Chapter XII: Carmelita Dances El Son

By custom the dance of El Son followed supper. Peons pared wax from candles and scattered the particles over the ballroom floor. Smooth as it had been before it must be made more so for the dance El Son. The Indian men and women worked the wax into the wood until the surface shone like the beams of a harvest moon.

"A little more wax by you there, Clotilda--not that side, the other!" ordered the peon in charge. "Now, be alive with your foot. Use judgment! Use judgment! Don't wear a hole in the floor. Now, more wax where your toes were digging!"

"Already as many candles are in the shavings, Tomaso, as would make a display for Holy Thursday," remonstrated a peona.

"What have we here? What have we here?" indignantly from Tomaso. "All masters, and no servants? Obey my word, and be quick about it! Move yourselves, every one of you! Make the floor glisten. The more it shines the more slippery it is. Did you not hear some of the company clamoring that our doña herself dance El Son to-night?"

Tomaso was Señor Mendoza's trusty man, an Indian of intelligence and fidelity. He was captain of the Señor's fighting peons and had been Carmelita's postilion at the merienda race. Under his rapid orders the servants made the floor ready. Mendoza, however, was not satisfied with it.

"The floor is not yet right for El Son. It needs a dance thereon. Friends, let us have a waltz!"

The caballeros sought partners, looking for their lady loves over grounds, reception rooms, and conservatory. Morando found Carmelita chatting vivaciously in the midst of a gay party.

"Will you favor me with this waltz, señorita doña?"

"It is yours, Captain Morando."

In a moment they were one of a hundred couples on the floor. The girl's eyes sparkled and the color rose higher in her cheeks.

"A wonderful night this has been!" Morando exclaimed to his partner in the waltz. "What a pity it must end so soon!"

"You are, then, enjoying the baile? No? It will delight my father, I know, to hear that."

"Señorita Doña, may I have a few moments with you when this dance is over?"

"Certainly."

In a little while they were seated in the quiet of a reception room.

"Señorita Carmelita, I told you earlier in the evening that I love you, and I asked your love in return. Again I tell you I love you. O, doña mia! Doña mia! Will you not accept my love?"

She looked at him and moved away slightly.

"O, Doña Carmelita, will you not answer me?"

"The Capitan Morando is insistent."

"My heart urges me, señorita doña, my heart filled with love for you."

"The Capitan's love hangs on slender thread."

"You, doña mia, can make that thread strong."

"I do not choose thus to occupy myself."

"O, heart of my heart, accept my love and I will give my whole life to you."

"It is quite time for this interview to end. Señor Capitan, will you escort me back to the company?"

"Señorita Carmelita, why do you speak in this way? Have I offended you?"

"Possibly you have other questions to ask."

"Only one other question concerns me, señorita mia. Answer me that, I implore of you. Say that you will accept my love."

He stood before her. Involuntarily his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, as it had done when shortly before he had been speaking to Señora Valentino.

The girl arose quickly. "Good evening, Captain Morando," she said and left the room.

Undecided, he looked after her.

A hand was laid on his shoulder.

"Señor Captain, we meet after El Son in the card room. Come into the open with us, and we will explain."

It was Valencia who spoke.

"Yes, come with us. We have been looking everywhere for you," joined in Hernandez.

"I am at your service, señors."

The music for El Son, low and sobbing, came floating through the flower-scented air. This dance, of Spanish, or, perhaps, of Moorish origin, had elaborated itself in the new world, personifying in poetry of motion the joyous spirit of the province. It belonged to the master of the house to select the dancer who, if she chose, might add to the usual figures inventions of her own. Carmelita appeared at the entrance of the ballroom. Serving maids and Indian messenger boys were around her in numbers. She dispatched them, one by one, to bring in all the guests.

They came from everywhere. The older men were in small groups, talking earnestly, and often gesticulating vehemently. The young men were mostly with their sweethearts and the dueñas. With Señora Valentino were Valencia, Hernandez, Abelardo Peralta, Patricio Martinez, and a half dozen others, including Morando.

"We have laid before the Captain our point of view," Hernandez was saying. "Even the charming Señora Valentino, a stranger here and altogether free from self-interest, agrees----"

They passed into the ballroom.

Señor Mendoza walked up and down the room, pretending to clap his hands before this señorita, or that, this being the signal by which the favored one was notified that she was to set foot to the measures. Laughter and bantering without stint went around.

"Lolita Hernandez!"

"Lucinda Higuera!"

"Tula Laynez!"

"Juanita Calderon!"

"Alfreda Castro!" from yet another partisan; and so on.

"The Señorita Carmelita!" cried a dozen voices as the doña entered.

"Beautiful! Beautiful!" exclaimed the usually phlegmatic Fulgencio Higuera. "The señorita Mendoza has stolen the light of stars for her eyes, and she has robbed the gardens for her cheeks. Let her dance El Son."

She bowed in appreciation.

"I thank you," she said. Then to her father, "Papacito, a word."

They withdrew.

"Will you ask me to dance El Son?"

Wondrously beautiful she was, her dark eyes glowing, the color flaming in her cheeks. The chivalry of his young manhood lived again as he saw the resplendent girl. Joy leaped in his heart that this exquisite creature was his daughter. She stood before him, every element of her personality pleading.

"Please, Papacito! I wish it to-night more than anything else."

They walked back among the people. The company unwittingly seconded her request.

"The Señorita Mendoza, the fairest of the fair! Call her, señor! Call her, the lily of the valley!"

The old don hesitated.

Again came the request from all sides, increasing insistent.

"Papacito, please!" urged the girl in low voice.

He clapped his hands before her.

In the midst of loud applause she walked to the middle of the room.

The music, now dreamy and insinuating, soon took a livelier turn. The young woman glided back and forth on the waxed floor as lightly as a swallow skims the air. In willowy movements, hands and feet in perfect correspondence, she hovered over the cleared space, seeming scarcely to touch the floor. Then, in wider step, she circled over this space in eaglelike sweeps, her arms outstretched and her long hair floating.

Without pausing, the girl's movements became sinuous, gentle. She advanced, retreated, again came forward, as if entreating, but fearing rebuff. Rare grace and charm was in every motion.

"Brava! Brava!" shouted the men, while above all was heard the excited voice of Morando.

With arms extended she fluttered from side to side, as a butterfly sipping honey from flower-cups here and there, staying but an instant at any one.

Her hand made gesture to the musicians.

The strain became bold, quick, martial.

She spun on her toe-tips, her long dress billowing, her hair streaming. As she whirled, her feet described winding figures on the floor, her skirts repeating the design.

More and more quickly Carmelita circled over the room.

Louder crashed the music, and more hearty became the plaudits.

Fulgencio Higuera drew from his pocket a handful of gold pieces, and flung them at the señorita's feet. Another, another, a dozen others, followed his example.

"Brava! Brava!" cried Marcel Hernandez, tossing handfuls of gold to the ceiling. The pieces fell among the enthusiastic company, who scarcely noticed the glittering shower.

Still, the doña sped on her toes, her skirt still marking in ampler pattern the lines fashioned by her feet. Her very being undulated in response to the weird music.

The applause hushed for a moment.

"C-A-R-M-E-L-I-T-A M-E-N-D-O-Z-A," some one spelled the tracing, letter by letter. "Carmelita Mendoza."

The clamor broke out afresh.

"She has worked her name on the ballroom floor, as part of the dance! Viva! Viva!" they shouted. "Viva! Viva!"

The doña again fluttered up and down, arms outstretched.

The caballeros rushed around the girl shouting and praising her. More gold was freely scattered, its jingle intermingling with the orchestra.

"Splendid! Splendid! Is it not so, Señora Valentino?" came from Captain Morando. Without pausing for reply he hastened to Carmelita, who was surrounded by numberless congratulating friends.

"O, doña mia," the Captain cried, "you dance with the grace of an angel."

"The most successful rendition of El Son in a decade!" added a dueña.

"The most perfect ever," again from Morando.

Señora Valentino came up all smiles. "This ball is the rarest treat of my visit to California, and your El Son, señorita, is the choice incident of the evening's pleasure. I thank you for it."

"You are very good, señora. I am glad that I can help in entertaining you."

The music for a mazurka was beginning. The older men disappeared from the room. Morando, Peralta, Martinez, and a number of others soon followed, while the rest were again at the dance.

Colonel Barcelo and Moraga returned to the card room and finished their nearly completed round of cribbage.

"A piece of luck, Moraga. Simply a confounded piece of luck. It happens occasionally."

"I've won five out of six games from you to-night, Colonel."

"Chance threw the cards your way. My skill simply went for nothing--went for nothing!"

The card room rapidly filled. After a few moments of cursory conversation there was silence. Each was waiting for another to speak.

Valencia began.

"Señors," with much deliberation, "at supper the sense of the majority of the assemblage was that we take our province from the tutelage of Mexico to the protection of Great Britain. The question before us is, How shall we proceed to make this transfer? Let us hear from you."

Hernandez arose.

"Send a delegation to the English representative in Monterey, and tell him of our desires. A British fleet is near. Let it take possession of the province. Then, if Mexico objects, she will have Great Britain to deal with."

Most of the men nodded affirmatively.

Hernandez took his seat with a satisfied air.

"Friends," said Mendoza, "I am not of the mind that it is wise to take action in this matter to-night. Too great haste in acting is like a too hot fire in cooking."

Higuera, Zelaya, and a few others signified they were in agreement with this.

"My friends, action is the word!" cried Hernandez. "Positive action! Prompt action! Mexico stands at our gates collecting taxes, giving nothing in return, like the robbers at Tarifa. Drop Mexico, I say, and join hands with England, at once!"

"As English subjects a mighty future is ours. Let us not wait," from Abelardo Peralta.

"The young men will have opportunities then," followed Miguel Soto. "An English prime minister ruled his political world when he was twenty-one."

"Why not find from the United States, and from Great Britain as well, the conditions under which they will receive our province? We can then act more intelligently."

"No, no!" chorused many. "England! England! Become English subjects at once."

Hernandez jumped to his feet. "Become British subjects at once!" waving his hand.

Others, and yet others, followed his example, till the place fairly rang with the shouting.

Mendoza rapped on a table. After quiet was restored he began: "Señors, we have in Baja California men like Carillo and the brothers Pico. Unless we allow them a part in our deliberations they will repudiate any action we may take. England does not want a province with divided sentiment. Carillo and the brothers Pico are capable of inciting Southern California to rebellion, if we attempt to turn over the province to England without consulting them."

"Good friends, no embarrassment need be feared from Carillo, nor from the brothers Pico." With these words Señora Valentino floated into the room, her upturned face wreathed in smiles.

The company, surprised at the sound of her voice, turned questioningly.

"I think Carillo, likewise the brothers Pico, can be relied on to espouse your wish to transfer allegiance to England."

Mendoza spoke: "Respected lady, these absent gentlemen must be given a chance to speak for themselves. Giving away provinces is more than child's play. We cannot hazard guesses."

"My ever-wise Administrator, you are right. It occurs to me that these same brothers Pico and Señor Carillo have in some slight manner expressed themselves as favorable to this English protectorate which we all are so anxious to bring about."

"But, good señora, mere hearsay must not be accepted."

"Again, right as ever, most worthy Administrator. But, to recollect further--I believe I have in my possession a letter from these señors--possibly, two or three letters--as I recall the matter more closely. These same letters, if I mistake not, declare quite plainly as to the sentiments of the writers."

"But, Señora Valentino, there must be no possibility of mistake in such an issue as this."

With childlike simplicity she looked into the face of Mendoza.

"I remember fully now. These Southerners express unequivocally their desire to make California a British province. They assure us they will spare no pains to bring about this consummation."

"But, señora, pardon: would I presume should I ask further enlightenment?"

Again she smiled. "Señor, your Excellency, you do not presume. These communications from Señors Carillo and the Pico brothers were merely little private scribbles, from one sojourner to another, so to speak, and in which there happened to be mention of the political unrest now occupying the minds of the sterner sex." Her smile broadened.

Colonel Barcelo had been looking through the cards of the last hand at cribbage, hoping to come across errors in his opponent's play. He found none. "This question should have been settled long ago," he said, testily. "Let the British admiral bring his fleet into Monterey Harbor. Down comes the Mexican flag and up goes the Union Jack. Mexico cannot resist, having no ships. I wonder I did not think of having this done before."

He took his seat, and again looked through the cards.

Renewed enthusiasm now possessed the company. They applauded and shouted; and cheered Señora Valentino and Colonel Barcelo. When quiet came a committee was chosen to acquaint the English representative at Monterey of California's wish.

"Come, Moraga," challenged Colonel Barcelo, "let us play again."

"Colonel, you would pass a province from hand to hand as unconcernedly as you do these pasteboards," uttered Moraga, taking his place at the card table.

"Certainly! Certainly! This change has really been in my mind some time. Just crept in, so I hardly noticed it."

The Colonel and the land baron were soon engrossed with the game. The other guests sauntered away.

A few moments later Carmelita chanced to see Tomaso, captain of her father's fighting peons, riding away on Mercurio, the wheel horse in the merienda race. Following, on a reata, was the big bay leader of the Mendoza team. The Indian had stripped to the waist, and wore only the leathern knee breeches of the peon jockey. A handkerchief was tied tightly around the head to keep in place his long hair. Neither horse was saddled, having only a surcingle about its body.

The rattle of hoofs on the hard road sounded loud in the night, then died out.

The girl knew that Tomaso was bent on some errand of great interest to her father. The two swift horses, prepared as they were, meant that the Indian would, if necessary, ride one to exhaustion, then use the other to complete his journey.

The night waned. Noises of early morning began to echo in the hills. The dance and merriment went on. Faint tracings of dawn came across the eastern horizon. The Mendoza ball was drawing to its close. Light came on wings of morning.

Peons brought carreta and horse. Señor Mendoza and his daughter stood at the courtyard gate to wish Godspeed to the departing guests. "Adios, Señor Mendoza! Adios, Señorita Mendoza!" was heard on every side.

Father and daughter watched neighbor and friend go their way.

Rapidly galloping horses were approaching from the direction of the eastern hills. Two horsemen were soon at the gate. One was Tomaso astride the big bay leader trembling from the ride. The other was O'Donnell on his stallion.

"Buenos días, Señor O'Donnell," greeted Mendoza.

O'Donnell returned, "Good morning," adding with rising reflection, "Well?"

"The Señor O'Donnell and I have pressing business, my daughter. Please excuse us, carita mia."

The señorita bowed.

The men went into Mendoza's private office.