The Little Lady of Lagunitas | Page 3

board.
Picos, Peraltas, Sanchez, Pachecos, Guerreros, Estudillos, Vallejos,
Alvarados, De la Guerras, Castros, Micheltorrenas, the descendants of
"Conquistadores," drink to Mexico. High rises the jovial chatter. Good
aguadiente and mission wine warm the hearts of the fiery Californian
orators. A proud day for Monterey, the capital of a future Empire of
Gold. The stranger is cast out. Gay caballeros are wending to the
bear-baiting, the bull-fights, the "baile," and the rural feasts. Splendid
riders prance along, artfully forcing their wild steeds into bounds and
curvets with the rowels of their huge silver-mounted spurs.
Dark lissome girls raise their velvety eyes and applaud this daring
horsemanship. Se¤ioritas Luisa, Isabel, and Panchita lose no point of

the display. In a land without carriages or roads, the appearance of the
cavalier, his mount, his trappings, most do make the man shine before
these fair slips of Mexican blue blood.
Down on the beach, the boys race their half-broken broncos. These lads
are as lithe and lean as the ponies they bestride. Across the bay, the
Sierras of Santa Cruz lift their virgin crests (plumed with giant
redwoods) to the brightest skies on earth. Flashing brooks wander to
the sea unvexed by mill, unbridged in Nature's unviolated freedom. Far
to north and south the foot-hills stand shining with their golden coats of
wild oats, a memorial of the seeds cast over these fruitful mesas by
Governor Caspar de Portala. He left San Diego Mission in July, 1769,
with sixty-five retainers, and first reached the Golden Gate.
Beyond the Coast Range lies a "terra incognita." A few soldiers only
have traversed the Sacramento and San Joaquin. They wandered into
the vales of Napa and Sonoma, fancying them a fairyland.
The sparkling waters of the American, the Sacramento, the Yuba,
Feather, and Bear rivers are dancing silently over rift and ripple. There
precious nuggets await the frenzied seekers for wealth. There are no
gold-hunters yet in the gorges of these crystal streams. Down in
Nature's laboratory, radiated golden veins creep along between feathery
rifts of virgin quartz. They are the treasures of the careless gnomes.
Not till years later will Marshall pick up the first nugget of gleaming
gold in Sutter's mill-race at Coloma. The "auri sacra fames" will bring
thousands from the four quarters of the earth to sweep away "the last of
the Dons."
A lovely land to-day. No axe rings in its forests. No steamboat threads
the rivers. Not an engine is harnessed to man's use in this silent, lazy
realm. The heart of the Sierras is inviolate. The word "Gold" must be
whispered to break the charm.
The sun climbs to noon, then slowly sinks to the west. It dips into the
silent sea, mirroring sparkling evening stars.

Stretching to Japan, the Pacific is the mysterious World's End.
Along the brown coast, the sea otter, clad in kingly robes, sports shyly
in the kelp fields. The fur seals stream by unchased to their misty home
in the Pribyloffs. Barking sea-lions clamber around the jutting rocks.
Lazy whales roll on the quiet waters of the bay, their track an oily
wake.
It is the land of siesta, of undreamed dreams, of brooding slumber.
The barbaric diversions of the day are done. The firing squad leave the
guns. The twang of guitar and screech of violin open the fandango.
The young cavaliers desert the streets. Bibulous dignitaries sit in
council around Governor Alvarado's table. Mexican cigars, wine in old
silver flagons (fashioned by the deft workers of Chihuahua and
Durango), and carafes of aguadiente, garnish the board.
The mahogany table (a mark of official grandeur), transported from
Acapulco, is occupied (below the salt) by the young officers.
Horse-racing, cock-fighting, and gambling on the combat of bear and
bull, have not exhausted their passions. Public monte and faro leave
them a few "doubloons" yet. Seated with piles of Mexican dollars
before them, the young heroes enjoy a "lay-out." All their coin comes
from Mexico. Hundreds of millions, in unminted gold and silver, lie
under their careless feet, yet their "pieces of eight" date back to
Robinson Crusoe! This is the land of "manana!" Had Hernando Cortez
not found the treasures of Mexico, he might have fought his way north,
over the Gila Desert, to the golden hoards of the sprites of the Sierras.
At the banquet fiery Alvarado counselled with General Vallejo.
Flushed with victory, Captain Miguel was the lion of this feast. He
chatted with his compadres.
The seniors talked over the expulsion of the strangers.
Cool advisers feared trouble from France, England, or the United States.
Alvarado's instinct told him that foreigners would gain a mastery over

the Dons, if permitted to enter in numbers. Texas was an irresistible
warning. "Senores," said Alvarado, "the Russians came in 1812. Only a
few, with their Kodiak Indians, settled