The Little Lady of Lagunitas | Page 4

at Bodega. Look at them now!
They control beautiful Bodega! They are 800 souls! True, they say they
are going, but only our posts at San Rafael and Sonoma checked them.
A fear of your sword, General!" Alvarado drank to Vallejo.
Vallejo bowed to his Governor. "Senor," said he, "you are right. I have
seen Mexico. I have been a scholar, as well as a soldier. I knew Von
Resanoff's Russian slyness. My father was at the Presidio in 1807,
when he obtained rights for a few fur hunters. Poor fellow! he never
lived to claim his bride, but he was a diplomat."
"Foreigners will finally outroot us. Here is Sutter, building his fort on
the Sacramento! He's a good fellow, yet I'll have to burn New Helvetia
about his ears some day. Russian or Swiss, French or Yankee, it's all
the same. The 'Gringo' is the worst of all. Poor Conception de Arguello.
She waited long for her dead Russian lover."
"General, do you think the Yankees can ever attack us by land?" said
Alvarado.
"Madre de Dios! No!" cried Vallejo, "we will drag them at our horses'
tails!"
"Then, I have no fear of them," said Alvarado. "We occupy San Diego,
Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San Francisco, the missions of San Juan
Capistrano, Los Angeles, San Luis Obispo and Santa Clara, and help to
control the Indians, but these home troubles have stopped their useful
growth."
Governor Alvarado sighed. Governor Hijar in 1834 had desecularized
the Catholic missions. Their cattle were stolen, their harvests and
vineyards destroyed. The converts were driven off to seek new homes
among the Utes, Yubas, Feather River, Napa, and Mohave tribes.
Pious Alvarado crossed himself. He glanced uneasily at Padre
Castillo,--at the board. Only one or two priests were left at the beautiful

settlements clustering around the old mission churches. To-day these
are the only architectural ornaments of Alta California.
"I doubt the wisdom of breaking up the missions," said Alvarado, with
gloomy brow. A skeleton was at this feast. The troubled Governor
could not see the handwriting on the wall. He felt California was a
priceless jewel to Mexico. He feared imprudent measures. Lying
dormant, California slept since Cabrillo saw Cape Mendocino in 1542.
After he turned his shattered prows back to Acapulco on June 27, 1543,
it was only on November 10, 1602, that ambitious Viscaino raised the
Spanish ensign at San Diego. He boldly claimed this golden land for
Spain. Since that furtive visit, the lonely coast lay unsettled. It was only
used as a haunt by wild pirates, lurking to attack the precious
Philippine galleons sailing to Acapulco. For one hundred and
sixty-eight years the land was unvisited. Spanish greed and iron rule
satisfied itself with grinding the Mexicans and turning southward in the
steps of Balboa and Pizarro.
Viscaino's neglected maps rotted in Madrid for two centuries. Fifty-five
years of Spanish rule left California undeveloped, save by the gentle
padres who, aided by their escort, brought in the domestic animals.
They planted fruit-trees, grains, and the grape. They taught the peaceful
Indians agriculture. Flax, hemp, and cotton supplanted the skins of
animals.
Alvarado and Vallejo remembered the Spanish war in 1822. At this
banquet of victory, neither thought that, a few years later, the rule of
the Dons would be over; that their familiar places would know them no
more. Just retribution of fate! The Dons drove out the friars, and recked
not their own day was close at hand.
As the exultant victors stood drinking the toast of the day, "Muerte los
estrangeros," neither crafty statesman, sly priest, fiery general, wise old
Don, nor reckless caballero, could predict that the foreigners would
return in two years. That they would come under protection of the
conquering British flag.
Alvarado was excited by his feuds with Micheltorrena. The people

were divided into clericals and anti-clericals. A time of "storm and
stress" hung over all.
Wise in victory was Captain Miguel Peralta. His campaign against the
foreigners marked the close of his service. Born in 1798, his family
were lords of broad lands on the Alamedas of San Francisco Bay. He
was sent to the city of Mexico and educated, serving in the army of the
young republic. Returning to Alta California, he became a soldier.
Often had he sallied out to drive the warlike Indian toward the
Sacramento. In watching his mustangs and cattle, he rode far to the
slopes of the Sierra Nevadas. Their summits glittered under the blue
skies, crowned with silvery snows, unprofaned by the foot of man.
A sturdy caballero, courtly and sagacious. His forty-two years
admonished him now to settle in life. When Alvarado was in cheeriest
mood, at the feast, the Captain reminded him of his promise to release
him. This would allow Peralta to