"There are nearly ten leagues between San Luis Rey and San Diego, Se–or;
and as we were determined to reach there by noon, we said very little
during the whole ride, but urged our horses to their utmost. After going
a few miles, we came to the shore, and went along by the ocean,
sometimes on the beach itself, sometimes on the mesa above. But swiftly
as we went, the sun was still quicker, and it was nearly noon when we
came in sight of San Diego. We hastened on, past houses, the presidio,
and down to the edge of the water, taking no notice of the men, women
and children, who gazed wonderingly after us. Out in the bay, not far
from the shore, lay a ship with sails spread, ready to start with the
first puff of wind, which began faintly to blow as we reached the water.
On the deck there were many people, passengers and sailors, and among
them we saw our padre, a little apart from the others, and gazing toward
the land he was leaving. By his side stood Don Manuel, who had been at
the mission the day before, and with them were two of the mission
Indians. I envied them, Se–or, and wished I could have been there also,
for my heart was breaking at the thought of losing my beloved padre. At
first he did not notice us, but when, with a cry, we called to him, he
started as he saw us standing on the beach, with our arms held out to
him. Just at that instant, we heard a distant sound of horses coming
hard and fast over the ground toward us. Looking around, we saw a sight
that made us thrill: a great throng of men, each one urging on with whip
and spur the horse he was riding. We did not at once know what it meant,
but, in a second or two, understood. It was a band of Indians from our
mission. Madly they dashed down to the shore, sprang from their horses,
and fell on their knees - some on the beach, some half in the water, so
great was the crowd - imploring, with heartbreaking cries, our padre to
have pity on them and not leave them. There were nearly five hundred
men, and their lamentations were terrible to hear."