As a result of occasional
maritime visits, the slender knowledge gained by these great
navigators appears a remarkable omission.
The night passed on. Breezes sweeping through the pines of Monterey
brought no murmur from the south and east of the thunder crash of
cannon on the unfought fields of Mexico.
No drowsy vaquero sentinel, watching the outposts of Monterey,
could catch a sound of the rumbling wheels and tramping feet of
that vast western immigration soon to tread wearily the old overland
and the great southern route.
The soldier, nodding over his flint-lock as the white stars dropped
into the western blue, saw no glitter of the sails of hostile Yankee
frigates. Soon they would toss in pride at anchor here, and salute
the starry flag of a new sovereignty. The little twinkling star
to be added for California was yet veiled behind the blue field of
our country's banner.
Bright sun flashes dancing over the hills awoke the drowsy sacristan.
The hallowed "Bells of Carmel" called the faithful to mass.
Monterey, in reverse order of its social grades, rose yawning from
the feast. Fandangos and bailes of the day of victory tired all.
Lazy "mozos" lolled about the streets. A few revellers idly compared
notes of the day's doings.
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