Chapter XXIV: The Next Day

"It's ingratitude, I say, ingratitude worthy of a--Catalonian," puffed Colonel Barcelo, striding up and down the veranda on the second story of his house.

"But, dear husband, Captain Morando is not a Catalonian. He is Castilian, native of Madrid, just the same as we are."

The Colonel paused in his walk and glared at his wife. "All the worse for him! All the worse for him!" he roared. "He has birth and training of a lion and the instincts of a--a----" Breath failed him.

"O, dear husband!" in expostulation.

"Dear husband! Dear husband!" mockingly. "This is no time----" Sufficient breath had not returned to him to complete his thought.

"O, Crisostimo! Crisostimo!"

"Crisostimo! Crisostimo!" again mocking her. "I've always said, Señora Barcelo, that you have no pride, and that you talk too much."

"O, my husband, you don't love me any more. How I wish I had never come to California!"

"So do I," growled the husband.

"How dare you! How dare you!" bridled the little woman. "I believe, now, those stories about your drinking absinthe and gambling in Paris."

"Clarinda, love, I mean I wish _we_ had never come to California, but that _we_ had remained in Europe."

"Well, that sounds different."

"As for this Morando, why, confound those Catalonian instincts in him!"

"But he isn't a Catalonian."

"I nearly shot a villainous Catalan major once for less than what Morando has done," he blustered, ignoring his wife's remark.

"What has Captain Morando done? I'm sure he is a very good man, and everyone thinks him handsome."

"Handsome!" straightening his shoulders and looking down at his ample proportions. "Handsome! Why, once at a court ball where I was present half a dozen princesses----"

"Were present also, I presume," snappingly interrupted his wife. "Well, tell me about Morando."

"Clarinda, my dear," sententiously, "I've labored for position and power, not for my own sake, but that you should receive what is worthy of you. That has been my great ambition," pompously.

"How exceedingly nice of you!" half sarcastically from the señora, not yet quite mollified after her husband's reference to the princesses.

"I had climbed to a place where high honor was almost mine. Mexico goes out of California and England comes in. I had aimed to gain for myself governorship of the province, as well as the commandership-in-chief of all the land forces. Under England such a position should satisfy anyone. It would have satisfied me--at least, for the present; that is, my love, when you would be at my side sharing the honors."

"Where else would I be?" her wide-open eyes darkening a little.

"Nowhere else; nowhere else, my love--not with my consent."

"Nor mine either," firmly.

The Colonel floundered a moment. "Where was I when interrupted? O yes. At last I had attained a place proper and fitting for me--and for you, too, Clarinda. When I say 'I' I mean you also."

"Crisostimo, why didn't you say that at first?"

"First! Say it first! Well, I meant it first. Now, comes this Morando, this villainous Morando----"

"Crisostimo, he is no such thing," defended the señora with indignation.

"A man whom I have often fed at my own table----"

"You never did but once," again interrupting. "Other than that he has never eaten a bite in this house, except the coffee and cake sister Silvia gave him early one morning when he happened to be here."

"Well, he didn't deserve even that."

Señora Valentino came on the veranda. "Why, my dear brother, what has happened? Your face is red and perspiring, and you seem excited."

"O, Silvia, sweetheart. Crisostimo has been saying mean things about your friend Captain Morando."

"And with reason," interjected Barcelo, gruffly.

"How so?" queried the sister.

"My confidence in this Morando has been shattered to pieces."

"And how?"

"Just what I've asked him," from the Colonel's wife.

"I've just come from an interview with the English consul here. Found him closeted with that Farquharson. Well, they told me the English admiral is to take possession of Monterey to-morrow," from Barcelo.

"Why should that make you say mean things about the Captain?" asked his wife.

He puffed his cheeks and rested his palms upon his hips, in characteristic pose. "This Morando has been laying plans to capture for himself the combined office of governor and commander-in-chief of this province."

"O, Crisostimo," faintly from Señora Barcelo, "this cannot be true. You must be mistaken."

"Mistaken, wife! Mistaken! Why, that Farquharson told me himself, in cold blood, that Morando is to be given the office, and the English consul seconded the fellow."

"We all thought so much of the Captain," from his wife, nearly overcome.

"You'll see I'm right about the man," a triumphant note in the Colonel's voice.

"I know you are always right, Crisostimo, love."

"Well, poor little Clarinda, you are not to be governor's wife, nor yet wife of the commander-in-chief," he commiserated.

"We've always made the Captain so welcome when he came here, and he was such an intimate friend of you, Silvia. How could he have meditated such treason against us all?"

"Treason is just the name for it. But--England isn't here yet, and I've got something to say about her coming. I am comandante of this presidio."

"Why, of course!" his wife cheering up.

"Yes, of course! Of course," exulted the Colonel.

"Silvia," asked her sister, "haven't you something to suggest? People say you are so bright."

Señora Valentino turned away to hide her smile. "The English consul and Señor Farquharson told you that Captain Morando is to receive the honor of which you speak?" addressing Barcelo.

"Well, it was this way. You see, I forced their hand. Just pinned them down; so, yes, or no, was all they could say," with a knowing nod.

A servant entered. "A message from the porter," she announced.

"Speak!" commanded her master.

"An orderly is at the door and requests to see Colonel Barcelo."

"Show him up here."

The soldier entered, saluted his commander and bowed to the women. "I have the honor to say the lookout at the castle reports ships entering the outer harbor."

"Coming, are they? Well, I shall let them see I am a soldier and a caballero; and, perhaps," moving his head from side to side, "that I am in command of the castle here. Clarinda, where is my new uniform? I shall appear in that, as befits the occasion."

The Colonel's wife, all a-flutter, took his arm and walked with him down the veranda stairs, Señora Valentino following.

The atmosphere of Monterey was tense with feeling that morning. By some telepathy news of the expected event had spread out from the capital. Hamlet, hacienda, and Indian rancheria were alike agog.

"Benito, the horses," called Barcelo, coming to the porte-cochere.

The acting governor made an imposing figure in his full colonel's regimentals. He mounted his horse with heavy dignity. "Wife, and sister Silvia, you ride with me."

They rode along the street to the public square. Already it bore resemblance to a fiesta day. Sidewalks were lined with men talking with lightninglike rapidity between puffs of their cigaritos. Peon and ranchero joined in the talk. Windows, verandas, roofs, even, were splendid in the vari-colored dress and headgear of the señora, señorita and peona. The whole world of Monterey became akin under stress of the greatest day it had ever known.

The Colonel endeavored to push rapidly through the square on his way to the castle. He was one of very many bent on the same errand. Carretas strained and squeaked in the press; horses snorted, reared, plunged; pedestrians risked life and limb by darting hither and thither, as opening presented.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Barcelo shouted after a little. "Here I am, only half way to the castle. Out of the way, I say! The Governor and his party are coming."

Two carretas going in opposite directions had locked wheels. The postilions were hurling curses and threats at each other; the occupants of the vehicles were screaming, while numerous fellow travelers were lavishly advising the best manner of breaking up the obstruction.

"Peste!" again from the Colonel. "Give way! Give way! Such drivers should be knocked senseless!"

Peons now seized the teams by the bridles; others pulled and tugged at the carretas until each was backed into freedom.

The stream of life once more toiled onward toward the castle. The Barcelos were carried on its bosom.

The old castle was built on a bluff overlooking Monterey harbor. Its black-mouthed guns had long gaped over the quiet of the land-locked waters, and its buttressed walls meant safety to padre, Indian neophyte, and Spanish hacendado.

The fort had been called "castle" by its builders when the flag of Spain waved over the Californias. Its appointments were mediæval. The moss-grown walls betokened decay; while the crumbling cement in the rock-ribbed abutments told the same story. Its ordnance was ranged to protect harbor and approaches. Moreover, it had protected them. Within the memory of the present generation two robber vessels had attempted to force entrance. The cannon thundered and one buccaneer boat laid her bones at the bottom of the bay; while the other, white flag at masthead, sued for mercy.

A long line of soldiers held the crowd at proper distance from the castle. The Colonel, with his wife and sister-in-law, made his way to the entrance, then along wide corridor and winding stair to the upper battlement.

Silently they looked out over the unheeding water. The surf murmured beneath them. The ocean nestled lazily against the horizon. Seabirds floated aimlessly in the air; or, with piercing cry, hurtled downward for the finny creatures below the surface of the swell.

Fishing smacks, ever ready to dare the roughest weather on prospect of full nets and ready market, now, careless of both, had found sheltered nooks whence to await the great happening. Other boats swayed at anchor near the beach.

"Major Silva," asked Barcelo of his second in command, "is our lookout sure he saw the fleet? I see nothing here."

"Absolutely certain, Colonel. His glass showed them plainly from the tower nearly an hour ago."

"Very well. See that mob out there doesn't push in any nearer."

The Major saluted and departed.

"The whole countryside seems to have pulled itself up by its boots and jumped into town; but as for that much-bragged of English fleet, there is not a sign. I, for one, don't believe it's coming. Bah!" blustered Barcelo.

"Comandante, the foreign consuls are at the gate," announced an orderly.

"Show them here."

The Comandante received them all with words and manner ceremoniously polite.

Glasses searched sky and water line, but in vain. Colonel Barcelo went from bastion to bastion calling to his side the gunners of each piece of artillery.

Chance sentences which had fallen here and there now thickened into connected conversation, as little groups were formed.

"Your words stirred up my brother-in-law this morning," Señora Valentino said in quick aside to Captain Farquharson, who had accompanied the consuls to the castle.

"It was the eleventh hour. He asked me a blunt question and I could do nothing but give him a plain answer. He cannot harm us."

"Fairbanks is not keen on this prize, Captain," moving her head thoughtfully.

Señora Barcelo came to her sister's side. "Silvia, look through this spyglass--over that ledge, then to where that thin scroll of fog dips down to the water."

Conversation ceased, and a dozen glasses scanned the spot.

A strip of white rose into sight, glanced in the sun, darkened, then gleamed like a sunflash on ice. To the left was another, then another. Suddenly, four more projected into plain view on the right.

"The fleet! The fleet!" chorused every side.

Breezes of late forenoon freshened over the harbor. Headland and sky line cleared of feathery mist.

The seven ships, every sail set, hove into full sight.

Captain Farquharson, resting his hands on a parapet, scrutinized eagerly the nearing men-of-war. His wish framed a thought which he believed Fairbanks's coming vitalized.

Thirty years ago Spain's nerveless hand fell from the Californias, leaving them to Mexico. Mexico's hold, feeble always, year by year had loosened. To-day would see the end.

His daydream grew.

The pushing, restless Saxon of Atlantic America, after overflowing the valley of the Mississippi, would not bring his civilization to the farthest West. Ford rivers, traverse deserts, fell forests as he might, at last he would meet a difficulty he could not surmount, the backfiring line of a civilization, virile as his own, wrought by the hand of his English cousin, and this day begun in the capital, Monterey. Another empire was about to come under Great Britain's sway.

"Señors!" Comandante Barcelo's voice, low and tense, broke the stillness.

Farquharson started from his reverie.

With bellying sails the fleet came scudding on, the dark hulls scarcely touching the water. Fairbanks's flagship was in the lead, her commander's pennant flinging from the foremast, the union jack streaming above. Back from the leader, in triangular spread, as wild fowl move, followed the others, three on a side.

"Señors, attention!" again from Barcelo. "Let us have understanding right here and now. You people have come here to-day to see a province pass from hand to hand, but," pointing to the cannon, "straight words from the throats of these jolly boys here shall speak a salute the aspiring English little expect. You, men of the consulate, go, tell your nations, California scorns any yoke."

"Nonsense!" cried Farquharson. "Our ships will batter this ramshackle to pieces in ten minutes."

Barcelo exploded a tremendous, "Huh!" then added, "No need keeps you here. The casemates are at your disposal."

"Perdition on your folly!" from the angry Englishman. "Why, man, I've faced death a score more times than you have fingers and toes, you insufferable ass!"

"Another word, and I'll clap you in irons!" was Barcelo's threat. Turning to the women he said, "It is time for the señoras to seek safety below."

"I shall remain here," from Señora Valentino.

"I shall stay, also," announced the Colonel's wife.

"Señoras, I insist that you go below--and at once! Orderly, take these ladies down immediately. As for you," turning to the men, "you can suit yourselves. Stay, if you will--if your noses itch for powder smoke."

Farquharson glowered at the Colonel, but did not speak. The surprised civilians hurriedly grouped themselves against a parapet.

The flagship stood in to the sheltered lea of the harbor. As a thing alive she ran. At each onward bound she raised her forefoot clear, then plunged nose-deep into the churning spray. Her bulging canvas gleamed against the distant background.

The Admiral and his officers were on the quarterdeck. Marines and man-o'-war's men swarmed aft.

"Make ready!" called Barcelo.

Each cannoneer stood by the priming of his piece, a lighted fuse spluttering in his hand.

"Fire!" shouted the Colonel, in voice so carrying that it reached the city square.

The old cannon mouths belched response.

Sheets of flame and smoke darted into the empty air. Over town and rolling land awoke a thousand echoes.

The fort shivered to its venerable foundation.

Across the harbor ricocheted the heavy shots, dotting a path straight to Fairbanks's ship. A school of flying fish these shots might have been, moistening their fins now and then, to show that water was their element. They dropped below the surface, as seeking rest, short of their destination a hundred yards.

"Elevate the muzzles of the guns!" yelled Barcelo. "Quick! the levers. Swing them in place! Bear down! Bear down, I tell you! Bring props. Now, get to work! Load again!"

Swabbers labored with might and main. Powder carriers came stumbling through the clinging smoke. Sinewy arms strained under the iron shot.

Seizing a ramrod, with his own hands the sooty and perspiring Colonel worked shoulder to shoulder with his men.

Signal flags arose, fluttered, fell, on the Admiral's vessel. Sailors swarmed through the rigging, like flies. Sails shortened, as by magic. Under lessened speed she swung until her length paralleled the water-front.

"Up with the white flag, Colonel Barcelo! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! For God's sake, give the order!" cried Farquharson. "She's ready for a broadside."

As he spoke he ran to the flagstaff. The consuls, storming and demanding, followed him, and made as if to lower the colors.

Barcelo halted them with drawn pistol. "Stand away! you squealing rats. I'll shoot the man who touches a halyard."

The Englishman stepped back; likewise, the others.

"O, our wives and children!" some one hoarsely cried.

"Comandante, for the love of God, bethink yourself!" remonstrated Farquharson.

"Sight those guns!" persisted Barcelo in a voice of thunder. "Now's your time! The ship's showing bottom like a dying fish. Hit the line, men, between air and water! Fire!"

Hill and valley again boomed in angry refrain. Over the bay skimmed the shot, true poised for distance, but scattering a course a quarter mile from the flagship's side.

Deck and port-hole of the great vessel frowned on the upstart who dared dispute the coming of the giant.

Away from the castle grounds in confusion tumbled the crowds that had so gayly come to enjoy a holiday.

Panic-stricken, Monterey held its breath, each instant seeing the next instant terrible in red destruction, to satisfy the Briton's vengeance.

Still the flagship swung, the circle widening, her cannon sullenly silent.

Helm hard down, she put about till Monterey lay astern. Her sails unfurled. Proud in the knowledge of her unused strength she spurned castle and capital and made majestically for the open sea.

One by one the warships wheeled and followed the leader, in triangular lines, as before.

The sea-breeze lifted from the castle the thick, black smoke-cloud. The gunners, begrimed and eager, held by their pieces.

Farquharson, white with suppressed rage, paced the battlement.

The consuls were gathered in knots of twos and threes.

Barcelo, grim and aloof, stood with folded arms and watched the departing fleet until the last speck dropped from sight.

On the way home, an hour later, Señora Valentino volunteered to the Colonel: "Well, the British ships have come--and gone."

"Yes--and I am still comandante," bluster reasserting itself. Then, to his wife: "That peon valet laid out my new uniform all right, but he gave me my old sword belt. There's simply no depending on the fellow."