The Doomswoman: An Historical Romance of Old California

Monterey danced every night and all night of that week, either at Alvarado’s or at the Custom-house, and every afternoon met at the races, the bull-fight, a merienda, or to climb the greased pole, catch the greased pig by its tail as it ran, or exhibit skill in horsemanship.  Chonita, at times an imperious coquette, at others, indifferent, perverse, or coy, was La Favorita without appeal, and the girls alternately worshipped her—­she was abstractedly kind to them—­or heartily wished her back in Santa Barbara.  Estenega rarely attended the socialities, being closeted with Alvarado and Castro most of the time, and when he did she avoided him if she could.  The pirates had fled and were seen no more; but their abrupt retreat, as described by Chonita, continued to be an exciting topic of discussion.  There were few of us who did not openly or secretly approve of Estenega’s Jesuitism and admire the nimbleness of his mind.  The clergy did not express itself.

On the last night of the festivities, when the women, weary with the unusually late hours of the past week, had left the ball-room early and sought their beds, and the men, being at loss for other amusement, had gone in a body to a saloon, there to drink and gamble and set fire to each other’s curls and trouser-seats, the Departmental Junta met in secret session.  The night was warm, the plaza deserted; all who were not in the saloon at the other end of the town were asleep; and after the preliminary words in Alvarado’s office the Junta picked up their chairs and went forth to hold conclave where bulls and bears had fought and the large indulgent moon gave clearer light than adamantine candles.  They drew close together, and, after rolling the cigarito, solemnly regarded the sky for a few moments without speaking.  Their purpose was a grave one.  They met to try Pio Pico for contempt of government and annoying insistence in behalf of his pet project to remove the capital from Monterey to Los Angeles; José Antonio Carillo and Reinaldo Iturbi y Moncada for conspiracy; and General Vallejo for evil disposition and unwarrantable comments upon the policy of the administration.  None of the offenders was present.

With the exception of Alvarado, Castro, and Estenega, the members of the Junta were men of middle age, and represented the talent of California,—­Jimeno, Gonzales, Arguëllo, Requena, Del Valle.  Their dark, bearded faces, upturned to the stars, made a striking set of profiles, but the effect was marred by the silk handkerchiefs they had tied about their heads.

Alvarado spoke, finally, and, after presenting the charges in due form, continued: 

“The individual enemy to the government is like the fly to the lion; it cannot harm, but it can annoy.  We must brush away the fly as a vindication of our dignity, and take precaution that he does not return, even if we have to bend our heads to tie his little legs.  I do not purpose to be annoyed by these blistering midgets we are met to consider, nor to have my term of administration spotted with their gall.  I leave it to you, my compatriots and friends, to advise me what is best to do.”

Jimeno put his feet on the side rung of Castro’s chair, puffed a large gray cloud, and half closed his eyes.  He then, for three-quarters of an hour, in a low, musical voice, discoursed upon the dignity of the administration and the depravity of the offenders.  When his brethren were beginning to drop their heads and breathe heavily, Alvarado politely interrupted him and referred the matter to Castro.

“Imprison them!” exclaimed the impetuous General, suddenly alert.  “With such a Governor and such a people, this should be a land white as the mountain-tops, unblemished by the tracks of mean ambitions and sinful revolutions.  Let us be summary, although not cruel; let no man’s blood flow while there are prisons in the Californias; but we must pluck up the roots of conspiracy and disquiet, lest a thousand suckers grow about them, as about the half-cut trunks of our redwood-trees, and our Californias be no better than any degenerate country of the Old World.  Let us cast them into prison without further debate.”

“The law, my dear José, gives them a trial,” drawled Gonzales.  And then for a half-hour he quoted such law as was known in the country.  When he finished, the impatient and suppressed members of the Junta delivered their opinions simultaneously; only Estenega had nothing to say.  They argued and suggested, cited evidence, defended and denounced, lashing themselves into a mighty excitement.  At length they were all on their feet, gesticulating and prancing.

“Mother of God!” cried Requena.  “Let us give Vallejo a taste of his own cruelty.  Let us put him in a temascal and set those of his Indian victims who are still alive to roast him out—­”

“No! no!  Vallejo is maligned.  He had no hand in that massacre.  His heart is whiter than an angel’s——­”

“It is his liver that is white.  His heart is black as a black snake’s.  To the devil with him!”

“Make a law that Pio Pico can never put foot out of Los Angeles again, since he loves it so well—­”

“His ugly face would spoil the next generation—­”

“Death to Carillo and Iturbi y Moncada!  Death to all!  Let the poison out of the veins of California!”

“No! no!  As little blood in California as possible.  Put them in prison, and keep them on frijoles and water for a year.  That will cure rebellion:  no chickens, no dulces, no aguardiente—­”

Alvarado brought his staff of office down sharply upon a board he had provided for the purpose.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “will you not sit down and smoke another cigarito?  We must be calm.”

The Junta took to its chairs at once.  Alvarado never failed to command respect.

“Don Diego Estenega,” said the Governor, “will you tell us what you have thought whilst the others have talked?”

Estenega, who had been star-gazing, turned to Alvarado, ignoring the Junta.  His keen brilliant eyes gave the Governor a thrill of relief; his mouth expressed a mind made up and intolerant of argument.

“Vallejo,” he said, “is like a horse that will neither run nor back into his stall:  he merely stands still and kicks.  His kicking makes a noise and raises a dust, but does no harm.  In other words, he will irritate, but never take a responsibility.  Send him an official notice that if he does not keep quiet an armed force will march upon Sonoma and imprison him in his own house, humiliating him before the eyes of his soldiers and retainers.

“As for Pio Pico, threaten to fine and punish him.  He will apologize at once and be quiet for six months, when you can call another secret session and issue another threat.  It would prolong the term of his submission to order him to appear before the Junta and make it an apology with due humility.

“Now for Carillo and Reinaldo Iturbi y Moncada.”  He paused a moment and glanced at Chonita’s grating.  He had the proofs of her brother’s rascality in his pocket; no one but himself had seen them.  He hesitated the fraction of another moment, then smiled grimly.  “Oh, Helen!” he thought, “the same old story.”

“That Carillo is guilty,” he said aloud, “is proven to us beyond doubt.  He has incited rebellion against the government in behalf of Carlos Carillo.  He is dangerous to the peace of the country.  Iturbi y Moncada is young and heedless, hardly to be considered seriously; furthermore, it is impossible to obtain proof of his complicity.  His intimacy with Carillo gives him the appearance of guilt.  It would be well to frighten him a little by a short term of imprisonment.  He is restless and easily led; a lesson in time may save his honored house from disaster.  But to Carillo no quarter.”  He rose and stood over them.  “The best thing in Machiavelli’s ‘Prince,’” he said, “is the author’s advice to Caesar Borgia to exterminate every member of the reigning house of a conquered country, in order to avoid future revolutions and their infinitely greater number of dead.  Do not let the water in your blood whimper for mercy.  You are not here to protect an individual, but a country.”

“You are right,” said Alvarado.

The others looked at the young man who had merely given them the practical advice of statecraft as if he had opened his chest and displayed the lamp of wisdom burning.  His freedom from excitement in all ordeals which animated them to madness had long ago inspired the suspicion that he was rather more than human.  They uttered not a protest.  Alvarado’s one-eyed secretary made notes of their approval; and the Junta, after another friendly smoke, adjourned, well pleased with itself.

“Would I sacrifice my country for her a year hence?” thought Estenega, as he sauntered home.  “But, after all, little harm is done.  He is not worth killing, and fright and discomfort will probably cure him.”