father said, "we accept your blessings with gratitude. In return we extend our blessings to you."
He started to back out of the room, but Rosario jumped up and shouted, "Take me with you.
Por favor,
Iâ"
"No," my grandmother cried. "Never! They go but you stay. I need you."
Don Saturnino said to Rosario, "It is your duty to take care of the eagle and Señora Doña, in that order."
He left the room quickly and I followed him. I don't think my grandmother was as angry as she appeared to be, for when we rode away she stood at her window and waved us goodbye. I think she was as confused as I was. It was my father who lit the flame and kept it burning, out of anger and Spanish pride.
The war was really over. And in California it had never been a real war. In other places, but not here among the Californians. We all hated the men who ruled us from Mexico City and we would have revolted against them if the gringos had just left us alone to go our way. But now, as we were to learn later, General Kearny and his soldiers did not know that the war in California was finished. It was a misfortune that they didn't know.
The twelve of us took to the trail at dusk. There was an early moon and we rode by its light until we came to Aguanga, which is a small Indian village about five leagues from the springs where the gringos were camped.
Here we ate our supper of jerky and yucca cakes. The night before, the chief of the Indians told us, gringos had come looking for horses and had driven off a dozen of his
mesteños.
"They are getting ready to go somewhere," he said. "They have been resting at the springs, eating much, gathering horses. We have watched them. They will go soon, perhaps tomorrow."
Late that night, while we were sitting by the fire and talking, a party of rancheros rode in. They had gathered at San Juan Capistrano two days before. They had heard that we were on the trail and had followed us. Their leader was a lithe young man named Andrés Pico, the son of the Mexican governor of California, PÃo Pico. There were twenty-one in his party and each man carried a lance.
It was agreed between Don Roberto and him that we would remain two parties, but that Pico would be in command when we met the gringos.
While we were sitting by the fire, off to ourselves and talking, my father said, "All of the men in our party know you. And the new ones, those who have come now with Pico, have heard of you. Do not worry, therefore, about this business, about anything."
I was wearing my deerskin trousers and jacket. My long hair, braided and held with iron pins, was bound in a black handkerchief and pushed up under my hat. I looked like a boy but I didn't feel like one.
"I do not worry," I said, to make him feel happy.
We had heavy ponchos and we slept with them over us, with our saddles for pillows. The earth was hard. Many times in the night I wished that I were in my bed at home.
Early in the morning Don Andrés Pico and Don Roberto sent three Indians on fast horses to Agua Caliente, where the gringos were camped. The Indians came back at noon and reported that the gringos were marching down the valley, westward toward the sea, with flags flying. Some of their horses were fresh but many were thin and stumbling. That all the soldiers carried long rifles and the officers carried pistols and swords. They were also dragging two small cannon.
"We could use a dozen rifles," Don Andrés, the captain, said.
"How about the swords?" someone asked.
"And the pistols?"
"How about a cannon?"
"Even so much as a flag?"
"You will catch flies in your big mouths," Don Andrés said, "as well as other things. We have no rifles or pistols or swords or cannon. We
can
have a flag. Make one, Señorita Carlota, out of this." He took off his green scarf and tossed it to me. "We will have a flag and for every man a lance and some to spare. Be content."
To the mutter of leather and the song of metal crickets many of the horses wore on
He started to back out of the room, but Rosario jumped up and shouted, "Take me with you.
Por favor,
Iâ"
"No," my grandmother cried. "Never! They go but you stay. I need you."
Don Saturnino said to Rosario, "It is your duty to take care of the eagle and Señora Doña, in that order."
He left the room quickly and I followed him. I don't think my grandmother was as angry as she appeared to be, for when we rode away she stood at her window and waved us goodbye. I think she was as confused as I was. It was my father who lit the flame and kept it burning, out of anger and Spanish pride.
The war was really over. And in California it had never been a real war. In other places, but not here among the Californians. We all hated the men who ruled us from Mexico City and we would have revolted against them if the gringos had just left us alone to go our way. But now, as we were to learn later, General Kearny and his soldiers did not know that the war in California was finished. It was a misfortune that they didn't know.
The twelve of us took to the trail at dusk. There was an early moon and we rode by its light until we came to Aguanga, which is a small Indian village about five leagues from the springs where the gringos were camped.
Here we ate our supper of jerky and yucca cakes. The night before, the chief of the Indians told us, gringos had come looking for horses and had driven off a dozen of his
mesteños.
"They are getting ready to go somewhere," he said. "They have been resting at the springs, eating much, gathering horses. We have watched them. They will go soon, perhaps tomorrow."
Late that night, while we were sitting by the fire and talking, a party of rancheros rode in. They had gathered at San Juan Capistrano two days before. They had heard that we were on the trail and had followed us. Their leader was a lithe young man named Andrés Pico, the son of the Mexican governor of California, PÃo Pico. There were twenty-one in his party and each man carried a lance.
It was agreed between Don Roberto and him that we would remain two parties, but that Pico would be in command when we met the gringos.
While we were sitting by the fire, off to ourselves and talking, my father said, "All of the men in our party know you. And the new ones, those who have come now with Pico, have heard of you. Do not worry, therefore, about this business, about anything."
I was wearing my deerskin trousers and jacket. My long hair, braided and held with iron pins, was bound in a black handkerchief and pushed up under my hat. I looked like a boy but I didn't feel like one.
"I do not worry," I said, to make him feel happy.
We had heavy ponchos and we slept with them over us, with our saddles for pillows. The earth was hard. Many times in the night I wished that I were in my bed at home.
Early in the morning Don Andrés Pico and Don Roberto sent three Indians on fast horses to Agua Caliente, where the gringos were camped. The Indians came back at noon and reported that the gringos were marching down the valley, westward toward the sea, with flags flying. Some of their horses were fresh but many were thin and stumbling. That all the soldiers carried long rifles and the officers carried pistols and swords. They were also dragging two small cannon.
"We could use a dozen rifles," Don Andrés, the captain, said.
"How about the swords?" someone asked.
"And the pistols?"
"How about a cannon?"
"Even so much as a flag?"
"You will catch flies in your big mouths," Don Andrés said, "as well as other things. We have no rifles or pistols or swords or cannon. We
can
have a flag. Make one, Señorita Carlota, out of this." He took off his green scarf and tossed it to me. "We will have a flag and for every man a lance and some to spare. Be content."
To the mutter of leather and the song of metal crickets many of the horses wore on
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