The promontory called Punta Pedro is not in San Francisco Bay, but on
the outside coast of the Pacific. To reach it from the former, it is
necessary to traverse the dividing ridge between the two waters--this a
spur of the "Coast Range," which, running higher as it trends southward,
is known to Spanish Californians as the San Bruno Mountains.
Punta Pedro abuts from their base into the ocean; the coast in this
quarter being bold and picturesque, but almost uninhabited. Here and
there only the solitary hut of a seal-hunter, or fisherman, with a small
collection of the same near the point itself, bearing its name, and a
somewhat indifferent reputation. The Anglo-Saxon gold-seekers do not go
there; it is only frequented by the natives.
From San Francisco to Punta Pedro the road runs past Dolores--an ancient
mission of the Franciscan monks, whose port was, as already stated,
Yerba Buena, previous to becoming re-christened San Francisco.
This route De Lara and Calderon have taken, getting into it by a
cross-cut; and along it they continue to ride, still at a gallop, with
faces set for Dolores.
They are not the only equestrians moving along that road. The dust
kicked up by their horses hoofs has just settled down when a second
party appears, going in the same direction, though at a gentler gait;
for it is a cavalcade composed partly of ladies.
It is a quartette, two of each sex; and as the horses are the same
already seen standing saddled in the courtyard of Don Gregorio's house,
it is not necessary to give the names of the riders. These can be
guessed.
Dona Carmen is carrying out the instructions left by her father, who,
Californian fashion, supposed he could give his sailor-guests no greater
treat than a _paseo de caballo_, including an excursion to the old
Dolores Mission, without a visit to which no exploration of the country
around San Francisco can be considered complete. It is not the least of
California's "lions."
Like most Spanish-American ladies, Don Gregorio's daughter takes delight
in the saddle, and spends some part of each day in it. An accomplished
_equestrienne_, she could take a five-barred gate, or a bullfinch, with
any of the hunting Dianas of England; and, if she has not ridden to
hounds, she has chased wild horses, mounted on one but little less wild.
That on which she now sits seems but half-tamed. Fresh from the
stable, he rears and pitches, at times standing erect on his hind legs.
For all, his rider has no fear of being unhorsed. She only smiles,
pricks him with the spur, and regardlessly cuts him with her _cuarto_.
Much after the same fashion acts Inez, for she, too, has learned the
Californian style of equitation.
The two present a picture that, to the eye unaccustomed to Mexican
habits, might seem somewhat _bizarre_. Their mode of mount--as already
said, _a la Duchesse de Berri_--their half-male attire, hats of vicuna
wool, _calzoncillas_ lace-fringed over their feet, buff boots, and large
rowelled spurs--all these give them an air of _bizarrerie_, at the same
time a pleasing picturesqueness; and, if appearing bold, still
beautiful, as the South Sea wind flouts back the limp brims of their
sombreros, and tosses their hair into dishevelment, while the excitement
of the ride brings the colour to their cheeks--with flashes, as of fire,
from their eyes.
The young English officers regard them with glances of ardent
admiration. If they have been but smitten before, they are getting fast
fixed now; and both will soon be seriously in love. The _paseo de
caballo_ promises to terminate in a proposal for a longer journey in
companionship--through life, in pairs.
They are thus grouped: Crozier alongside Carmen--Cadwallader with Inez.
The officers are in their uniforms--a costume for equestrian exercise
not quite shipshape as they would phrase it. On horseback in a naval
uniform! It would not do riding thus on an English road; there the
veriest country lout would criticise it. But different in California,
where all ride, gentle or simple, in dresses of every conceivable cut
and fashion, with no fear of being ridiculed therefor. None need attach
to the dress worn by Edward Crozier. His rank has furnished him with a
frock-coat, which, well-fitting, gives a handsome contour to his person.
Besides, he is a splendid horseman--has followed hounds before he ever
set foot aboard a ship. Carmen Montijo perceives this; can tell it with
half a glance; and it pleases her to reflect that her escorting cavalier
is equal to the occasion. She believes him equal to anything.
With the other pair the circumstances are slightly different. Will
Cadwallader is no horseman, having had but scant practice--a fact patent
to all--Inez as the others. Besides, the mid is dressed in a
pea-jacket; which, although becoming enough aboard ship, looks a little
_outre_ in the saddle, especially upon a prancing Californian steed.
Does it make the young Welshman feel ashamed of himself? Not a bit. He
is not the stuff to be humiliated on the score of an inappropriate
costume. Nor yet by his inferiority in horsemanship, of which he is
himself well aware. He but laughs as his steed prances about--the
louder when it comes near pitching him.
How does he appear in the eyes of Inez Alvarez? Does she think him
ridiculous? No. On the contrary, she seems charmed, and laughs along
with him--delighted by his _naivete_, and the courage he displays in not
caring for consequences. She knows he is out of his own element--the
sea. She believes that on it he would be brave, heroic; among ropes the
most skilled of reefers; and if he cannot gracefully sit a home, he
could ride big billows, breasting them like an albatross.
Thus mutually taking each other's measure, the four equestrians canter
on, and soon arrive at the mission.
But they do not design to stay there. The ride has _been_ too short,
the sweet moments have flown quickly; and the summit of a high hill,
seen far beyond, induces them to continue the excursion.
They only stop to give a glance at the old monastery, where Spanish
monks once lorded it over their copper-skinned neophytes; at the church,
where erst ascended incense, and prayers were pattered in the ears of
the aborigines--by them ill understood.
A moment spent in the cemetery, where Carmen points out the tomb
enclosing the remains of her mother, dropping a tear upon it--perhaps
forced from her by the reflection that soon she will be far from that
sacred spot--it may be, never to revisit it!
Away from it now; and on to that hill from which they can descry the
Pacific!
In another hour they have reined up on its summit, and behold the great
South Sea, stretching to far horizon's verge, to the limit of their
vision. Before them all is bright and beautiful. Only some specks in
the dim distance--the lone isles of the Farrallones. More northerly,
and nearer, the "Seal" rocks and that called _Campana_--from its arcade
hollowed out by the wash of waves, giving it a resemblance to the belfry
of a church. Nearer still, below a belt of pebbly beach, a long line of
breakers, foam-crested, and backed by a broad reach of sand-dunes--there
termed _medanos_.
Seated in the saddle, the excursionists contemplate this superb
panorama. The four are now together, but soon again separate into
pairs, as they have been riding along the road. Somehow or other, their
horses have thus disposed themselves: that ridden by Crozier having
drawn off with the one carrying Carmen; while the steed so ill-managed
by Cadwallader has elected to range itself alongside that of Inez.
Perhaps the pairing has not been altogether accidental. Whether or no,
it is done; and the conversation, hitherto general, is reduced to the
simplicity of dialogue.
To report it correctly, it is necessary to take the pairs apart, giving
priority to those who by their years have the right to it.