Chapter VIII: The Political Pot Simmers

"Big game occupyin' mud houses endurin' the wet spell, be they Cap'?"

The Captain sharply drew up his bridle reins.

"Brown, are the wages I pay satisfactory to you?"

"You bet, Cap'. They're the best I've ever had. If the wages and the place didn't suit me, you'd have heard me talk long before this."

"Very well, my man. We are now entering Monterey, the capital of this province. Your sole concern there will be with preparations for further journeys according as I give you orders."

"Just as you say, Cap'," from the placid Brown. "Of course you remember I shipped with you on the proposition of big game huntin'."

The other did not reply.

The small adobe dwellings, dubbed "mud houses" by Brown, were succeeded by more pretentious ones as the riders neared the town proper. From every dooryard the prickly-pear cactus pointed its heavy oval leaves. Sweet peas rioted in tinting of sky and sunshine. The Castilian rose, blushing and demure, bowed from its stem in challenge to the hand of the passer-by.

It was the children rolling and tumbling along the muddy street who drew Brown out of his silence.

"By hicky! this here is a monstrous place for children. Just now I actually counted eighteen on one front stoop. They was in reg'lar graydashun of sizes from a foot up to five feet six inches, I should jedge." This critically.

"The province could easily support one thousand times its present population," replied the other.

Amusement and contempt struggled together on the face of honest Brown.

"One thousand times as many Injuns as is cumberin' the ground right now! By hickey! I don't think the Almighty should allow it."

They entered the large plaza around which were many of the important buildings of the capital. Here ran in full stream the life of early California. Indian women, gay in colored shawl and gown, edged their way among the fiery steeds drawing the carreta of the grandee's family. The Mexican smoking his corn-paper cigarito touched elbows with the hidalgo's son who was clad in velvet and fine linen, with inlaid gold on his hat-band and gold spur on his heels.

Skins brown, skins red, skins white intermingled. Wealth and lack of it walked side by side. There was no poverty in the California of this time.

"Well, I swanny!" from Brown. "Did you ever see such a theayter?"

The Captain alighted near a long line of low buildings. A peon came forth bowing obsequiously.

"Let this man take the horses, Brown. He will show you an eatinghouse. Remain not very far from this place until I return."

"Well, by Gosh! Left with the heathen and his flesh pots! I say, Cap'----"

The Captain was gone. Whereupon Brown followed whither the peon led him, the while speaking naïve criticisms of this worthy and of all things Californian. The Indian understood nothing, but grinned obligingly whenever he saw the stranger had completed some period or other of his discourse.

The disappearance of his "Cap'" did not disturb Brown. He had become too well accustomed to the flittings of the chief. Their place of residence was in a cañon of the high mountains, a score of miles east of the pueblo San José. Here a rude cabin had been found formerly occupied by vaquero peons. From this point the leader and his factotum sallied forth on many an excursion. If Brown wondered at the meaning of it all, he rarely questioned, and never searchingly. It sufficed that finally they would hunt "big game."

The Captain, hastening along a narrow street, came to a plaza smaller than the one he had left, but otherwise similar to it, around which were grouped many of the homes of officialdom. This plaza was the center of the fashionable as well as of the political life of the province.

He stopped before one of the most imposing residences. Within the porte-cochere a man sat on a bench. He was the outside guardian of the dwelling, a position of importance at the time.

"I wish to speak with one of the house," the Captain announced.

The other arose and bowed ceremoniously.

"Whom have I the honor of addressing?"

"Will you carry the Señora Doña Valentino word that a man is here to see her on the king's business?"

The stranger's unpretentious attire and travel-stained appearance had not deterred the guard from showing him the suave courtesy a guest should receive, but the words, "on the king's business" seemed to sting the Spanish-American.

"Señor," in grandiose manner, "I am a citizen of Mexico, an official of this household. No king and no one on the king's business is welcome where rules the republic of Mexico."

"Confound it, man! take my words to the señora. She will understand. I have no time for your heroics. Hurry up, I tell you!"

The other crossed his arms and looked disdainfully at the Captain.

"On the king's business, you say! On the king's business! Have you been asleep these many years and awakened only now? Have you----"

"Have done with your twaddle, man. I'll find somebody inside who will carry my word." He started along the porte-cochere to the front door.

"Stop! Stop! At your peril! Stay your feet, sir!"

"It's all right, Benito. I'll usher the señor to the reception room myself. Come, amigo, with me," broke in a soft voice now addressed to the Captain.

The petty official was all apologies and deep bows. The Captain paid no attention to him.

"Come, Captain, with me."

"I thank you, Señora Valentino."

"I chanced to be passing the main vestibule and saw you. Benito's patriotism was opposing your way. No?"

They were walking along a wide corridor of the mansion. Sunlight poured in through many small-paned windows. Peons, men and women, were constantly going and coming.

"This Benito's patriotism should be flogged out of his skin," was the reply.

The lady laughed. They reached a large door which she opened by pressing a spring at the side.

"His patriotism, then, is but skin deep, you think?"

She motioned the Captain to a chair. The door slammed with a metallic click. They were in a small room well lighted. Book shelves, closely filled, writing material, and desks, bespoke the library.

"I fancy this creature's patriotism would well be termed impertinence. This have I seen often enough disappear under fervent application of a riding-whip."

She looked closely at the speaker.

"Captain Farquharson," after a moment, "you have been in the Californias more months than I have weeks. Neither is this your first visit. No?"

"It is not."

Señora Valentino nodded.

"Greater opportunities for observation, decidedly, have you had than I. Still, I will say, noble señor, that the Mexicans here are vastly different from the natives of Hindustan where you have been; or even from the peasantry of southeastern Europe where, in other times, your fertile talents have found employment."

"True of the few Spaniards here, and their descendants. I cannot agree, my lady, with you as to the Mexicans. They----"

She raised a delicate, well-jeweled hand, perhaps to interrupt him; more likely, to emphasize what she had begun to say.

"My Captain, blows will never win the Mexican to favor your cause--I should say, our cause--any more than will they the Spaniard. Both have tasted here the sweets of personal liberty in no small degree. We must imbue them with a desire for the ampler freedom of Anglo-Saxon civilization, balancing thereby their love for Latin forbears; or, at least, for Latin form."

Farquharson lightly struck the desk near his chair.

"Gain the leaders, señora, gain the leaders; and we drive the others after them like sheep. Once, in Calcutta----"

"Perhaps in some province of India--never in the province of California. Bethink you, Captain! Suppose that bold spirit in the north, Mendoza, should dream your great country has here an agent purposing to do what you say. Not the years of the prophet, which he has lived, would hold him from leading his mounted peons, night and day in search of you."

"Then what, my lady?"

"Then delivering you, at the end of a lariat, to the Colonel Barcelo, my brother-in-law, owner of this house, and head of the military prison here."

The beautiful woman, leaning in her chair, placed her hand on the Captain's arm. "Now to business. Your message found me here two days ago. Of course mine found you." She paused a moment thoughtfully, then continued:

"Colonel Barcelo returns to-night. I have planned for you to visit us this evening. You are my friend, Captain Farquharson, whom I knew in London two years ago. You are in the West for big game. Is it not so?" She laughed.

"Does Colonel Barcelo know of the wishes of my government?"

"He knows nothing. I am seeking to prepare him for such knowledge, however. To-night you may speak much or little, as you think wise."

"Señora, you spent several days at the home of Señor Mendoza after the storm. Did any word of yours sound him as to his political feelings?"

"Señor Mendoza's words on such matters come slowly. I believe his thoughts are correspondingly rapid."

"Why so, señora?"

"During my short stay in his hacienda house many young men came there. You know his daughter Carmelita is a beautiful girl."

The Captain started to speak, but smiled instead.

"These caballeros were duly presented to me. For some reason they spoke, at first casually, but, finally, earnestly, concerning the future political status of this province. I listened."

The Captain laughed. "Señora, how did you manage to get the young hidalgos talking on such a subject?"

"Fie! Fie! Captain. Even a soldier diplomat should not seek to understand a woman's ways. Let it suffice that they talked."

"Yes, yes, señora, they talked. They said----"

"Many things. A number sat or were standing around me in the reception room one evening. The wine warmed them, though they drank not intemperately. Politics rolled from their tongues.

"Spoke the handsome youth, Abelardo Peralta: 'Why wait for Mexico to drop us? Let us declare now our freedom and become a province of mighty England.' A dozen others joined in declaring for England. Señor Mendoza was listening to all this conversation, meanwhile beaming on everybody. Now he spoke for the first time. Said he: 'Since we are giving away provinces, let us go to the ballroom. The señoritas are waiting. It is the province of hearts there, and giving and taking is always in order.' Thus deftly did our wary host stem the current. Mendoza's keenness is an element not to be lightly considered."

"Was there Morando? No?" asked Captain Farquharson, falling into the manner of speech of the Spaniard.

"Yes, Morando was there. Eyes, ears, hands, feet, and heart has he for the Señorita Doña Mendoza."

The serene calm of the woman ruffled ever so little.

"Morando cannot have vented his Spanish citizenship thus soon. Doubtless easily he becomes one of us."

"I fancy it will be as says the Señorita Mendoza, who, in turn, is deeply in love with her father. Capture the gray eagle and the nest is yours."

"I suppose so. I suppose so. Why came Morando to California, do you know? Anything against him in Madrid, anything we could use to influence him here, I mean?"

"Nothing--absolutely nothing." After a pause: "At Mission San José there are two men who could persuade North California for us or against us. Mind, I say 'persuade'; for, unless I mistake greatly, neither one would consent to act as bell-wether after which go willy-nilly the sheep flock."

He waited for her to go on.

"One of these two men is, of course, Señor Mendoza; the other is Padre Osuna."

"A word about the señor, my lady. I recognize the man's worth and ability, and the weight he would add to our cause; yet I do not think it wise to approach him myself."

"May I ask your reason?"

"Colonel Mendoza and I met in the old days when I was a young man."

"A young man, Captain?" archly.

"I have seen a half century of life. My meeting with Mendoza was thus wise. At Talavera the allied forces opposed the French. In a preliminary skirmish our colonel was wounded. My regiment held a position in the extreme forward center. Colonel Mendoza was hastily called from the left wing of the army, where the Spanish troops were, and was placed over us. The French began the battle by heavy cannonading. The captain of my own company, also the first and the second lieutenant, were blown to pieces before an hour. I was third lieutenant. To save the men from annihilation, as I believed, I withdrew a little distance.

"The Spanish colonel was furious. He dashed up on his horse, ordered the company in position, subjecting me all the while to vitriolic criticism."

"What did you, Captain?"

"I replied to him. He struck me with the flat of his sword."

"And what did you then?"

"I could do nothing. We were in the face of the enemy then, as for months. Later, the allied forces were separated. A generation has lived and passed since that blood-stained day of Talavera. Mendoza, doubtless, does not remember me. Still, it would not be wise to risk injury to our cause by bringing to play any ill feeling he might possibly retain against me."

"Our Captain is judicious." Continuing: "Know you the value of these Californias?"

"They are the pivotal center of Orient and Occident. My government well knows the harbors here, their possibilities----"

The señora's raised hand stopped him. Her fingers ran along the wall searchingly. At last she pressed hard, then harder.

The wall separated at a line above her head, the lower part of the wall slowly sinking through the floor.

"I am going to show you the treasure-chamber of a dead-and-gone governor of the Californias, when the province was a part of Spain."

A room half the size of the library was in view. Stone mortars were on the floor, and on the shelves. Resting on the brims of the vessels, and caught on the rough sides of the exteriors, were many yellow particles which dully shone in the newly-admitted light.

"Why, this is gold! gold!" touching his fingers on the edge of a jar. "These stones must once have held the ransom of a king!" pointing to the interior of one mortar after another. Amidst spider-webs and the accumulated dust of years lay thin streaks of gold-dust tracing the way from rim to bottom.

He examined an ancient broom which lay among the receptacles, gold showing among its moldy strands. "Zounds! señora. It is pure gold. I've seen it in its native state the world over."

He crossed the room. As he walked tiny nuggets of the metal which had escaped the sweepings of the old-timer grated under his feet. Fingermarks could be seen on the floor where the treasure had been scooped up by the single and double handfuls.

"Twenty years ago I was told that California's hills and valleys framed a skeleton of virgin gold. Here may be proof of it. Pray, my lady, what do you know of this? Where did the gold come from?"

She indicated some maps hanging on the walls. "These drawings show whence came the gold which once rested here."

"Yes--yes--they show--they show a river flowing from high hills--and the direction from Monterey--north of east it is. Here is the scale of miles. Why, it is not a fortnight's journey to the place. Ah!--here are signs--yes, signs--but, perdition! they are hieroglyphics. I can make out nothing more. Señora, how in the name of mystery did you learn of this trick-room?"

She had been standing quietly, noting with interest and some little amusement the varied activities and remarks of the Captain.

"The secret was made known to me in Spain. The one-time Spanish governor built a palace in Seville, on his home-coming from Monterey, and lived ever after as a prince. These jars supplied the wherewithal. As I heard it, he intended to return some day, on private ship, for yet vaster measure of this golden sifting which lies hidden in the California hills, but alas! too much good living and gout did not permit."

"This is wonderful--most wonderful! Somewhere in the hills there is gold, quantities of gold. Likewise, there is gold in these fertile valleys, for they smile in verdure and give promise of rich harvest a week after the drought is over. My lady, the world never dreams of the possibilities of this province."

"Clive gave India to England. May we not do even more?"

"Just so, señora, just so. Does anyone else know of this room?"

"Quite likely no one. Even Colonel Barcelo does not, his own house as it is."

"But these maps! Do you not think it singular that the owner did not most carefully preserve these talismanic signs, and take them away with him?"

"They were left here with purpose, friend of mine."

"And that purpose?"

"Oceans are stormy, distances long, buccaneers many, brave Captain."

"I do not catch your meaning, señora. Do enlighten me."

"In plain words, then: if that gold should, perchance, take wings, the whilom possessor, aided by his maps, could get another precious cargo. But if the maps, as well, should take unto themselves flight, what then? Perhaps no more of the yellow metal! So, my wise and thrifty governor-general of the province made two sets of drawings, taking the one with him, leaving the other snugly ensconced in our little treasure-chamber here," pointing whimsically about the room.

"But, my lady, how did you learn all these things?"

"This same governor-general was my late husband's grandfather. He left in cipher a description of this room, of the maps and of the mine. For more than fifty years the key to the cipher was mislaid. I chanced to come across it, six months ago, in the archives of my husband's family. The cryptogram stated that the treasure which once filled these mortars was but a hint of greater riches in the mountains."

"What a country! What a land this will be when the union jack tips the flag-pole at Monterey!"

"A country well worth the hire, Captain mine."

"You speak of Friar Lusciano Osuna. I called on him, not long since, with letters. He was ill, but very courteous. I explained a little of our work here. I take it he is a Mexican citizen."

"He is a citizen of Great Britain."

"Perhaps by some sufferance."

"By his eminent right! That government would go much farther in his protection than it would for you or for me, though we are its special agents in a great cause."

"Just the man we need, then, señora."

A knock at the door.

Noiselessly weight and spring raised the movable wall to its place.

Without was an elderly Mexican leaning rather stiffly on a cane.

"Your gringo servant has made much trouble for himself, and is now in jail," the man said to Farquharson.

"How do you know it is my servant?"

"He told me. I am under jailer. I was directed to Colonel Barcelo's, whither some said you had gone. The peons here brought me to you. Your servant, sir, getting in liquor, shot one of the officers of the guard. Now, he wishes to see you on a matter of gravest importance. Doubtless he will be executed at sunset. Will you come, señor?"

"Zounds! Adios, señora. I'll return as soon as I have settled this wretched business. I must get poor Brown out of his predicament, let come what may."

The messenger, followed by the Captain, passed out of the house. They followed the street to a narrow passage and turned into it. The supposed elderly Mexican shook himself. Away fell disguise, and the scowling face of Yoscolo was before Farquharson.

"You root-digging beast!" exclaimed the Englishman through his shut teeth. He aimed a blow with his fist at the chieftain's head. Yoscolo ducked to one side. A blanket fell from behind over the Captain's face and shoulders. A strong embrace pinioned his arms and carried him up many stairs, his muffled shouts not sounding above the shuffle of accompanying feet.

Soon Farquharson was pushed through an entrance. Yoscolo gave quick orders in the Indian tongue. His men bound the Englishman hand and foot, and removed the blanket from his head. He found himself in a large room lighted by a lantern. Several rude benches lined the walls, while dried grass in a corner where blankets lay marked the sleeping place of Indians or of lower-class Mexicans.

"Bring a settee for the Captain," said the leader, with mock politeness. "He must be weary after his recent exertion."

His men complied.

"More comfortable now, amigo?" when Farquharson was seated. "Well, then, let's to business. I've not much time to spend with you."

Farquharson paid no attention to him.

"Perhaps you do not understand. Is it so? Well, listen now. Captain Farquharson, you promised me the value of a hundred thousand pesos in English gold notes the day the next new moon was born. That day was yesterday. The gold notes are in your hands, not mine. Your word is a lie." The Indian was speaking in very fair English.

The Captain did not reply.

"You waste my time," speaking now in Spanish. "I have much to do and cannot trifle. You have in Monterey, in the hands of the English consul, the value of one hundred thousand pesos in gold notes. So you have said. Place the money in my hand and I'll turn my loyal subjects in the interior valleys to your cause. My word is true."

"Take away these cords. Allow me to go free; then, come with me to the consul's, and there we'll consider what you say."

The Indian shook his head. "Captain Farquharson never leaves this room alive unless the money is paid first."

"The British consul will not pay you the money unless I am with you."

"Fear not, Captain. I'll take chances on getting the money."

Farquharson laughed in spite of his bonds.

"Nonsense, Indian!"

"Nonsense or not, give me an order, leaving blank the name of payee; stamp it with your seal--I found it in your pocket just now--and I'll collect the money. In two hours from that time you will be free."

"I must take time to decide what I'll do."

"There is only one thing for you to do."

"Let me free, so that I may decide the more quickly."

A voice called through the door. Without replying to Farquharson, Yoscolo made a quick gesture. The others gagged the prisoner with a scarf-end, and blindfolded him with a piece of silken sash.

The door was opened. A whispered conversation followed, then he heard the heavy tread of Yoscolo descending the stairs.

The men placed the Captain on the bed.

After what appeared an interminable time the watchers ungagged him and placed food at his lips. He ate of the tortillas, or Mexican corn bread, and of the chili con carne, or stewed meat and chili peppers, which were offered. A glass of Mission wine followed.

"Amigos, I can make you rich. Loosen these ropes and come with me. Why not be free from such a master as Yoscolo, and be rich at the same time? A ship will take you and your money where he can never reach you."

The gag was hastily replaced.

The hours passed slowly. At last he fell asleep.

The leader's voice awakened him, saying: "Free his mouth and eyes."

It was done.

In the dim light he saw Yoscolo standing before him with folded arms. The others, like unblinking watchdogs, were by his side.

"Captain, will you write that order? Surely, you have had time to think now."

"It would be foolish to do as you say. Come now, release me; give some earnest of turning your San Joaquin camps to our side, then I'll pay you the money and bear no grudge against you for tying me up here."

The chieftain grunted.

"Grudge or not, white man, I'm too useful to your side for you to work out spite against me. Write that order. Write, also, a note to the consul saying you were suddenly called to Los Angeles--or any place. Date both order and note two days ago--you have been here in this room that length of time--and you go free. I have, then, the money; you will have my support--a very happy ending to your detention."

"But see, Yoscolo----"

Yoscolo interrupted with an oath. "You shall haggle with me no more. Men, bring fire for his feet and hands. I'll make the fox come to time. Captain Farquharson, you write that order and note, or I'll torture you till you do."

A fourth Indian entered the room silently, and spoke to the leader.

Yoscolo stamped in fury. "Carrajo! Puerco! I not only have to be the brains, but the hands, in everything. What's the matter with Stanislaus? Where is he?"

"I do not know," meekly replied the messenger.

"I do not know! What do you know? Get out of here!"

The man disappeared, closely followed by Yoscolo.

The Indian watchers looked at Farquharson without speaking.

"Amigos----"

They placed their hands on their pistols threateningly.

"Ease the cords on my feet," he asked. "Your chief will not object to that."

Each Indian touched his lips, then dropped his hands to his pistol butt.

The sperm oil in the lantern burned low. The men extinguished the light, to replenish the oil. In a few minutes it was again burning brightly.

The astounded Indians saw Farquharson standing in front of them, wrists and ankles free, brandishing an open clasp-knife.

They cowered away from him. He moved toward the door as fast as his benumbed limbs could take him.

Dread of Yoscolo overcame their superstitious fear. They drew their pistols, and commanded: "Hands up! Away from the door!"

Farquharson dropped his knife. He moved his arms over his head in extraordinary fashion, grimaced at the ceiling, then moved slowly toward his jailers. Flirting his fingers ominously at them, he exclaimed in sepulchral tones: "Winky, wanky, wunky, fum! Winky, wanky, wunky, fum!"

Despite the pain in his ankles he executed a miniature war-dance on the floor, again solemnly uttering: "Winky, wanky, wunky, fum!"

The Indians moved back from him, again overcome by his "big medicine." In one of his eccentric movements he managed to knock over the lantern, the oil running out over the floor. They snorted in terror, and began some incantation.

Farquharson found the door and started downstairs. His feet refused further action. He fell and slid down to a landing.

The Indians heard the fall. There was a colloquy and a rush across the floor.

The Captain attempted to crawl to the next flight of stairs, but he could move but slowly.

The Indians opened the door.

"Light the lantern," called one.

A voice could be heard in the street: "Have ye seen the Cap'n? O, I say, have ye seen the Cap'n? Durn ye, can't ye understand American?" Then, in a louder tone: "I say, have any of you dum fools seen the Cap'n? Don't ye know anything in this 'ere country?" Finally, still louder: "_Have any of you durned niggers seen the Cap'n?_"

It was Brown searching for his employer, and trying by strength of his lungs to make up for lack of knowledge in his hearers.

"Brown! Brown!" yelled Farquharson. "Come here quick!"

"Where be ye, Cap'?" from the delighted Brown.

"Here! Up the stairs! Quick!"

Finding the stairs was not a difficult matter, and up came Brown, three steps at a time, shouting again: "Where be ye, Cap'?"

The light through a begrimed window showed the helpless Englishman on the landing.

"Well, I swanny!" wondered Brown.

"Get me to the street. Be quick! The Indians will come."

Fear of Yoscolo gave spirit to the aborigines. They rushed down the stairs, one of them holding the lantern which they had taken time to refill and light. "Hands up!" they commanded in Spanish, presenting their weapons. "Hands up! or we'll shoot."

Brown seized one of the men by waist and neck and hurled him at the other. "O, talk United States!" he shouted.

The Indians fell headlong. Brown lifted the Captain to his shoulder and flew down the stairs. Several pistol shots missed aim, but no pursuit was attempted. Brown's performance probably looked like more "big medicine" to the Indians.

Soon the rescuer and his burden were outside.

"I've carried many a pig, Cap', but never down so many stairs to wunst. Where be ye hurt?"

"I'm better now. I think I can walk if you help me."

Brown assisted him along the way.

"Where were ye, Cap'? As near as I can jedge they're searchin' the whole country for ye."

"The men you saw were holding me captive."

"Well, I swanny!" from the disgusted serving-man. "Held by a pack o' niggers! I never could stand much of that sort o' thing myself from sech critters."

Directly they were away from danger, with the life of Monterey flowing smoothly around them.