Padre Francisco tells of idle farms, confiscated flocks, and ruined
works of utility. Beautiful San Luis Rey is crumbling to decay.
Its bells hang silent. The olive and vine scatter their neglected
fruits. The Padres are driven off to Mexico. The pious fund is in
profane coffers. San Juan Capistrano shines out a lonely ruin in
the southern moonlight. The oranges of San Gabriel now feed only
the fox and coyote. Civil dissension and wars of ambitious leaders
follow the seizure of the missions. Strangers have pillaged the
religious settlements. All is relapsing into savagery. In a few
stations, like Monterey, Santa Clara, Santa Barbara, and Yerba
Buena, a lonely shepherd watches a diminished flock; but the grand
mission system is ruined.

"Does not the Government need the missions?" queries Maxime.

"Ah! my son, Sonoma and San Rafael are kept up to watch the Russians
at Fort Ross. Sutter menaces us at New Helvetia. I can see the
little cloud of the future, which will break one day in storm."

"Whence comes it, father?" queries the prisoner.

"From the United States," replies the padre. "Our whole political
system is paralyzed. The Americans have supported the Texans in
battle. That splendid land is dropping away from Mexico. We will
lose this glorious land, and our beloved flag will go down forever.
The Government sleeps, and the people will be ruined. There are
two thousand scattered foreigners here to-day. They gain daily: we
weaken hourly. When your people in numbers follow such leaders as
your gallant captain over the plains, we will lose this land also."