Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: BUILDING FROM WHICH STANISLAUS AND HIS FOLLOWERS STOLE
TWO HUNDRED INDIAN MAIDENS
"When Padre Osuna trails us he can perform a hundred double weddings at
once"]
The Bride of Mission
San José
A Tale of Early California
By
JOHN AUGUSTINE CULL
THE ABINGDON PRESS
NEW YORK CINCINNATI
Copyright, 1920, by
JOHN AUGUSTINE CULL
CHARACTERS PROMINENT IN THE STORY
SEÑOR MENDOZA, former Colonel in Napoleonic wars; subsequently,
Administrator of Mission San José de Guadalupe, Santa Clara Valley,
California; later Governor of the province.
CARMELITA MENDOZA, daughter of Señor Mendoza.
PADRE LUSCIANO OSUNA, Spiritual Head of Mission San José de Guadalupe.
CAPTAIN MORANDO, Comandante of the Pueblo of San José; afterward
General of all the land forces of the department of California.
COLONEL BARCELO, Comandante of the Presidio of Monterey, and acting
Governor of California.
CHARLES O'DONNELL, in the secret service of the United States.
SEÑORA VALENTINO, in the secret service of England.
CAPTAIN FARQUHARSON, English representative extraordinary in the
province.
COMMODORE BILLINGS, Commanding the American fleet in the Pacific.
ADMIRAL FAIRBANKS, Commanding the British fleet in the Pacific.
YOSCOLO, Famous Indian chief.
STANISLAUS, Lieutenant of Yoscolo.
BROWN, Factotum of Captain Farquharson; later, in the employ of Señor
Mendoza.
Time: 1842 to 1846.
Contents
Chapter
I. A Serenade in the Moonlight
II. The Lion and the Lamb Lie Down Together
III. A Dip into the Past
IV. A Stranger Visits Señor Mendoza
V. Another Stranger Makes a Visit
VI. The Merienda
VII. A Night Spent in a Cave
VIII. The Political Pot Simmers
IX. Señora Valentino Seeks to Interest Padre Osuna
X. The Beginning of the Ball at Señor Mendoza's Hacienda House
XI. At the Supper
XII. Carmelita Dances El Son
XIII. Returning from the Ball
XIV. O'Donnell Takes A Horseback Ride
XV. Señora Valentino Makes a Report
XVI. The Señorita of the Window Pane
XVII. O'Donnell Settles with Yoscolo
XVIII. Farquharson Meets with a Loss
XIX. Señora Valentino and Captain Morando Continue Conversation
XX. Bitter Sweet
XXI. A Few Diplomatic Touches
XXII. Almost--
XXIII. Pedro Zelaya Brings Important News
XXIV. The Next Day
XXV. Brown Takes a Hand at Diplomacy
XXVI. Braving the Storm
XXVII. But Yet a Woman
XXVIII. A Daughter of the De La Mendoza
XXIX. A Departure
XXX. Odds and Ends
XXXI. Across the Years
XXXII. A Wedding
CHAPTER I
A SERENADE IN THE MOONLIGHT
"Fairer art thou than the lily, than the rose more sweet," sang a
mellow baritone voice. A guitar thrummed accompaniment. At the end of
his improvisation the singer waved the instrument gracefully, now in
sweeping stroke, again in shorter measure, as if he were a maestro
directing his musicians. Then he touched the strings in melancholy
strain:
"Beat, beat, little dove, thy tender wings against thy iron cage."
Next triumphantly he intoned:
"Fly away, little dove, fly away; the cruel bars are broken."
Once more in pantomime he directed his fancied musicians.
"What is it, Don Alfredo? Art fanning thyself, or do mosquitoes annoy
thee?"
He looked upward into a pair of dark, laughing eyes not three feet
distant.
"O, Doña Carmelita," rapturously, "I was marking rhythm for the angel
choirs which sing in praise of thy beauty and charm. They sing of one
angel, even thou, Doña mia, more fair than they."
The girl withdrew from the embrasure, brushing her fan across its
iron-barred front.
"I shut out, Don Alfredo, thy foolish words. I drive them back into
the air. I fear the angels are displeased at thy presumption. Many
nights have you sung here meaningless words, empty nothings; but even
better such than to speak thoughts which must offend the saints in
heaven."
"O, Doña Carmelita, let me once again see thy eyes sparkle in the
moonlight; add a flash or two from thy teeth of pearl----"
"Hush, Don Alfredo, or I leave. Perhaps at other embrasures not far
away wait caballeros, not so vain as to fancy themselves directors of
the music celestial. Good night, Don Alfredo. Clip the wings of thy
imagination lest thou fly too near the sun."
"O, Doña mia, do not go away. If it please thee I'll praise the
heavenly angels."
The window was suddenly closed.
"Caramba! again. It's difficult for a soldier to trim his tongue that
he may speak words of love to the tender ears of the capricious
señorita."
"Good evening, Captain Morando."
The soldier turned abruptly. At his side stood Señor Mendoza,
administrator of the Mission of San José, gravely looking at him.
"Good evening, your Excellency. I hope your health is all of the
best," somewhat discomposedly.
"Many thanks, Captain. Your hope is generously fulfilled in me, for my
health is indeed good."
The Administrator's expression became quizzical. "May I ask you, brave
soldier, why you stand on guard here in the moonlight, bearing that
singular-appearing firearm?" pointing to the guitar. "Can it be that
renegade Indians threaten?"
"When a soldier stands at guard, Señor Administrator, may there not be
motives many, other than renegade Indians?"
The other laughed and changed the subject. "Did I but dream the
comandante of the pueblo of San José was to be here to-night, he would
have been invited to sit with our council meeting but now concluded.
Spring advances, and the rains fall not. Never has Alta California
seen such drought. Our live stock sadly need grazing and water. Hence
I called the council. I would that you had been present. The military
mind is fertile in expedient."
"I fear it would be sadly deficient in surmounting the need of a south
wind."
"Our Captain has wit, as well as vigilance. But I am forgetting
hospitality, soldier protector of the Mission. Come within. Let
others woo, if they will, the goddess of dreams, but for you and me the
pleasures of fellowship will hasten lagging hours."
"I thank you, Señor Mendoza, but I fear----"
"Fear never a moment, friend Morando. Sentinels watch over us in
valley and on hill, men trusty, tried, and true. Eyes have they as
keen as eagles; the ears and the swiftness of the fox are theirs.
Therefore no vigil need thou keep for us."
Morando still hesitated.
"Come now. Right glad am I that you are here. Within, a glass of
wine, a chat, perhaps a harmless game at cards, await us. Soon roll
the hours away. Then you gallop across the pastures, alas! dry and
bare now, to the pueblo of San José. I seek my couch soothed by your
young companionship. Now, what wilt thou?"
An inarticulate sound behind the embrasure. Don Alfredo could have
sworn it concealed a silvery laugh from the fair Doña Carmelita.
"The night birds are calling, Don Alfredo. Did you not just hear
them?" looking slyly at the captain. "They are sleepy and we arouse
them."
Holding his arm and talking the while about the drought and other
difficulties the Administrator led Don Alfredo within.
"Brave Captain, place that death-dealing weapon on the chair," pointing
a second time to the guitar. "Some new invention, of course, though I
seem to see something familiar about it. Seat yourself on that settee.
It came to me from Madrid."
"Thank you, señor."
With a smile as gracious as the moonlight the señor said: "At another
time I would ask my daughter, the Doña Carmelita, to join us for a
little visit, but the child is young and the night already late. She
would doubtless wish to sleep."
They were in the Administrator's private sitting room, the duplicate of
a room in his father's castle in Spain. Priceless Persian rugs were on
the floor, with high-back chairs of solid mahogany everywhere about. A
massive secretary, likewise of mahogany, stood at one side. Tapestries
designed in Seville hung on one of the walls; weapons of the hunt and
of war, another; while oil paintings of battles, in many of which the
family Mendoza had been distinguished, completed the adornment.
"Caramba! I ride miles to serenade the daughter; and here I am in the
hacienda house, the guest of the father, while the señorita is
somewhere in the courtyard, laughing, I'm sure--yes, laughing," thought
the young soldier.
"Some wine, my Captain? Genuine Malaga it is, guaranteed by government
stamp, not the juice of the old Mission grape, excellent as that is.
Now, the cigarros. Let us speak, Señor Captain, of the General
Guerrero. I understand he was once commander of that division in Spain
from which you have so lately come. Am I correct?"
"You are, señor. The General was my commander so recently that one
year will more than bridge the time."
"Guerrero was my captain when, as a subaltern, I sailed these western
seas, and saw service in the Philippines--service that was service.
Tell me of my one-time leader. Is he well?"
"He is well, and the years have small meaning to his strength."
Captain Morando talked with his host of the campaigns of General
Guerrero in the Spanish trans-Mediterranean dependencies; of the newly
concluded peace there; and of the retirement of the General by the age
limit, but all the while his mind was fashioning love songs outside the
window of the fair señorita. Through the haze of tobacco smoke the
strong, kindly face of the Administrator of Mission San José de
Guadalupe softened into the sweet face of the doña, with her laughing
eyes and beautiful hair; his deep voice gave way to the lighter tones
of the daughter.
"Peace in North Africa brought relief to the young soldier from
discomforts of the campaign. Was it not so?"
"Señor Mendoza, it brought the weariness of camp and garrison. The
morning drill, the after-luncheon parade, the society function in the
evening, ill filled my idea of the life a man should live. Besides,
the ambitious soldier sees advancement only in a life of action. I
sought a change and I found one. My resignation was easily effected.
I then carried my letters to the Mexican war secretary, whom I made
acquainted with my preference. Accordingly, came my assignment to San
José pueblo."
"Good! Good, my Captain! During my visit in Mexico just concluded I
learned that you had been appointed comandante. Some wine in your
glass?"
"No more, thank you."
"What, not any? The young man is abstemious. That is well. Strong
and lusty age follows youth lived along the way of moderation."
The men puffed their cigars. Higher and higher, in widening circles,
rose the incense of the fragrant leaf. The Administrator was busy with
his thoughts; likewise the guest. "His daughter, he intimates, is too
young for late hours. Many a night, at low twelve, during his sojourn
in Mexico, have I sung to her from my corner in the courtyard. What
would he say if he knew that to-night is not my first visit
thither--nor yet my second--nor my third--nor yet----"
The older man broke the silence. "Soldier, our California needs men."
Morando started slightly, then signified by a movement of the head that
he had heard. Mendoza exhaled several whiffs of his Havana before
speaking further, meanwhile surveying the alert form and soldierly
features of the Captain.
"Life is not all play, as many appear to think it is. Our province has
passed the years of childhood. With maturity comes duty as waking with
day."
The soldier listened with interest.
"I believe the cleavage of California and Mexico is near at hand. They
fall apart by their own weight. Even the Mexican secretary of state
spoke openly of this to me a month ago."
"Then what comes, Señor Mendoza?"
"There comes that which we ourselves make. On an ethical foundation of
the highest order must we build our body politic. Then, when our
province becomes free, some protecting nation will extend to us a
sister's hand. If in this fruitful land there should prevail the
spirit of sweet-do-nothingness, how can we hope that others will
consider us highly while we deem ourselves lightly?"
"My time here has been too short to have studied these matters
carefully. However, I have heard men speak of a California republic."
"The vision of dreamers, my Captain. We have neither army nor navy,
nor can we hope to have them. How could we unaided hold this province
situated as it is, the commercial center of these seas and the bosom of
resources as yet scarcely touched?"
"Then, in your judgment, it should not be a question of absolute
independence?"
"In one sense, no. Yet, I favor a rule by the people. People of
enlightenment will govern wisely. Captain Morando, we need men, more
men, who will place the common good above their private interest."
"You speak the duty of the soldier, Señor Mendoza."
"It is so, Captain." Then turning the conversation back to the
situation in the Santa Clara valley: "Have you run across Stanislaus
yet? No? Nor Yoscolo? Well, I hope you will soon see both over your
pistol barrel. They are a menace to the peace in our valley. Yoscolo
is the abler of the two. Many a lively skirmish have my fighting peons
had with the scoundrel."
During this time the Doña Carmelita mounted a staircase and walked
along a passage which had its way over a high, wide adobe wall leading
from one part of the house to another. The moonlight fell in weird
fantasy on the hacienda grounds. Palms, evergreens, flowers assumed
moving shapes, as if engaged in low but animated conversation.
Breezes from San Francisco Bay flowed intermittently into the
courtyard, shaking the branches and rattling the leaves. One stronger
gust caught spray from a fountain and sent it eddying into the white
night. The awakened birds murmured sleepily and myriad crickets
chirped remonstrance. Three Spanish mastiffs, guardians of the
inclosure, edged away from the impromptu shower, then looked up
furtively at the girl, ashamed of temporary cowardice.
Anon there floated down to her from the heights beyond the call of the
Indian sentinel as he made his rounds, "Love to God!" followed by the
reply from one of his fellows, "Love to God!" With a dozen tongues the
hills took up the refrain, "Love to God! Love to God!"
"What can my father and Captain Morando find to talk about so long!
Men can gossip as well as women when they are so minded."
She mounted another flight of outside stairs that led to the top of the
buildings which formed three sides of the courtyard. The courtyard
door was open. Several peons were holding the struggling watchdog
while another brought Morando's horse.
"Hold fast those dogs!" Señor Mendoza said to the Indians. "They are
as fierce as tigers. Good-night, Captain Morando. Remember two weeks
from Thursday evening, at six. My daughter's dueña will be home from
Monterey, and we'll have both to dine with us, with perhaps a few
friends, just a valecito casero--a little house party. Good-night.
Glad you've some men in the village. The country won't be safe till we
rid it of those miscreant renegades. Good-night, Captain."
The heavy door closed. The doña saw that Captain Morando rode around
the courtyard to the embrasure window, halted and looked up anxiously.
Walking to the edge of the roof she stood there, a beautiful picture.
He waved his hand.
"O, doña mia--" he began. Unfastening a rose from her hair she tossed
it to him. The pulsing air caught it, and swaying, whirling, it fell.
He reined in his horse, urged it forward, swung it around, keeping in
the uncertain downward path of the rose, till finally its stem rested
in his hand.
He kissed the flower again and again; then holding it up to her, waved
it in rhythmic motion as he had done before with the guitar.
"O, doña mia--" he began once more, but the watchdogs bayed savagely
and rushed against the adobe fence. His horse shied and sprang away.
He wheeled back again.
The señorita had disappeared.