV

  That was a gay Christmas at Monterey, despite the barricades in thestreet. News had come of the defeat of Kearney at San Pasqual, and theMonterenos, inflated with hope and pride, gave little thought to thefact that his forces were now joined with Stockton's at San Diego.

  On Christmas eve light streamed from every window, bonfires flared onthe hills; the streets were illuminated, and every one was abroad. Theclear warm night was ablaze with fireworks; men and women were in theirgala gowns; rockets shot upward amidst shrieks of delight which mingledoddly with the rolling of drums at muster; even the children caught theenthusiasm, religious and patriotic.

  "I suppose you would be glad to see even your friends driven out," saidBrotherton to Dona Eustaquia, as they walked through the brilliant towntoward the church: bells called them to witness the dramatic play of"The Shepherds."

  "I be glad to see the impertinent flag come down," said she, frankly;"but you can make resignation from the army, and have a little store onAlvarado Street. You can have beautiful silks and crepes from America. Ibuy of you."

  "Thanks," he said grimly. "You would put a dunce cap on poor America,and stand her in a corner. If I resign, Dona Eustaquia, it will be tobecome a ranchero, not a shopkeeper. To tell the truth, I have littledesire to leave California again."

  "But you were make for the fight,"
she said, looking up with some prideat the tall military figure, the erect head and strong features. "Younot were make to lie in the hammock and horseback all day."

  "But I should do a good deal else, senora. I should raise cattle withsome method; and I should have a library--and a wife."

  "Ah! you go to marry?"

  "Some day, I hope. It would be lonely to be a ranchero without a wife."

  "Truly."

  "What is the matter with those women?"

  A group of old women stood by the roadside. Their forms were bent, theirbrown faces gnarled like apples. Some were a shapeless mass of fat,others were parchment and bone; about the head and shoulders of each wasa thick black shawl. Near them stood a number of young girls clad inmuslin petticoats, flowered with purple and scarlet. Bright satin shoeswere on their feet, cotton rebosas covered their pretty, pert littleheads. All were looking in one direction, whispering and crossingthemselves.

  Dona Eustaquia glanced over her shoulder, then leaned heavily onBrotherton's arm.

  "It is Benicia," she said. "It is because she was cursed and is withchild that they cross themselves."

  Brotherton held her arm closely and laid his hand on hers, but he spokesternly.

  "The curse is not likely to do her any harm. You prayed that she shoulddie when happiest, and you have done your best to make her wretched."

  She did not reply, and they walked slowly onward. Benicia followed,leaning on the arm of an Indian servant. Her friends avoided her, forthey bitterly resented Altimira's death. But she gave them littleregret. Since her husband could not be with her on this Christmas eve,she wished only for reconciliation with her mother. In spite of thecrowd she followed close behind Dona Eustaquia and Brotherton, holdingher head proudly, but ready to fall at the feet of the woman sheworshipped.

  "My friend," said Dona Eustaquia, after a moment, "perhaps it is bestthat I do not forgive her. Were she happy, then might the curse cometrue."

  "She has enough else to make her unhappy. Besides, who ever heard ofa curse coming true? It has worked its will already for the matter ofthat. You kept your child from happiness with her husband during thebrief time she had him. The bitterness of death is a small matter besidethe bitterness of life. You should be satisfied."

  "You are hard, my friend."

  "I see your other faults only to respect and love them."

  "Does she look ill, Captain?"

  "She cannot be expected to look like the old Benicia. Of course shelooks ill, and needs care."

  "Look over the shoulder. Does she walk heavily?"

  "Very. But as haughtily as do you."

  "Talk of other things for a little while, my friend."

  "Truly there is much to claim the interest to-night. This may be an oldscene to you, but it is novel and fascinating to me. How lovely arethose stately girls, half hidden by their rebosas, telling their beadsas they hurry along. It is the very coquetry of religion. And those--Buthere we are."

  The church was handsomer without than within, for the clever oldpadres that built it had more taste than their successors. About thewhitewashed walls of the interior were poor copies of celebratedpaintings--the Passion of Christ, and an extraordinary group of nudewomen and grinning men representing the temptation of St. Anthony. In aglass case a beautiful figure of the Saviour reclined on a stiff couchclumsily covered with costly stuffs. The Virgin was dressed much likethe aristocratic ladies of Monterey, and the altar was a rainbow oftawdry colours.

  But the ceremonies were interesting, and Brotherton forgot Benicia forthe hour. After the mass the priest held out a small waxen image of theinfant Jesus, and all approached and kissed it. Then from without camethe sound of a guitar; the worshippers arose and ranged themselvesagainst the wall; six girls dressed as shepherdesses; a man representingLucifer; two others, a hermit and the lazy vagabond Bartola; a boy, thearchangel Gabriel, entered the church. They bore banners and marchedto the centre of the building, then acted their drama with religiousfervour.

  The play began with the announcement by Gabriel of the birth of theSaviour, and exhortations to repair to the manger. On the road camethe temptation of Lucifer; the archangel appeared once more; a violentaltercation ensued in which all took part, and finally the prince ofdarkness was routed. Songs and fanciful by-play, brief sermons, music,gay and solemn, diversified the strange performance. When all was over,the players were followed by an admiring crowd to the entertainmentawaiting them.

  "Is it not beautiful--our Los Pastores?" demanded Dona Eustaquia,looking up at Brotherton, her fine face aglow with enthusiasm. "Do notyou feel the desire to be a Catholic, my friend?"

  "Rather would I see two good Catholics united, dear senora," and heturned suddenly to Benicia, who also had remained in the church, almostat her mother's side.

  "Mamacita!" cried Benicia.

  Dona Eustaquia opened her arms and caught the girl passionately to herheart; and Brotherton left the church.

  XV

  The April flowers were on the hills. Beds of gold-red poppies andsilver-blue baby eyes were set like tiles amidst the dense greenundergrowth beneath the pines, and on the natural lawns about the whitehouses. Although hope of driving forth the intruder had gone forever inJanuary, Monterey had resumed in part her old gayety; despair had bredphilosophy. But Monterey was Monterey no longer. An American alcaldewith a power vested in no judge of the United States ruled over her; toadd injury to insult, he had started a newspaper. The town was full ofAmericans; the United States was constructing a fort on the hill; aboveall, worse than all, the Californians were learning the value of money.Their sun was sloping to the west.

  A thick India shawl hung over the window of Benicia's old room in hermother's house, shutting out the perfume of the hills. A carpet had beenthrown on the floor, candles burned in the pretty gold candlesticks thathad stood on the altar since Benicia's childhood. On the little brassbedstead lay Benicia, very pale and very pretty, her transparent skinfaintly reflecting the pink of the satin coverlet. By the bed sat an oldwoman of the people. Her ragged white locks were bound about by a filletof black silk; her face, dark as burnt umber, was seamed and lined likea withered prune; even her long broad nose was wrinkled; her dull eyeslooked like mud-puddles; her big underlip was pursed up as if she hadbeen speaking mincing words, and her chin was covered with a short whitestubble. Over her coarse smock and gown she wore a black cotton reboso.In her arms she held an infant, muffled in a white lace mantilla.

  Dona Eustaquia came in and bent over the baby, her strong face alightwith joy.

  "Didst thou ever nurse so beautiful a baby?" she demanded.

  The old woman grunted; she had heard that question before.

  "See how pink and smooth it is--not red and wrinkled like other babies!How becoming is that mantilla! No, she shall not be wrapped in blankets,cap, and shawls."

  "She catch cold, most likely," grunted the nurse.

  "In this weather? No; it is soft as midsummer. I cannot get cool. Ay,she looks like a rosebud lying in a fog-bank!" She touched the baby'scheek with her finger, then sat on the bed, beside her daughter."And how dost thou feel, my little one? Thou wert a baby thyself butyesterday, and thou art not much more to-day."

  "I feel perfectly well, my mother, and--ay, Dios, so happy! Where isEdourdo?"

  "Of course! Always the husband! They are all alike! Hast thou not thymother and thy baby?"

  "I adore you both, mamacita, but I want Edourdo. Where is he?"

  Her mother grimaced. "I suppose it is no use to protest. Well, my littleone, I think he is at this moment on the hill with Lieutenant Ord."

  "Why did he not come to see me before he went out?"

  "He did, my daughter, but thou wert asleep. He kissed thee and stoleaway."

  "Where?"

  "Right there on your cheek, one inch below your eyelashes."

  "When will he return?"

  "Holy Mary! For dinner, surely, and that will be in an hour."

  "When can I get up?"

&nbs
p; "In another week. Thou art so well! I would not have thee draw tooheavily on thy little strength. Another month and thou wilt not rememberthat thou hast been ill. Then we will go to the rancho, where thou andthy little one will have sun all day and no fog."

  "Have I not a good husband, mamacita?"

  "Yes; I love him like my own son. Had he been unkind to thee, I shouldhave killed him with my own hands; but as he has his lips to thy littleslipper, I forgive him for being an American."

  "And you no longer wish for a necklace of American ears! Oh, mamma!"

  Dona Eustaquia frowned, then sighed. "I do not know the American headfor which I have not more like than hate, and they are welcome to theirears; but _the spirit_ of that wish is in my heart yet, my child. Ourcountry has been taken from us; we are aliens in our own land; it is theAmerican's. They--holy God!--permit us to live here!"

  "But they like us better than their own women."

  "Perhaps; they are men and like what they have not had too long."

  "Mamacita, I am thirsty."

  "What wilt thou have? A glass of water?"

  "Water has no taste."

  "I know!"

  Dona Eustaquia left the room and returned with an orange. "This will becool and pleasant on so warm a day. It is just a little sour," she said;but the nurse raised her bony hand.

  "Do not give her that," she said in her harsh voice. "It is too soon."

  "Nonsense! The baby is two weeks old. Why, I ate fruit a week afterchilding. Look how dry her mouth is! It will do her good."

  She pared the orange and gave it to Benicia, who ate it gratefully.

  "It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me always, but that is becauseyou are so good. And one day I hope you will be as happy as your littledaughter; for there are other good Americans in the world. No? mamma. Ithink--Mamacita!"

  She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curving rigidly; her softbrown eyes stared horribly; froth gathered about her mouth; she gaspedonce or twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms that strove tohold it, then fell limply down, her features relaxing.

  "She is dead," said the nurse.

  "Benicia!" whispered Dona Eustaquia. "Benicia!"

  "You have killed her," said the old woman, as she drew the mantillaabout the baby's face.

  Dona Eustaquia dropped the body and moved backward from the bed. Sheput out her hands and went gropingly from the room to her own, and fromthence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to meet her.

  "Eustaquia!" he cried. "My friend! _My dear_! What has happened? What--"

  She raised her hand and pointed to the cross. The mark of the dagger wasstill there.

  "Benicia!" she uttered. "The curse!" and then she fell at his feet.