Don Gregorio Montijo is a Spaniard, who, some ten years previous to the
time of which we write, found his way into the Republic of Mexico,
afterwards moving on to "Alta California." Settling by San Francisco
Bay, he became a _ganadero_, or stock-farmer--the industry in those days
chiefly followed by Californians.
His grazing estate gives proof that he has prospered. Its territory
extends several miles along the water, and several leagues backward; its
boundary in that direction being the shore of the South Sea itself;
while a thousand head of horses, and ten times the number of horned
cattle, roam over its rich pastures.
His house stands upon the summit of a hill that rises above the bay--a
sort of spur projected from higher ground behind, and trending at right
angles to the beach, where it declines into a low-lying sand-spit.
Across this runs the shore-road, southward from the city to San Jose,
cutting the ridge midway between the walls of the house and the water's
edge, at some three hundred yards distance from each.
The dwelling, a massive quadrangular structure--in that Span-Moriscan
style of architecture imported into New Spain by the _Conquistadores_--
is but a single storey in height, having a flat, terraced roof, and
inner court: this last approached through a grand gate entrance,
centrally set in the front facade, with a double-winged door wide enough
to admit the coach of Sir Charles Grandison.
Around a Californian country-house there's rarely much in the way of
ornamental grounds--even though it be a _hacienda_ of the first-class.
And when the headquarters of a grazing estate, still less; its
inclosures consisting chiefly of "corrals" for the penning and branding
of cattle, these usually erected in the rear of the dwelling. To this
almost universal nakedness the grounds of Don Gregorio offer some
exception. He has added a stone fence, which, separating them from the
high road, is penetrated by a portalled entrance, with an avenue that
leads straight up to the house. This, strewn with snow-white
sea-shells, is flanked on each side by a row of _manzanita_ bushes--a
beautiful indigenous evergreen. Here and there a clump of California
bays, and some scattered peach-trees, betray an attempt, however slight,
at landscape gardening.
Taking into account the grandeur of his house, and the broad acres
attached to it, one may safely say, that in the New World Don Gregorio
has done well. And, in truth, so has he--thriven to fulness. But he
came not empty from the Old, having brought with him sufficient cash to
purchase a large tract of land, as also sufficient of horses and horned
cattle to stock it. No needy adventurer he, but a gentleman by birth;
one of Biscay's bluest blood--hidalgos since the days of the Cid.
In addition to his ready-money, he also brought with him a wife--
Biscayan as himself--and a daughter, at the time turned eight years old.
His wife has been long ago buried; a tombstone in the cemetery of the
old Dolores Mission commemorating her many virtues. Since, he has had
an accession to his contracted family circle; the added member being a
grand-daughter, only a year younger than his daughter, but equally well
grown--both having reached the ripest age of girlhood. It is scarce
necessary to add, that the young ladies, thus standing in the
relationship of aunt and niece, are the two with whom Edward Crozier and
Willie Cadwallader have respectively fallen in love.
And while mate and midshipman are on the way to pay them a promised
visit--for such it is--a word may be said about their personal
appearance. Though so closely allied, and nearly of an age, in other
respects the two differ so widely, that one unacquainted with the fact
would not suspect the slightest kinship between them.
The aunt, Dona Carmen, is of pure Biscayan blood, both by her father's
and mother's side. From this she derives her blonde complexion, with
that colour of hair so admired by Mr Crozier; with the blue-grey eyes,
known as "Irish"--the Basques and Celts being a kindred race. Her
Biscayan origin has endowed her with a fine figure of full development,
withal in perfect feminine proportions; while her mother has transmitted
to her what, in an eminent degree, she herself possessed--beauty of face
and nobleness of feature.
In the daughter neither has deteriorated, but perhaps improved. For the
benignant clime of California has such effect; the soft breezes of the
South Sea fanning as fair cheeks as were ever kissed by Tuscan, or
Levantine wind.
A chapter might be devoted to the charms of Dona Carmen Montijo, and
still not do them justice. Enough to say, that they are beyond cavil.
There are men in San Francisco who would dare death for her sake, if
sure of her smile to speak approval of the deed; ay, one who would for
as much do murder!
And in that same city is a man who would do the same for Inez Alvarez--
though she has neither blonde complexion, nor blue eyes. Instead she is
a _morena_, or brunette, with eyes and hair of the darkest. But she is
also a beauty, of the type immortalised by many bards--Byron among the
number, when he wrote his rhapsody on the "Girl of Cadiz."
Inez is herself a girl of Cadiz, of which city her father was a native.
The Conde Alvarez, an officer in the Spanish army, serving with his
regiment in Biscay, there saw a face that charmed him. It belonged to
the daughter of Don Gregorio Montijo--his eldest and first-born, some
eighteen years older than Carmen. The Andalusian count wooed the
Biscayan lady, won, and bore her away to his home. Both have gone to
their long home, leaving their only child inheritress of a handsome
estate. From her father, in whose veins ran Moorish blood, Inez
inherits jet-black eyes, with lashes nearly half-an-inch in length, and
above them brows shaped like the moon in the middle of her first
quarter. Though in figure more slender than her aunt, she is quite
Carmen's equal in height, and in this may some day excel; since she has
not yet attained her full stature.
Such are the two damsels, who have danced with the young British
officers, and made sweet havoc in their hearts. Have the hearts of the
_senoritas_ received similar hurt in return? By listening to their
conversation we shall learn.