"I will say, your Excellency," said the Captain, "I fear for the
future. The Yankees are growing in power and are grasping. They
have robbed us of lovely Texas. Now, it is still a long way for
their ships to come around dreary Cape Horn. We had till late years
only two vessels from Boston; I saw their sails shining in the bay
of San Francisco when I was five years old. I have looked in the
Presidio records for the names. The Alexander and the Aser, August
1st, 1803. Then, they begged only for wood and water and a little
provision. Now, their hide-traders swarm along our coast. They will
by and by come with their huge war-ships. These trading-boats have
no cannon, but they are full of bad rum. Our coast people will be
cleared out. Why, Catalina Islands," continued the Captain, "were
peopled once densely. There are yet old native temples there. All
these coast tribes have perished. It is even worse since the holy
fathers were robbed of their possessions."

The good soldier crossed himself in memory of the wise padres. They
owned the thousands of cattle, sheep, and horses once thronging the
oat-covered hills. Theirs were the fruits, grains, and comforts
of these smiling valleys, untrodden yet by a foreign foe.

"Your Excellency, when the Yankee war-ships have come, we cannot
resist them. Our batteries are old and poor, we have little
ammunition. Our arms are out of repair. The machete and lasso are
no match for their well-supplied men-of-war. I shall locate myself
so far in the interior that the accursed Gringos cannot reach me
with their ships or their boats. The trappers who straggle over the
deserts from Texas our horsemen will lasso. They will bring them
in bound as prisoners."