The Bride of Mission San José: A Tale of Early California

CHAPTER XXIX
A DEPARTURE

"Señor Mendoza, there is no use to continue this parley. It does no good. I have possession of California. That possession I shall retain."

"The enlightened will of the people of this province must decide whether you retain possession, or relinquish it, Commodore Billings."

The two were standing within the fort, at a window. They were alone. The marines of the frigate United States and the sloop-of-war Cyane were drilling not far away. The soft, "plush, plush, plush" of their feet could be heard, following the staccato calls for maneuvers.

"I relinquish possession only when forced to do so."

"The proposal was made and accepted that your government hold Monterey tentatively."

"Never accepted by me. Our consideration of that question was broken up by Señor Zelaya sprinting in with news that Fairbanks's ships were passing south. The subject was not taken up again."

"But O'Donnell accepted it, Commodore. He has letters from Mr. Tyler, your President, countersigned by your Secretary of State, giving him full power to act for his government."

"Produce O'Donnell and his papers, Colonel Mendoza."

"O'Donnell started eastward at midnight, as you well know. Two months will scarce see his return."

"Señor Mendoza, I found the capital here without government of any kind; in other words, deserted."

"The absence of the people's servants, whether in fort or government house, does not make void that people's rights."

"I led my ships through peril of fog and night, to gain advantage of the British. Had they reached here before me, then, Señor Mendoza, this enlightened will of which you speak might go to Jericho."

"The British would have arrived here before you, as you are well aware, had not trading vessels, which I have under charter, at gravest risk drawn you away from certain wreck."

Billings raised his eyebrows.

"Commodore, in plain words, you are engaged in a piece of filibustering. The United States is not back of such a movement as this."

The Commodore paced away savagely, then turned.

"Colonel Mendoza, possession is nine points of law, and I have possession. Demonstrate a better right than mine; and maintain it, if you can!"

The Spaniard, stooping, raised a heavy trapdoor. He threw it back. Iron-barred windows lighted a chamber beneath. Mounds of powder were heaped around everywhere.

"Commodore Billings, we are standing over the powder-magazine of this fort."

"So I perceive, Señor Mendoza."

The señor looked coolly at the other.

"Well, perceive this." From his pocket he drew a taper, used for lighting cigaritos, ignited it and held it up.

"Man, what are you about? Put out that fire!"

"Ah! Stand near—not too close. Now, look at that black sand."

Billings's mouth shut hard.

"In that sand, Commodore, there is power enough pent up to blow your marines to atoms, if I drop this tiny piece of flame. You and I—well, Commodore Billings, it is not necessary to consider ourselves."

Mendoza held the taper between thumb and forefinger. Two paces distant, across the aperture in the floor, the Commodore stood, his hand resting on a pistol which he did not draw.

"Shoot, Señor Billings," Mendoza said quietly, still holding the taper over the powder.

Billings's hand dropped from the pistol to his side.

"Then, cry aloud for help, my señor."

"Mendoza, what are you about?" hoarsely asked the Commodore. "What do you want?"

"That you leave Monterey."

Billings's teeth ground together. "Never!"

"Never?" glancing at the taper.

"It would not be the first house you have blown up."

"But it would be the last, my Commodore."

Mendoza seemed to grow in stature, to become colossal, terrible.

"This taper burns low. I have not another."

Billings's form relaxed.

"Your province is not worth a quarter thousand lives."

"So, you decide, Señor Billings. Well, open that window, then, and order your men to the ships."

"I shall not. What a diabolical advantage for you to take, Mendoza!"

"Nothing of the sort. I merely insist on the preservation of the rights of this province. You proclaim your intention of violating these rights, notwithstanding O'Donnell's pledged words."

The flame pointed its unsteady way higher.

"One minute more you have, Commodore Billings." Slowly Mendoza turned his hand. The taper slipped a little through his fingers. "Now, Señor Billings, or——"

The Commodore's voice shouted to his marines. His lips were framing a call for help.

The taper moved downward a little farther. "Commodore Billings, you thus cast the die? One—two—" a significant pause.

The Commodore's hollow voice ordered his men to the ships.

Mendoza extinguished the taper. In one hand he still held its end; in the other he meaningly grasped the flint. He did not speak.

Billings repeated his command, till every wondering marine had embarked.

Mendoza's peon riflemen filed into the castle; white gunners who had seen service in Manila, manned the cannon. The muzzle of the ordnance inclined until their lips opened threateningly over the boats teetering in the surf. Three hundred sharpshooters, lent Mendoza by Captain Sutter, of New Helvetia, thickened in the auxiliary battery.

A salvo would be echoed by a thousand small arms.

Commodore Billings foresaw certain destruction in resistance.

As he was stepping into the last-departing boat Mendoza said to him:

"Because you came as conqueror we bid you go."

In an hour the harbor was empty, the flagpoles of square and castle bare.

CHAPTER XXX
ODDS AND ENDS

Señora Valentino, rather pale, was sitting in the room adjoining the treasure-chamber of the old Spanish governor. Captain Farquharson was opposite.

"So you return to Europe to-morrow, Captain."

"Yes, señora, and glad am I to have the conveniences of a home-going war vessel. When do you go?"

"In a month or so—some time in the latter part of October."

"I regret I was able to give your brilliant work here such inefficient aid."

"My work here has been a brilliant failure," with a little laugh that was half a sigh.

"Señora, except for an altogether unforseeable combination of adverse circumstances California to-day would be English territory."

"Yes, if the wind had not blown; if the fog had not obscured, and if night had not come; or, to put it in different words, if Fairbanks had not been Fairbanks."

"The magnanimity of these squadron commanders is overpowering, Admiral Fairbanks having his equal in Commodore Billings. Why, the capital simply rolled into Billings's hands. Then, he and Mendoza are seen in the castle holding some sort of a conference. The first thing we know, the castle is evacuated, and the Administrator of Mission San José is left cock of the walk."

"That is history as it is written, Captain."

"What do you mean?"

"O, nothing of any consequence. I was merely thinking aloud; that is all."

"My lady, I assure you I was standing at the old parade ground, an interested spectator of the exhibition of the manual of arms, when the occurrence of which I have spoken took place."

"My peon friend, Alberto, crept up under a window, within earshot of Commodore Billings and Señor Mendoza as they were having that little conference of theirs. What Alberto heard has cost him many a nightmare since."

"Señora, I'm in the dark."

"Well, well, Captain, in any case, it is a closed book to us now. Administrator Mendoza has gained advantage in the first throw. We'll leave England's cause in the hands of those whom the Home Office will send out. Who wins the game only the future will disclose."

"Many will miss you here, my lady."

"Crisostimo and my sister go with me, at least, as far as Spain. Our ship will round the Cape of Good Hope, not Cape Horn, as does yours. My brother-in-law, having sent in his resignation as official here to the government in Mexico, has sold his holdings in California to a company of which Señor Mendoza is president."

"Señora, I referred to the province at large. You have a cherished place in the hearts of many."

"It is a delight to be held in good estimation. I appreciate all the kind thoughts."

"As to the province in particular. On my way here I met Abelardo Peralta, in company with young Ysidro de la Barra and the half-'Boston,' Sam Watson. Don Abelardo was saying he had laid the Rancho San Antonio at your feet for the fifth time, and for the fifth time had found himself closing your door from the outside, a rejected suitor."

She smiled. "Abelardo is a dear boy, but very, very young."

"De la Barra and Watson each declared Morando stands between them and their happiness. They would challenge the Captain to a duel, and, dying spit by his rapier, they would leave their haciendas to you, in touching remembrance of their devotion. Peralta, on the contrary, rather scoffed, and said he would live, and see the soldier Captain leave your house biting his fingers in disappointment, as he himself had done."

The señora's pale face flushed. The toe of her slipper tapped the floor.

"I told them," the man not noticing, went on, jocularly, "that I had known many suitors in Europe leaving you disconsolate, but had never heard of any deaths therefrom. Whereupon they insisted that I too am your suitor. I told them I am too old and battered for such a beautiful young lady, besides having a cherished wife at home, a very good friend of the Señora Valentino. The two again denounced Morando, declaring their certainty that the Captain would be the victor."

"You are much interested in romance, I see, Captain. Tell me that old story connected with your life in Dublin. You referred to it once, and aroused my interest. We were too busy then, but now we have a little leisure for diversion."

"Doubtless it would be to you a twice-told tale."

"Never mind, anyway, Captain. We all like to hear good stories, and especially from the lips of the actor himself."

"In the springtime of life sentiment bubbles up, and over, with the most of us. So was it with me.

"Soon after I received my commission as Captain our regiment was ordered to Dublin. A young recruit who had taken the queen's shilling was assigned to the grenadier company, my own. A veritable giant of a man he was, and had in him the making of a consummate soldier. Both of us saw light first on the bank of the lordly Shannon, I, in the hall, he, in a cottage of my father's estate. His parents still live in the old cottage.

"Well, the giant soldier-boy and I became almost chums. I had just come from several gay seasons that London gave us, and I felt pretty much at outs with the inanity of my own class. He was fresh and original, and I had known him from childhood. Of course he loved a girl. She was in domestic service, but as good as gold. I thought I was in love with her too. But, pshaw! she had more sense than I. Otherwise, we might have married, and have been miserable for life. Still, she did seem a breath of heaven after the women of my own set."

"You forgot Lady Matilda," prompted the señora, laughing.

"My wife is one of God's good women, and I pray we shall be able to rear our little daughter to be like her. What I am relating occurred many years before I met Matilda."

"Good, my friend! And now for the rest of the tale!"

"A breach opened, and widened, between O'Donnell and me. She preferred him, you see, wherein she was wise.

"Then followed some words of mine for which I have always been sorry. I tried to make her believe he wasn't worthy of her, and all that. I didn't actually succeed, though she allowed him to think I did. I suppose at the time she really did half believe what I had insinuated.

"The young man stormed, pleaded, and raved. She seemed not to heed. One afternoon, on the parade ground, I rallied him harshly for some error in the drill which was really most immaterial. Then I sneered some beastly words at him. He clubbed his carbine and attacked me. I dodged and a glancing blow struck my shoulder and head. I was disabled for a year."

After a short wait, he went on:

"And I deserved what I received. By some miracle O'Donnell escaped capture. For some years he was in South America; then he came to California, went among the plains Indians east of here, and became a mighty sachem among them. When he was in Washington, on some delegation for the Indians, he came under attention of high officials of the United States Government. No word need be said of his work here, señora," with a laugh.

"What of the peasant maid, Captain? You are forgetting her."

"She read of O'Donnell's activities, it seems; and learned of my presence here through the same source, the newspaper. The man-of-war lately from England, which brought news of my father's death, together with my accession to his title and estates, carried a letter to me from her, inclosing another to O'Donnell. I delivered his letter in person. I told him I am glad his old love is waiting for him, and promised when I get home to have all disability removed, so he can return and claim his bride. O'Donnell and I parted on the terms of our old-time friendship."

"Why did not the girl write direct to O'Donnell himself?"

"She was sure of my address, but not of his."

"I am more than glad that your story has such a happy ending."

"I had come on O'Donnell in the city plaza. We were sitting together in conversation when Mendoza walked up and greeted me with all possible cordiality, as a former comrade-in-arms. I found that the Administrator remembered me perfectly, and has kept track of me rather closely, the world over, considering distance and isolation."

"Did he know of your driving the powder wagons through the blazing buildings at Waterloo, when the regular postilions had deserted their charge?" asked the señora, with a smile of admiration.

"Yes," modestly. "He was kind enough to speak of it. When we left each other, he told me whenever I return to California to make his house my own. I am glad that I met him."

A knock shook the door.

Colonel Barcelo was outside.

"Silvia," he said, "I may say you have shown yourself to be an unusual woman, a woman of knowledge and acumen quite remarkable for your years."

"Come in and be seated, Crisostimo. Here is my friend, Captain Farquharson."

"Ah, yes. Thank you for the chair. Good day, Captain Farquharson," this last stiffly. "Well, what I want to decide is, shall I issue a pardon for that low-down Indian, Stanislaus? Padre Osuna is now in the reception room waiting for my answer."

"Does the padre wish for this pardon?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's this way. Padre Osuna has the fellow confined here in Monterey. You see," looking at Farquharson, "I'm still acting-governor, and shall be until notice accepting my resignation comes back from Mexico City. So, I can pardon or not, as I please. Do you understand?" glowering at the Captain.

"But why does the padre ask the pardon?" persisted the señora.

"O, well, he expects to make a good man out of him, and then through him convert all those savages in the San Joaquin over whom Stanislaus has become a sort of king, since the death of Yoscolo."

"Surely Padre Osuna's judgment should be trusted in the matter, Crisostimo."

"Yes, yes. Exactly what has been in my mind all the time. I'll pardon the fellow. He told me the Señorita Mendoza has thrashed all the bad spirits out of him, and that Padre Osuna has beaten many good spirits into him—yes, I'll pardon the fellow. But there is one thing I never can forget, and that is the way that rascally Morando has treated me." He again glared at Farquharson, left the room and stamped down the corridor.

"It's Crisostimo's way," laughed the señora. "Captain, there is the question of the maps in this chamber, and those wonderful placer mines."

"Why not let Twickenham, our consul, take up the matter? He is entirely dependable."

"Very true, Captain; but there are many inquisitive eyes about. The working of the mine would mean that many may learn of its existence, and soon a deluge of Americanos come. Then, surely California would never be England's. Let our successors in the work do their part without undue handicap. In quieter times we will form a company, find the mines and work them."

"Señora, in Europe your hand will be busy in affairs of far greater interest to the world than the future of California."

"I shall never forget California, and the maps shall be safely kept till such time as we wish to use them."

"Now, dear lady, after long association comes the time for good-bys. It will be months, at least, before we meet again. Allow me to express my gratitude for the inspiration you have been to me in this California work."

"Captain, I thank you most cordially for what you say. When Lord Bevis Farquharson, with his wife, Lady Matilda, and their little daughter, Margaret, come to London remember that my establishment in Great Curzon Street is their home."

They clasped hands, their eyes dimming.

"My lady, do not forget that you have another home at Farquharson Court."

CHAPTER XXXI
ACROSS THE YEARS

Nine or ten friars, from different missions within a day's ride, were in a room close by the living apartment of the pastor, Padre Osuna, of Mission San José. Once or twice the padre's voice, in deep murmur, came to the ears of his waiting confreres; then it was silent. Each time the others paused a little, for his coming, then resumed desultory conversation.

"Why waits so long Padre Osuna for the coming?" impatiently from Padre Mercado, continuing: "We are told he is within, and even now once more I heard his voice."

Juan Antonio ushered in Señor Mendoza.

"Señors Padres, it is a delight to meet you. I trust your various charges are prospering."

The friars, who had arisen, exchanged glances.

"This is as may be, señor," from the padre of Santa Clara.

Padre Osuna came quietly into their midst.

"Reverend padres, and Señor Mendoza, I am late. A visitor, coming unexpectedly and bringing a message of vast purport to me, was the cause of my detaining. Let us be seated."

He continued:

"Brethren of my order, I requested you here, that you might be listeners of the proposal Señor Mendoza is prepared to make. You know the missions and their requirements. You may be able to enlighten him as to the wisest course. Now," inclining his head to Mendoza, "we are ready to hear you, señor."

The courtly hidalgo bowed in return.

"Señor pastor, and señors padres, the law of the secularization is spread on our statute books. Its extension in this Mission of San José de Guadalupe has been gradual, as you know. I believe the time has come for further extension."

He looked slowly from Osuna to the others. None of the churchmen spoke. He went on:

"Namely, that each able-bodied Indian of good character, member of this Mission, shall receive a plot of land of sufficient acreage to maintain himself and his family; the land, of course, to be taken from the leagues still held by this Mission, in trust, from the Mexican government."

Padre Osuna did not speak.

"The Indians are but overgrown children, and are incapable of caring for themselves, except under strict tutelage. So said the great missionary, Padre Junipero Serra, and the years have shown the wisdom of his thought." Thus, Padre Suscol, of Sonoma.

"Years ago I gave each of my Indians his piece of land. They are working it for themselves, and ably. Padre Junipero spoke of the issue as he knew it sixty years ago, and most wise were his words, but he could not foresee present-day needs," was Mendoza's reply.

"The procedure that you propose will impoverish the Mission," remonstrated another friar.

"Many of the hacenderos are giving each year a tithe to the Mission. Let the Indians be instructed to do the same, either in money or in labor," rejoined Mendoza.

Osuna lifted his eyes. "Why load this burden on our neophytes?"

"To teach them the necessity of self-reliance. They should become of age, as regards development of mind."

"Their old teachers should determine that," from Padre Mercado.

"The state determines when our sons and daughters attain their majority, not we," from Mendoza.

"Why oppress our neophyte children with this becoming of age just at this time?" questioned Osuna.

"Because it is not a day too soon. Men of many nations begin to flock here. Westward the course of civilization must come. It is destiny. We cannot stay it. Then, why not meet it? We, Spaniard and Indian, must stand on our own feet, accept from the newcomer what will strengthen our moral and spiritual fiber, and give back as much of ourselves as will benefit others. Therefore must we be self-reliant."

The room was still.

Padre Osuna spoke after a moment.

"Circumstances have but now arisen which preclude me from giving Señor Mendoza reply. That, as well as the adjustment of other affairs here, will have to fall to some one else. Soon will I make explanation." Turning to Mendoza: "Shall I find the Señor Mendoza at his house late this afternoon?"

Mendoza bowed. "At your service, señor padre."

"Brethren, I will return to you in a moment."

The padre conducted the Administrator down a long corridor, into the courtyard, toward the lodge.

An elderly woman was walking under a vine-covered trellis.

"Mother," tenderly from the friar, "I am sorry to keep you waiting; but there are many things to do, and only a short time."

The snowy-haired woman had advanced a few steps to meet her son. She stopped abruptly. She was not looking at the padre, but at Señor Mendoza.

"My mother, allow me to present to you—" began the friar.

"The Lady Romalda!" exclaimed Mendoza, the words clutching his throat.

"Don José!" she cried, holding out her hands, her lips trembling.

Señor Mendoza took her hands in his, and, bending low, reverently kissed the finger-tips. "Romalda! Romalda!"

The padre looked at the two in questioning wonder. The woman and the man seemed to have slipped the years from their shoulders, and to be standing again in youth.

"My boy," said the mother, "Colonel Mendoza and I knew each other well, many years ago. We were very dear—friends," moisture dimming her eyes, emotion halting her voice.

The son was much shaken by his mother's show of feeling. "My beloved mother!" he said, gently stroking her hair.

In a little Señor Mendoza and the Lady Romalda, after the manner of those long separated, began speaking of former times. Soon the padre excused himself, to return to his brethren, leaving his mother and Señor Mendoza seated under the trellised vines.

Nothing but kindliness and tenderness and chivalry was in Mendoza's heart for the woman by his side. Memories long forgotten came to life, under stimulation of the Lady Romalda's presence. Robbed of all harshness were those bygone times. The happy and useful life he had spent in his adopted country left bitterness no room.

As for her, slumbering years and crowding vicissitude had put in the background, but had not quenched, the affection for her girlhood lover.

The years passed under review.

They spoke of the parting in the castle of her father, the Ambassador Altamira, of Castile.

"Colonel," she said, a faint blush creeping into her faded cheek, "had I listened one moment more to you that day, I would have fled to your arms, and have left with you for California, though my father's heart had broken."

A surprised exclamation was Mendoza's reply.

"You rode furiously down the avenue. At the bend, in the shadow of those old oaks, you stopped, reining your horse about. I can still see you there. I hastened to the door to welcome you, thinking you were about to return. My father bade me within, but I obeyed not. I remained at the door. I beckoned you. My father made a scene. Nevertheless, once more I beckoned. I thought you saw, but you galloped away."

"I saw you not. Grief flooded my eyes. Castle Altamira, your home, and hallowed by our courtship, had been to me as a shrine.

"On this Pacific shore I had built another Castle Altamira, laying the foundation and rearing the walls in love. It embodied my devotion to you. In the shadow of those oaks, as I rode away, my heart was gone from me, for the castle in Castile was become but building stone, the doña of the hearth mine no longer. The new home in this western world, lacking the cement of love, was worthless, and must fall in ruins. Had I seen you beckoning—" agitation breaking the sentence.

"You would have returned, José?"

"Yes, Lady Romalda, yes; though many forbidding ambassador-fathers barred the way," smiling. "But, señora, your father's intensity of feeling seemed equaled by your own."

"The hidalgo is by nature an ardent nationalist, as you know. Born into that atmosphere, with every breath I imbibed its spirit. That you should lose this pride of nation fired me with indignation. Yes, José, even when love forced me to try to bring you back, my very soul was lifted against you. Time, and the irony of fate, revolutionized my views."

They became silent, their thoughts busy.

"I too became a foreigner," she went on presently, as if no break had occurred in the conversation.

She related her journeying to Bombay with her father, a few years later, and of meeting there a young native prince who was in part of Portuguese extraction, his mother having been a member of a powerful family of that nationality residing in Goa.

The prince's father, a Christian, had been maharajah of Rajput, one of the great principalities of British Hindustan. The Mohammedan portion of the maharajahship had engendered rebellion. In attempting to suppress it by armed force the father was killed. The son, also a Christian, attained high position in English officialdom in Bombay.

This youthful Hindustanee, whose Latin name was Lusciano Osuna do Castello Branco, became very friendly with the daughter of the Spanish representative, Ambassador Altamira, of Castile.

"My father died suddenly," said the Lady Romalda. "The prince paid court and won my hand. We were married.

"My husband was a citizen of Great Britain. I became a British subject by my marriage. My son, known here as Padre Lusciano Osuna, was born in Bombay, and was given his father's name in baptism, Lusciano Osuna do Castello Branco."

She told of her son's school days in England, whither the English government had sent him, of his graduation from a military academy, and his return to India.

"The Mohammedan maharajah was deposed by the British. My husband was placed on the throne. I lived in Rajput, a princess. My husband fell in suppressing insurrection, as had his father before him. Lusciano, my son, commanded in his father's stead, and through his efforts the rebellion was overcome. Great preparations were under way to honor the young prince, the present padre, when he should take the throne. Great Britain promised him unlimited support. His father's enemies, even, swore allegiance to him. All looked forward to a reign of prosperity and peace.

"Lusciano, always of strongly religious bent, refused the honor; turned his back on the world and became a Franciscan novice in Goa. The people begged him to remain with the principality, but he persisted in his chosen course. Soon he was called to Europe. In a few years all Spain was ringing in praise of the brilliant preaching of the friar do Castello Branco. His superiors, foreseeing a future of great usefulness for the churchman, were about to make him a cardinal. The mystic, the recluse, in him took alarm, and he requested the British ambassador at Madrid to use his influence to avert the threatened honor. He was allowed to come to this province, and hoped the world would forget him.

"Grave difficulties have recently arisen in India, which is seething in rebellion. The people of Rajput, remembering his efficient leadership, are clamoring for the return of Prince do Castello Branco. The English premier brought the matter before the pope, who has issued an order that my son go to Rajput at once, ascend the throne, and, as friar-king, rule for Christian concord in the principality. The British ship bearing the order to Lusciano stopped at Bombay and I took passage to meet my son and to see the country which was to have been my home.

"So, José, I came—and I find you, an unlooked-for pleasure. I was told that you had obliterated the house you had prepared for me, so I thought that long ago you had left this part of the world forever."

Mendoza shook his head slowly, and was lost in reverie. At last he spoke. "My heart overflows with rejoicing at this privilege of hearing your voice once more, and of taking your hand in mine. Time touches you lightly, Romalda."

"And you, also, my Don José, of the erect shoulders and stalwart form."

There under the arbor, with the busy life of the Mission going on about them, they talked until the long shades came.

It was not until Padre Osuna stood by their side and said, "Madre mia, the twilight must chill thee after the warmth of Rajput," that they parted.

Matronas attended the mother, while the friar conducted Mendoza to the lodge gate.

"Señor," he said, "I have advised my brethren to resist secularization by every means within their power. Were it possible for me to remain as head of this Mission I would fight, to the last, the proposed encroachment."

The neighboring hacenderos vied among themselves to do honor to the Princess do Castello Branco, guest of the province. The days came and went in delightful companionship.

Finally, the time for the homeward journey had arrived. The British ship was sailing out of San Francisco harbor, on the afternoon tide.

Lady Romalda and Señor Mendoza were standing on the forward deck, looking out over the vast, restless sea. She was talking rapidly. He spoke little.

The vessel began pitching on the swells that precede the bar.

It was the moment of parting.

They stood, hands clasped. The lady's eyes were streaming. The Administrator's good-by broke in his voice.

A boat was lowered over the side, and Señor Mendoza was rowed to the fort.

The ship gathered headway, crossed the bar, and lost itself in the horizon of the ocean.

CHAPTER XXXII
A WEDDING

Merrily rang the chimes in the old belfry of the Mission church of San José de Guadalupe. "Come! Come! Come! Come, Come!" the call sounded far out into the valley shimmering in the green of springtide.

"Come! Come! Come! Come, Come!" echoed the hills.

Pigeons, denizens of the church tower, flew in, and out, and around, the whirring of their wings sounding above the resonance of the bells, in the intervals of their summoning notes. Flocks darted into the air, circled for a moment, then disappeared, as if bearing away urgent messages. Others dropped from emptiness, clung to the gargoyles on the belfry corners, and, in low cooings, told some story.

"We are coming! coming! coming!" came in refrain from many footbeats. Men and women from throughout the entire province were gathering on the eastern slope of Santa Clara Valley that bright spring morning.

The Vallejos, of the North, came; their ladies were there, and their sons and their daughters, personifications of the intellect, the valor, the virtue and the beauty which glorified the valley of the Moon. Gold and silver bespangled their horses' bridles, hung as pendants from the bridlereins, inlaid the stirrups, and gilded the saddles from high pommel in the front to long anquera reaching back to crupper.

Gold lace adorned the hatbands and decorated the ponchos of the men, while gold spurs clicked at their heels. Silk and satin embellished señoritas beautiful and señoras handsome. Peons and peonas, jigging after their masters on horses clean-limbed and swift, were bravely attired as for a fiesta.

The Picos rode in from the South, with retinue as splendid as that of their Sonoma rivals, their Gallic heritage showing in the harmony and luxuriousness of color in poncho and gowning.

José Antonio Carillo escorted representatives of his family along the Camino Real, through San José pueblo, on to San José Mission, four leagues away toward the setting sun.

The Bandinis followed the de la Guerras. The Auguellos and the Malarins paced side by side. The busy bee of politics buzzed in vain in the cap of Juan de Bautista Alvarado, for the active brain beneath was under the spell of superior attraction in Mission San José, and the man hastened thither faster than if the governor's chair awaited him there.

Señor Castro, the steadfast, flanked his friend Señor Alvarado, and looked about complacently, contentment complete, since his equipment equaled any present.

The "Bostons," allied to the Spanish families, were there, as Latin in dress and manner as the Spaniards themselves.

"Come! Come! Come, Come!" the bell kept saying. "Come, to the nuptials of the Señorita Carmelita Mendoza and the Señor Alfredo Morando."

Mission San José lay nestling in verdure. The vineyards pointed their budding tendrils low, their gentler tints soft against the darker leaves of the olive groves.

Orange orchards rioted in magnificence on the sunny slopes. The tree foliage, shot through with the waxy petals of next year's promise, half hid the golden balls of this year's harvest still awaiting the gathering hand.

Almond trees, as yet showing never a leaf, were beclouded by their snowy flowerings into vast pillars.

Gentle breezes rose and fell. Soft blossom-showers whitened the ground, eddied around parent tree-trunk, or crept to modest hiding place amidst the grass-blades.

Everywhere the odor of growing things loaded the air with sweet messages. Myriad flower-breaths floated through open doors and windows, dropping fragrant tribute in hacienda house and cloistered corridor.

People in throngs, eager with expectancy, held the street fronting on the Mendoza hacienda house. Masters of ceremony opened a wide lane from mansion to church. The Spanish gentry fringed either side; detachments of soldiers, in serried rank, stood next; back of them, overflowing to the very limits of the village, crowded other residents of the valley.

The deep-throated organ within the church began to voice its monologue. The conversation of hidalgos fell to whisper; the chatter of peons and peonas hushed.

The great gate of the courtyard swung open wide. Through the archway, on a palfrey white as milk, came the daughter of the de la Mendoza. Her mount, true to the strain of his forebears in far-away Arabia, caracoled to and fro, and ambled forward slowly, step by step, as if to show the perfection that California could breed in priceless horseflesh. His mane flowed into the trappings on his breast; his streaming tail almost touched the ground.

Carmelita, gowned in white, rode stately, as became the princess that she well might be. The wreath of orange bloom clinging above her forehead would have made a fitting diadem. The folds of her bridal robe fell entrancingly about her. With eyes cast down, cheeks aglow, she passed along, the fairest bride Santa Clara Valley ever saw; no small claim, indeed, for hers was a time and she of a race wherefrom beautiful women sprang in plenty.

Here bridesmaids followed in double file, their horses white, every one; their apparel, the delicate pink of the first flush of dawn, the result of skillful needlewomen through many a day.

Lolita Hernandez, pretty and piquant, was side by side with Lucinda Higuera, demure and handsome. Alfreda Castro, with raven hair showing beneath her satin head-covering, moved along with Tula Laynez, gray-eyed, blonde-cheeked, and saucy as a sparrow. Palmita Peralta, with cherry lips ever smiling, was paired with Leopolda Estudillo, of the starry eyes.

The bride has reached the church steps.

Deftly her feet disengage themselves from the silken loops used for stirrup; nimbly she reaches ground. Quickly the following señoritas are at her side, while peon grooms lead away the horses.

"Viva! Viva! The Señorita Mendoza! Viva! Viva!"

Then from some one: "Viva! the Señorita doña's bridesmaids!"

"Ah! Ah! Look!" cried many.

Morando, on coal-black steed, came through the gate and slowly to the church door. Comandante of all California he was now, promotion from guardian of pueblo San José to post commander at Yerba Buena having been succeeded by transfer to Monterey presidio; and, finally, came the command of all the land forces.

With him rode, as groomsmen, the presidio commanders of Yerba Buena, of Monterey, of Santa Barbara, and of San Diego, and accompanied by many caballeros.

Señor Mendoza, now Governor Mendoza, was horsed on old Mercurio falling into years, still peerless for speed in all the valley. Flanked by members of his council and the junta departmental the Governor made his way up to the church. With sweeping gesture of his bridle-rein, to the right and to the left, he gave salute for salute to the waiting grandees, as he passed along.

Up the aisle, decorated with innumerable Castilian roses intertwined with ivy, came Carmelita, on her father's arm, orange blossoms clustered in her hand, her bridesmaids well in the lead.

The organ swelled in notes of rejoicing.

Directly before the señorita went two little girls, clad in white, backing slowly altarward, as she advanced. Freshly gathered rose-petals, handful by handful, they showered before her, making a pathway sweetly yielding as she trod.

Captain Morando, awaiting his bride, stood at the altar gate, in uniform, his poncho laid aside, his brother officers attending him.

Bride and groom knelt within the sanctuary.

Neophyte Indian acolytes swung censers. Incense hung in the air, tingling the nostrils with its Oriental perfume, while the many candles glowed through the maze like burnished spear-points.

As the clergy solemnly intoned the nuptial service, the choir, a hundred strong, of Indian men and women touchingly gave back its responses. The melody of Pepita's voice flooded nave and chancel, love for her mistress the inspiration.

An instant's pause. Every breath stilled.

With hands upraised over bride and groom stood the officiating padre. "Whom, therefore, God hath joined together let no man put asunder."

Down the aisle husband and wife led bridesmaid and groomsman, governor, council, and junta departmental.

Muskets crashed, as they crossed the street; the multitude shouted congratulations; the hills above them lived in medley of reiterated acclaimings of good will.

At the wedding breakfast words dripped like honey from the mouth of Señor Alvarado, as he spoke of the lovely bride. Grave Castro smiled approbation; the clever Carillo applauded; his ally, Don Pio Pico, cried aloud, "Bon! Bon! Buena!" Even Alvarado's saturnine enemy, the half-Sicilian, Di Vestro, clapped his hands, as the señor, the honey-drip becoming torrential eloquence, said: "For the kiss of such a bride as the Señora Morando, gladly would I again drive that Mexican usurper, Micheltorena, from California soil; yes, and every follower he has!"

"Will you! Will you!" exclaimed the young wife, blushing at mention of the new name. Stepping up, she kissed squarely the Señor Alvarado, her mother's brother.

"A challenge! A challenge!" from the guests. "The former governor at last has found a nut he cannot crack. Aha! Alvarado, thy kinswoman is ever quicker in retort than thou."

The tall politician bowed gently to the Señora Doña Carmelita.

"If you draw them hither, mi querida, no power of mine could budge them a single inch."

"Well said! Well said!"

Later came the afternoon barbecue in the foothills. Dozens of beeves were roasting in deep pits, on live-coals, the outdoor sports of early California first whetting the appetite for the feast.

Bonfire blazed red against crag and forest that night, as peon and peona continued the repast, and danced the fandango to the music of guitar, and the surprised cries of catamount and wolf.

At the hacienda house the Señor and Señora Morando danced in the contra danza amidst the plaudits of the lookers-on.

Señor Mendoza, threescore and ten and one, led forth the lithe Francesca Sanchez, and never youth tripped a lighter step than did the governor of California at his daughter's wedding.

Pio Pico, gallant and graceful, placed his hat on a señorita's head, and they followed Mendoza and his partner.

Alvarado and Castro, Pedro Zelaya and Abelardo Peralta found ladies and joined; so did de la Barra, and Higuera, Salvador Vallejo and Nazario Dominguez, until, as some said, California north, and south, and center, was united, if only for the contra danza.

Small hours found the gaiety undiminished, for midnight supper strengthened for further dancing. Neither was one day deemed sufficient to do adequate honor to the marriage of Carmelita Mendoza and Comandante Morando.

Next day the couple, the Governor Mendoza, and all friends repaired to the hacienda house of Fulgencio Higuera, two leagues away, to dance and to make merry till the break of another morning.

The third day was passed with Señor Berryessa, near pueblo San José, the following at Marco Calderon's, and so on.

The seventh day found them entering the porte cochere of their own home, once the residence of Colonel Barcelo, from whose gates, ere many moons, they were to see, with rejoicing hearts, the Stars and Stripes burst, in unending vigil, over government house, plaza and castle.

Long years, and happy ones, they lived, and their descendants, now of the third and fourth generation, bless their memory, and tell of the honor, the bravery, the virtue of General Morando and his bride of Mission San José.