Valois becomes familiar with the heads of the Northern opposition.
Able and sturdy chiefs are already marshalling the men who come from
the lands of the northern pine to meet in the peaceful political
arena the champions of the palmetto land. Maxime's enthusiasm
mounts. The young Southerner feels the pride of his race burning
in his veins.
In his evening hours, under the oaks of the Mission Dolores, he
bears to the calm priests his budget of port and town. He tells of
the new marvellous mines, of the influx of gold hunters. He cannot
withhold his astonishment that the priesthood should not have
discovered the gold deposits. The astute clergy inform him calmly
that for years their inner circles have known of considerable gold
in the possession of the Indians. It was a hope of the Church that
some fortunate turn of Mexican politics might have restored their
sway. Alas! It was shattered in 1834 by the relentless Hijar.
"Hijo mio!" says an old padre. "We knew since 1838 that gold was
dug at Franscisquita canyon in the south. If we had the old blessed
days of Church rule, we could have quietly controlled this great
treasure field. But this is now the land of rapine and adventure.
First, the old pearl-fishers in the gulf of California; then the
pirates lurking along the coast, watching the Philippine galleons.
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