The Splendid Idle Forties: Stories of Old California

On the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat transferred his authority to Commodore Stockton, and the new commander of the Pacific squadron organized the California Battalion of Mounted Riflemen, appointing Frémont major and Gillespie captain.  He ordered them South at once to intercept Castro.  On the twenty-eighth, Stockton issued a proclamation in which he asserted that Mexico was the instigator of the present difficulties, and justified the United States in seizing the Californias.  He denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, a boasting and abusive chief, and accused him of having violated every principle of national hospitality and good faith toward Captain Frémont and his surveying party.  Stockton sailed for the South the same day in the Congress, leaving a number of officers to Monterey and the indignation of the people.

“By Jove, I don’t dare to go near Doña Eustaquia,” said Russell to Brotherton.  “And I’m afraid we won’t have our picnic.  It seems to me the Commodore need not have used such strong language about California’s idol.  The very people in the streets are ready to unlimb us; and as for the peppery Doña—­”

“Speak more respectfully of Doña Eustaquia, young man,” said the older officer, severely.  “She is a very remarkable woman and not to be spoken slightingly of by young men who are in love with her daughter.”

“God forbid that I should slight her, dear Captain.  Never have I so respected a woman.  She frightens the life out of me every time she flashes those eyes of hers.  But let us go and face the enemy at once, like the brave Americans we are.”

“Very well.”  And together they walked along Alvarado Street from the harbour, then up the hill to the house of Doña Eustaquia.

That formidable lady and her daughter were sitting on the corridor dressed in full white gowns, slowly wielding large black fans, for the night was hot.  Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she rose and courtesied to the officers, but her mother merely bent her head; nor did she extend her hand.  Her face was very dark.

Brotherton went directly to the point.

“Dear Doña Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our Commodore has used such harsh language in regard to General Castro.  But remember that he has been here a few days only and has had no chance to learn the many noble and valiant qualities of your General.  He doubtless has been prejudiced against him by some enemy, and he adores Frémont:—­there is the trouble.  He resents Castro’s treating Frémont as an enemy before the United States had declared its intentions.  But had he been correctly informed, he undoubtedly would have conceived the same admiration and respect for your brave General that is felt by every other man among us.”

Doña Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but shook her head sternly.  “Much better he took the trouble to hear true.  He insult all Californians by those shemful words.  All the enemies of our dear General be glad.  And the poor wife!  Poor my Modeste!  She fold the arms and raise the head, but the heart is broken.”

“Jove!  I almost wish they had driven us out!  Dear señora—­” Russell and Benicia were walking up and down the corridor—­“we have become friends, true friends, as sometimes happens—­not often—­between man and woman.  Cease to think of me as an officer of the United States navy, only as a man devoted to your service.  I have already spent many pleasant hours with you.  Let me hope that while I remain here neither Commodore Stockton nor party feeling will exclude me from many more.”

She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a gesture peculiar to her, and looked upward with a glance half sad, half bitter.

“I much appreciate your friendship, Capitan Brotherton.  You give me much advice that is good for me, and tell me many things.  It is like the ocean wind when you have live long in the hot valley.  Yes, dear friend, I forget you are in the navy of the conqueror.”

“Mamacita,” broke in Benicia’s light voice, “tell us now when we can have the peek-neek.”

“To-morrow night.”

“Surely?”

“Surely, niñita.”

“Castro,” said Russell, lifting his cap, “peace be with thee.”