Rezanov [40]
here and there a tall slender tree with a bark like red kid and a flirting polished leaf, at which Concha clapped her hands as at sight of an old friend and called "El Madrono." It was a primeval bit of nature, but sweet and silent and peaceful; there was no sugges- tion either of gloom or of discourteous beast.
"We shall have our dinner here, Excellency. There on that little beach; and afterward we shall climb to the top. See, there are trails! The In- dians have been here."
They stood out through the straits between Point Tiburon and the Isle of the Angels, where the tide ran fast. Then, for the first time, was Rezanov able to form a definite idea of the size and shape of this great natural harbor. To the south it extended be- yond the peninsula in an unbroken sheet for some forty English miles. Ten miles to the north there was a gateway between the lower hills which Luis had alluded to as leading into the bay of Saint Pablo, another large body of tidewater, but inferior in depth and beauty to the Bay of San Francisco.
The mist had dissolved. The greens were vivid where the sun shone on island and hill. The woods of Bellissima, the groves of Point Sausalito, the for- ests in the northern canyons, deepened to purple like that of the great bare sweep of Tamalpais. Only the farther peaks remained a pale misty blue, and were of an indescribable floating delicacy.
Concha pointed to the eastern double cone. "That is Monte del Diablo. Once they say it spouted fire, but that was long ago, and all our volcanoes are dead. But perhaps not so long ago. The Indians tell the strange story that their grandfathers remem- bered when this bay was a valley covered with oak trees, and the rivers of the north flowed through and emptied into Lake Merced and a rift by the Fort. Then came a tremendous earthquake and rent the mountains apart where you came through --we call it the Mouth of the Gulf of the Faral- lones--the valley sank, the sea flowed in, only these hills that are islands now keeping their heads above the flood. Perhaps it is true, for Drake was close to this bay for a long while and never saw it, and it would have given him a better shelter than the little harbor he found a few miles higher on the coast. I believe it was not here. Madre de Dios, I hope California shakes no more. She would--is it not true, Excellency?--be the most perfect coun- try in all the world did she not have the devil in her."
"Are you afraid of earthquakes?" asked Rezanov, who once more had transferred his comprehensive gaze from battery sites to her face.
"I cross myself. It is like feeling your grave turn over. But I fancy the poor old earth is like the people on her; she gets tired of being good and is all the naughtier for having been sober too long. Don Vincente Rivera is an example; he is cold, haughty, solemn, stern to others and himself, as you see him; but once in a while--Madre de Dios! The Presidio does not sleep for three nights!"
Rezanov laughed heartily, then turned abruptly away. "Come," he said. "I had almost forgotten. Will you ask the others to go to the cabin, while I give orders that dinner shall be served on your island?"
In the cabin, Concha forgot him for a few mo- ments. Her mother, her eyes dwelling fondly upon several shawls she hoped were intended for herself alone, was hushing the baby to sleep in the deep chair of his excellency. Ana Paula was playing with an Alaskan doll she had appropriated without ceremony. Rezanov came in when his guests were assembled, and he had a gift for each; curious ob- jects of Alaskan workmanship for the men, minia- ture totem poles and fur-bordered moccasins; but silk and cotton, linen, shawls, and find handker- chiefs for senora and maiden.
"They are trifles," he said, in response to an en- thusiastic chorus. "The cargo I was obliged to take over was a very large one. You must not protest. I shall never miss these things." And he knew that he had sown the seeds of a rapacity simi- lar to that implanted in the worthy bosoms of the priests when
"We shall have our dinner here, Excellency. There on that little beach; and afterward we shall climb to the top. See, there are trails! The In- dians have been here."
They stood out through the straits between Point Tiburon and the Isle of the Angels, where the tide ran fast. Then, for the first time, was Rezanov able to form a definite idea of the size and shape of this great natural harbor. To the south it extended be- yond the peninsula in an unbroken sheet for some forty English miles. Ten miles to the north there was a gateway between the lower hills which Luis had alluded to as leading into the bay of Saint Pablo, another large body of tidewater, but inferior in depth and beauty to the Bay of San Francisco.
The mist had dissolved. The greens were vivid where the sun shone on island and hill. The woods of Bellissima, the groves of Point Sausalito, the for- ests in the northern canyons, deepened to purple like that of the great bare sweep of Tamalpais. Only the farther peaks remained a pale misty blue, and were of an indescribable floating delicacy.
Concha pointed to the eastern double cone. "That is Monte del Diablo. Once they say it spouted fire, but that was long ago, and all our volcanoes are dead. But perhaps not so long ago. The Indians tell the strange story that their grandfathers remem- bered when this bay was a valley covered with oak trees, and the rivers of the north flowed through and emptied into Lake Merced and a rift by the Fort. Then came a tremendous earthquake and rent the mountains apart where you came through --we call it the Mouth of the Gulf of the Faral- lones--the valley sank, the sea flowed in, only these hills that are islands now keeping their heads above the flood. Perhaps it is true, for Drake was close to this bay for a long while and never saw it, and it would have given him a better shelter than the little harbor he found a few miles higher on the coast. I believe it was not here. Madre de Dios, I hope California shakes no more. She would--is it not true, Excellency?--be the most perfect coun- try in all the world did she not have the devil in her."
"Are you afraid of earthquakes?" asked Rezanov, who once more had transferred his comprehensive gaze from battery sites to her face.
"I cross myself. It is like feeling your grave turn over. But I fancy the poor old earth is like the people on her; she gets tired of being good and is all the naughtier for having been sober too long. Don Vincente Rivera is an example; he is cold, haughty, solemn, stern to others and himself, as you see him; but once in a while--Madre de Dios! The Presidio does not sleep for three nights!"
Rezanov laughed heartily, then turned abruptly away. "Come," he said. "I had almost forgotten. Will you ask the others to go to the cabin, while I give orders that dinner shall be served on your island?"
In the cabin, Concha forgot him for a few mo- ments. Her mother, her eyes dwelling fondly upon several shawls she hoped were intended for herself alone, was hushing the baby to sleep in the deep chair of his excellency. Ana Paula was playing with an Alaskan doll she had appropriated without ceremony. Rezanov came in when his guests were assembled, and he had a gift for each; curious ob- jects of Alaskan workmanship for the men, minia- ture totem poles and fur-bordered moccasins; but silk and cotton, linen, shawls, and find handker- chiefs for senora and maiden.
"They are trifles," he said, in response to an en- thusiastic chorus. "The cargo I was obliged to take over was a very large one. You must not protest. I shall never miss these things." And he knew that he had sown the seeds of a rapacity simi- lar to that implanted in the worthy bosoms of the priests when