"Yes, even in those days the Yankee skippers, who occasionally did a
little secret trading with the padres, told such marvelous stories of
Boston that the Spaniards thought it must be a nation instead of a
little town. In fact, the United States does not seem to have been
considered of much importance by Spain, for when the American ship
'Columbia' was expected to touch on this coast it was referred to as
'General Washington's vessel.'"
"Go on with your boat story," a smile played about the corners of his
mouth. "What became of the craft?"
"The Governor ordered it sent to Monterey and commanded Argüello to
appear before him. The Comandante was surprised to have his work thus
suddenly interrupted but hastened to obey orders. On the way his horse
stumbled and fell, injuring his rider's leg so seriously that when
Argüello reached Monterey, he was hardly able to stand. Without stopping
to have his injury dressed, he limped into the Governor's presence,
supporting himself on his sword.
"'How dared you build a launch and repair your Presidio without my
permission?' exclaimed the exasperated Governor.
"'Because I and my soldiers were living in hovels, and we were capable
of bettering our condition,' was the reply.
"Governor Sola, not noted for his genial temper, raised his cane with
the evident intention of using it, when he noticed that the young
Comandante had drawn himself erect and was handling the hilt of his
naked sword.
"'Why did you do that?' the Governor demanded.
"'Because I was tired of my former position, and also because I do not
intend to be beaten without resistance,' Argüello answered.
"For a moment the Governor was taken back, then he held out his hand.
'This is the bearing of a soldier and worthy of a man of honor,' he
said. 'Blows are only for cowards who deserve them.'
"Argüello took the outstretched hand and from this time he and the
Governor were close friends. But the boat proved so useful at Monterey,
that it was never returned."
The Jeweled Tower of the Exposition came into view. "So it is to be the
three months' old World's Fair, after all, instead of the home of the
first Mexican Governor of California?"
But I did not rise. "The Presidio is just beyond," I explained. Then
seeing him glancing admiringly at the green domes: "Perhaps you would
rather--"
"No," he answered me, "I'm an antiquary and I want to see the old adobe
house."
Leaving the car at the Presidio entrance, we passed down the shaded
driveway and along the winding path that led to the old parade ground.
"This military reservation covers about the same ground as the old
Spanish Presidio," I explained. "At that time, however, it was a sweep
of tawny sand-dunes, for the Spaniards had neither the ability nor the
money to beautify the place. After it came into possession of the
Americans, lupins were scattered broadcast as a first means of
cultivation and for a time the undulating hills were veiled in blue.
Later, groves of pine and eucalyptus trees together with grass and
flowers were planted, until now it may be regarded as one of the parks
of San Francisco. This was the original plaza of the old Spanish
Presidio," I continued, as we emerged onto the quadrangle, "and it was
then lined with houses as it is today, only at that time they were crude
adobe structures. Surrounding these was a wall fourteen feet high, made
of huge upright and horizontal saplings plastered with mud, and as a
further means of protection, a wide ditch was dug on the outside. Here
Luis Argüello was Comandante for twenty-three years."
Our eyes wandered over the substantial structures with their
well-trimmed gardens and rested on a low rambling building opposite,
protected from the gaze of the curious by an old palm and guarded by a
quaint Spanish cannon. The building's simple outlines, even at a
distance, bespoke it as of a different generation from its more
aggressive neighbors, even though its red-tiled roof had been replaced
by sombre brown shingles, and its crumbling walls replastered. We
crossed over the parade ground, and peering within, found that the
building had been converted into an officers' club house.
"Did you see the bronze tablet on the front?" I demanded.
"Yes," he admitted rather sheepishly, turning to examine the deep window
embrasure that showed the width of the walls.
"There's an atmosphere of romance about the old place--"
"And well there may be," I broke in, "for it was here that Rafaela Sal
came as a bride, and that Rezánov met Luis Argüello's beautiful sister,
Concepcion, and a love story began which may well take place with that
of Miles Standish and Priscilla."
"Rezánov," he repeated, searching his memory. "I recall that there was a
romance connected with his visit to San Francisco but the details have
escaped me. Please sit down on this bench and tell me the story just as
if I had never heard it before."
"More than a century ago there dwelt in this old adobe house a beautiful
maiden," I began. "Her father was Comandante of the Presidio, 'el
Santo,' the people termed him, because of his goodness. Concepcion, or
Concha, as she was affectionately called by her parents, was only
fifteen years old when our story begins--a tall, slender girl with
masses of fine black hair and the fair Castilian skin, inherited from
her mother. So lovely was she that many a caballero had already sung at
her grating, but she would listen to none of them. Her lover would come
from over the sea, she declared, someone who could tell her about the
wide outside world.
"'Then you will die unmarried,' said her mother, kissing the soft cheek,
'for travelers seldom come as far as San Francisco.'
"'A ship! a ship!' sounded a cry from the plaza. A vessel had been
sighted off Cantil Blanco, the first foreign ship seen since Vancouver's
visit fourteen years before.
"'It is the Russian expedition which Spain has ordered us to treat
courteously,' exclaimed Don Luis, bursting into the house, his face
aglow with excitement. 'Since father is in Monterey and I am acting
Comandante, I must receive these strangers,' he continued as he threw
his serape over his shoulders, his eyes flashing with his first taste of
command.
"'Be careful,' cautioned his mother, 'we have had no word from Europe
for nine months and the last packet boat from Mexico brought a rumor of
war with Russia.'
"But the foreign vessel had come only with friendly intentions. The
Russian Chamberlain Rezánov, in charge of the Czar's northwestern
possessions, had found a starving colony at Sitka and had brought a
cargo of goods to the more productive southland with the hope of
exchanging it for foodstuffs. To be sure, he knew the Spanish law
strictly forbidding trade with foreign vessels, but it seemed the only
means of saving his famishing people and he trusted much to his skill in
diplomacy.
"A few hours later, Concha, on the qui vive with excitement, saw her
brother approaching with a little company of men, among whom was a tall
well-built Russian officer, whose keen eyes seemed to take in every
detail of the little settlement.
"Don Luis conducted his guests to the old adobe building, draped in pink
Castilian roses, and into the cool sala, which, although provided with
slippery horse-hair chairs and plain whitewashed walls ornamented with
pictures of the Virgin and saints, was a pleasing contrast to the ship's
cabin. Here he presented his guests to his mother, a woman whose face
still reflected much of the beauty of her youth in spite of her cares
which had come in the rearing of her thirteen children. Beside her stood
Concepcion. Her long drooping lashes swept her cheeks, but when she
raised her eyes in greeting Rezánov saw that they were dark and joyous.
He was a widower of many years, a man of forty-two, who had given little
thought to women during his wandering life, but now he found himself
keenly alive to the charms of this radiant girl. Simple and artless in
her manners, yet possessing the early maturity of her race, she set her
guests at ease and entertained them with stories of life on the great
ranchos, while her mother was busy with household duties.
"It was ten days before Don José Argüello returned from Monterey and in
the meantime no business could be transacted. During these days Rezánov
saw much of Concepcion, for there was dancing every afternoon at the
home of the Comandante and frequent picnics into the neighboring woods.
It was not long before the Russian learned that Concepcion was not only
La Favorita of the Presidio, but also of all California, for although
born at San Francisco, she had spent much time in her childhood at Santa
Barbara, where her father had been Comandante. With a chain of missions
and ranchos extending from San Diego to San Francisco, there was much
interchange of hospitality, and Concha was a favorite guest at all
fiestas. So the dark eyed Spanish girl had danced her way into the heart
of many a youth as she was now doing into that of this powerful Russian.
"Often he would stand in the shadow of the deep window casement and
watch her lithe young figure bend in the graceful borego, occasionally
catching a glance from beneath the sweeping lashes that would send his
blood surging through his veins and make him almost forget the purpose
of his voyage. Sometimes he would draw her aside to talk of his hope
that the Spaniards would furnish him bread-stuffs for his starving
colony and he marveled at her keen insight into the affairs of state,
while his heart beat the quicker for her warm sympathy. Often their talk
would wander to other things and as she occasionally flashed a smile in
his direction, showing a row of pearly teeth, his blood tingled and he
thought that the flush on her cheek was not unlike the pink Castilian
rose that was nightly tucked in the soft coils of her shadowy hair. At
times he imagined her clad in rich satin, with a rope of pearls about
her delicate throat, and as he drew the picture he saw her as a star
among the ladies of the Russian court.
"When Don José Argüello returned, Rezánov asked him for the hand of his
daughter in marriage, but the Comandante indignantly refused. Although
liking the distinguished Russian for himself, he would not listen to
such--a proposal. Give his daughter to a foreigner and a heretic!
Never! It was not to be thought of for an instant. Concha must be sent
away. She must not see this Russian again! He would have her taken to
the home of his brother, who lived near the Mission, until the foreign
ship was out of the bay. While the father talked, the mother hurried to
the padres to beg the good priests to forbid such a union.
"But Concha was no longer the docile girl of a month ago. She was a
woman and her heart was in the keeping of this sturdy Russian. She would
have him or none, and nothing the padres or her parents could say would
change her. Don José had never crossed his daughter before, and now as
she flung her arms about his neck and begged for her happiness he
weakened. After all, this Russian was a splendid fellow, and perhaps it
might be an advantage to Spain, rather than a detriment to have an ally
at Petrograd. In the end the pleading of Concha and the arguments of
Rezánov won. Comandante Argüello yielded and the betrothal was
solemnized, but there were many obstacles before the marriage could be
consummated. The permission of the Czar of Russia and the King of Spain
must be obtained, and this would take time, as well as involve a long
and dangerous trip. But nothing could daunt the spirits of the lovers.
Concepcion's brother, Luis, had already waited six years for permission
to marry Rafaela Sal and if Rezánov traveled with haste he could return
in two. He must go first to Petrograd to ask the consent of the Czar and
then to the Court of Madrid to promote more friendly relations between
the two countries, finally returning to claim his bride, by way of
Mexico. But before he could start on his journey, his starving Alaskan
colony must be provided for, and after considerable discussion,
arrangements were made for an interchange of commodities, and the hold
of the Russian ship, 'Juno' was packed with foodstuffs for the Sitkans,
while the ladies at the Presidio were resplendent in soft Russian
fabrics and the padres were rejoicing in new cooking utensils for their
large Indian family.
"At length the 'Juno' weighed anchor and the white sails filled with the
afternoon breeze. As the Russians came opposite Cantil Blanco, the fort
which had scowled so menacingly upon them on their entrance forty-four
days before, now smiled with friendly faces. There was much waving of
hats and many shouts of farewell from the little group on the shore, but
Rezánov saw only the figure of a tall graceful girl with the soft folds
of a mantilla billowing about her head and shoulders and heard only the
murmur of love from the rosy lips. 'Two years,' he whispered back to
her, as the ship passed out through the Gulf of the Farallones and
became but a speck on the sunset sky.
"The two years passed and still there was no sign of the returning
vessel. Luis Argüello had been married to the lovely Rafaela and a
little son had come to bless their household, and yet Concepcion looked
out over the ocean watching for the white sail of a foreign ship. The
sweet grey eyes of Luis' young wife were closed in death and Concha's
heart and hands went out in sympathetic love and deeds to the stricken
family, all the while trying to still in her own breast the fear that a
like fate had overtaken her loved one. The verdant hills were again
streaked with golden poppies and once more turned to tawny brown and
still no ship nor word came from over the sea.
"It was eight or ten years before even a rumor of the fate of her lover
reached Concepcion, and not until she met the Englishman, Sir George
Simpson, twenty-five years after Rezánov sailed out of San Francisco
bay, did she learn the details of his death. It was almost winter when,
leaving Alaska, he crossed the ocean and began his perilous trip through
Siberia. Frequently drenched to the skin and undergoing terrible
privations, he traveled for thousands of miles on horseback, now lying
at some wayside inn burning with fever and again pushing on until he
dropped prostrate at the next village. A fall from his horse added to
his already serious condition, which resulted in his death in the little
village of Krasnoiark, and he lies now buried beneath the snows of
Siberia.
"Although many sought her hand in marriage, Concepcion remained faithful
to her Russian lover. There being no convent for women in the country at
that time, she donned the grey habit of the 'Third Order of St. Francis
in the world,' devoting her life to the care of the sick and the
teaching of the poor. Later when a Dominican convent was established," I
added, rising, "she became not only its first nun, but also its Mother
Superior."
"A romance that may well take a place with such world-famed love stories
as those of Abèlard and Hèloïse; and Alexandre and Thäis. I should like
to make a pilgrimage to her grave," he added as we left the old adobe
house.
"You can," I replied. "It's tucked away in a corner of the Benicia
Cemetery, marked by a marble slab carved with her name and a simple
cross."
We entered a grove of eucalyptus trees, which now and again divided,
giving marvelous views of the bay and the Marin shore.
But my companion's mind still dwelt on the story he had heard. "So
Concepcion suffered in the uncertainty of hope and despair for ten
years," he said, "but ten months of it brought me to the limit of
endurance. Do you think if Rezánov had returned and Concepcion had
married him and gone to Petrograd she would have been happy?"
"Of course she would."
"Still Petrograd is a cold, dreary place compared to California."
"But what difference would that make? A woman would give up everything
and count it no sacrifice for the man she loved."
"And you said only yesterday--"
"Oh, but that was different," I assured him, my cheeks burning under his
gaze. "Rezánov loved California. He thought it so wonderful that he
wanted it for a Russian province, and he would have brought Concepcion
back to visit--"
"Boston is nearer than Petrograd and not so cold. Don't you think you
could teach me to love California, too?"
"Perhaps," I acknowledged. Then anxious to turn the conversation, I
asked: "Would you like to see the location of the old Spanish fort?" He
nodded and we took the road leading to the present Fort Point. "I can't
show you the exact location," I confessed, "because the United States
cut down the bold promontory, Cantil Blanco, in order to place the
present fortification close to the water's edge, but if you will use
your imagination and picture a white cliff towering a hundred feet above
the water at the point where Fort Winfield Scott now stands, you will
see the entrance to the bay as it was in Spanish days. Here was located
the old fort, called Castilla San Joaquin, which guarded the harbor for
many years. Made of adobe in the shape of a horseshoe, so perishable
that the walls crumbled every time a shot was fired, still it answered
its purpose, as it was never needed for anything but friendly salutes,
and even these were at times, perforce, omitted. The Russian, Kotzebue,
states that when he entered the harbor he was impressed by the old fort
and the soldiers drawn up in military array, but wondered that no return
was made to his salute. A little later, however, the omission of the
courtesy was explained when a Spanish officer boarded the vessel and
asked to borrow sufficient powder for this purpose. Moreover, Robinson
tells us that frequently during the afternoon's siesta a foreign ship
would pass the fort, drop anchor in Yerba Buena Cove, and spend several
days in the bay before the Presidio officers would know of its presence.
But this was after the time of Luis Argüello."
One by one the palaces of light in the Exposition grounds below us burst
into radiance. The Horticultural dome turned to a wonderful iridescent
bubble and the Tower of Jewels caught and reflected the light that
played upon it. Wide bands of color streaked the sombre sky,
transforming the clouds to shades of violet, yellow and rose. "The
rainbow colors of promise," he said gently as he drew closer. "I shall
take them as a message of hope that I shall win the love of the woman
who is dearer to me than all else in life!"