 Chapter 15. The Bear Flag Revolt Prior to the Mexican War, the American residents of California were divided into two distinct classes. In Monterey and other coast ports and in the interior around Los Angeles were many American merchants and some landholders who had become closely identified through business relations, friendship, or even marriage with prominent California families. Many of these Americans, indeed, had become naturalized Mexican citizens. Such men might regard the Californian as inefficient in government and neglectful of great economic opportunities, but they neither despised him as an individual nor feared him as a ruler. And if independents were to be sought, they preferred to make common cause with him against Mexico rather than to treat him as an enemy. The other class of American settlers, however, were of a very different mind. Coming to California from the frontier states of the West and Southwest, they brought with them an instinctive prejudice against everything of Spanish origin, a prejudice somewhat older than American independence, born of all sorts of influences, of racial differences, of conflicting territorial claims, of bitter religious animosities, of border conflicts, of historical tradition, of contempt and hatred which had their origin perchance as far back as the days of Drake and Hawkins when English freebooters looted the Spanish treasure ships and when English sailors died of nameless tortures in Spanish jails. This attitude was particularly characteristic of the settlers of the Sacramento Valley, forming almost a community by themselves and having but little contact with the native Californians. They were restive under Mexican authority and over-anxious to assert their Anglo-Saxon superiority. Among them, too, were the bitter memories of the recent atrocities of Mexican troops in Texas, memories which even today the lapse of nearly a hundred years has scarcely effaced from the border states. Consequently, with all the self-assurance of the American settlers along the Sacramento, there was intermingled a deep-seated fear of the fate that might await them if the California officials, through treachery or surprise, should get the foreigners of the province completely under their control. Indeed, while the Californians as a whole never dreamed of resorting to such harsh measures to hold the Americans in check, some color was given to this fear by a few isolated instances. More than one fur trader, like Smith and the Patees in the preceding decade, had been unpleasantly dealt with on the ground that he had violated some provision of Mexican law. More recently still, a very considerable body of foreigners had been brutally seized and sent to Mexico by the California authorities. The details of this incident, commonly spoken of as the Graham Affair, were briefly as follows. In the spring of 1840, rumor got abroad that a number of foreigners, American trappers chiefly, with some English citizens of rather undesirable reputation, were planning a movement for independence. These men were in California without passports, contrary to Mexican law, but they might have stayed on un-molested, as did many another foreigner in violation of the same law, if they had not made themselves obnoxious to the local officials. Typical of the lot was Isaac Graham, the Tennessee trapper, whose name has already appeared in these pages in another connection. Like many another American of his calling, Graham had little regard for the dignity of California law and probably less respect for those empowered to administer it. He had also intermeddled with local politics and acquired considerable fame for his participation in the Revolution of 1836. His attitude had subsequently become so domineering that Alvarado and Castro, whom he had supported in the Revolution, were determined to get rid of him and his kind by any means at their command. Recordingly one night when Graham was asleep, a company of soldiers under Castro's order surrounded his cabin and when he appeared in the doorway fired point blank at the startled American. Luckily for Graham none of those shots took effect, though his shirt was burned by the powder in a number of places. He was then unceremoniously seized and carried off to jail. In a similar manner about a hundred other foreigners were arrested in various parts of California and thrown into prison. After a farcical trial some forty of the prisoners were then placed in irons and shipped down the coast to San Blas, suffering severely on the voyage from harsh treatment and because of insufficiency of food, water, and fresh air. Upon reaching Tepic they were kept in confinement while their case was being disposed of in Mexico City. Here the pressure of the British and American governments was effectually exerted to secure their release and Graham and many of his companions were returned to California at Mexican expense. In addition nearly all the victims of the affair filed large claims against the Mexican government for their illegal arrest and harsh treatment. While this episode undoubtedly left some bitter memories and created an uneasy fear among the foreign residents of California it was not at all in keeping with the general attitude of California officials toward American settlers. Some measures it is true were tentatively proposed to restrict the overland immigration but these nearly all originated in Mexico and found expression only in high-sounding proclamations or in decrees that the Californians would not or could not enforce. In fact the only proposals of any consequence that might have exerted serious influence upon the status of the foreigners were a recommendation by Vallejo and Castro to purchase New Elvisha from Sutter and a plan of the Mexican government to send an expedition into California to keep the activities of foreigners confined to proper bounds. The possession of Sutter's fort, because of its strategic location, would have given the Californians an important check on overland immigration and an effective control of the foreign settlers in the Sacramento Valley. Similarly a well-equipped, properly disciplined force of Mexican troops, if such a thing existed, might easily have dampened revolutionary ardor among the Americans or at least kept it from blazing forth into action. Neither of these measures, however, brought forth any practical results. The proposal to purchase New Elvisha was buried somewhere in the vast graveyard of the Mexican archives, and though an expedition was actually gotten underway by the central government to save California, it broke down before leaving Mexico under endless charges of corruption and mismanagement. And the Viagabond troops, of which it was composed, who would have been an aggravation instead of help had they reached their destination, found ready employment under the standard of revolt which Paredes was just then raising against the Rera. The Californians themselves, like the home government, made no practical efforts to check the growth of foreign domination. Huntas were held and wordy proclamations issued without number, but the frontiers remained unguarded and the settlers, after the Graham episode, did almost as they pleased. Naturally, however, the assumption of superiority on the part of the foreigners was resented by the California aristocracy, thus Guerrero evidently voiced a common sentiment, when he wrote Castro early in 1846, that the Americans apparently held the idea that because God made the world and them also, that what there was in the world belonged to them as sons of God. And Castro, probably at some heat, declared before an assembly at Monterey, quote, �These Americans are so contriving that some day they will build ladders to touch the sky, and once in the heavens they will change the whole face of the universe and even the color of the stars�,� unquote. Yet neither Guerrero nor Castro nor anyone else put forth a definite effort to prevent the Americans from changing the destiny of California. As has been said, the sovereignty of Mexico over California, as every one but the Mexicans saw, was at an end by 1846. She could no longer command the loyalty of her subjects there by force, nor hold it by affection. At the same time, Polk's second plan of acquiring California through the initiative of native uprising or a peaceful separation from Mexico had before it every prospect of success. At this juncture occurred the bare flag revolt. This movement, though sometimes spoken of as a turning point in California destiny, was actually shorn of much of its importance by the outbreak of the Mexican War. Tradition, however, has given it a significance which cannot be ignored. To the popular mind, at least, it will probably always stand as the very embodiment of pioneer spirit and the decisive stroke by which California was saved to the United States. The first participants in the revolt consisted of a handful of landholders in the Sacramento Valley and a somewhat larger number of hunters and trappers from the same region. Less than thirty-five men took part in the initial phase of the movement, but back of these, earning them something more than moral support, stood John C. Fremont and the members of his well-armed exploring expedition. Even at this late date, however, it is impossible to say just what relations Fremont and his command sustained to the actual revolt. The question is probably the most hotly debated point in California history, nor is anything like unanimous agreement upon it ever likely to be attained. The facts, as nearly as can be determined, are these. In the spring of 1845, Fremont, with a party of sixty-two men, six of whom were Delaware Indians, started from St. Louis on a third exploring expedition beyond the Rocky Mountains. The ostensible object of this undertaking was to discover the most feasible route from the Mississippi to the Pacific. But coupled with its purpose was an ever-growing desire on Fremont's part to revisit California and to examine in more detail a country over which he had already become an ardent enthusiast. The party reached Walker's Lake when winter was already at hand. Food was none too plentiful and the danger of becoming snowbound in the Sierras led to a division of the company. Fifteen men under Fremont sent out to cross the mountains to Sutter's. The main body of the expedition under command of Joseph Walker skirted the mountains southward, intending to cross from Owens Valley into the San Joaquin through Walker Pass. It was understood that the two parties should come together again as soon as Fremont could procure supplies from Sutter's establishment and make his way to the southern end of the San Joaquin. The rendezvous was fixed at a stream known to the explorers as the River of the Lake. During the Sierras, without noteworthy incident, Fremont secured the needed supplies from the obliging Sutter and then hurried on to the appointed meeting place with a company under Walker. Reaching the banks of the King's River, which he took to be the stream agreed upon as the meeting place, and finding no signs of the other party, Fremont waited several days, vainly hoping for Walker's appearance and then retraced his way to Sutter's. Leaving his men here with instructions to proceed later to Yerbauele, Fremont accompanied Lydus Dorf, the United States Vice Council, to Yerbauele and Monterey. At Monterey he was entertained by Larkin from whom he learned much concerning the conditions in California. On the 29th of January, while Fremont was still at Monterey, prefect Manuel Castro pointedly inquired of Larkin what American soldiers were doing in the province without permission from the California officials. In his note, Castro referred only to the members of Fremont's company, which by this time was encamped at Yerbauele, and made no reference to the larger party under Walker, whose presence in the province was as yet unknown to the Californians. In footnote, Fremont replied to Castro's communication in a frank, conciliatory manner, explaining that his expedition was purely scientific in its character, and that most of his men had been left in the unsettled interior of the province while he and a few companions had come to Monterey merely to purchase badly needed supplies for a continuation of their explorations to Oregon. These assurances, which were afterwards reiterated to Alvarado, quieted, temporarily at least, the uneasiness of the Californians, and they accordingly gave Fremont permission to winter in the province, provided he kept his men away from the coast settlements. While Fremont was thus occupying his time at Monterey, Walker and his command were encamped on the current river, many miles south of the Kings, wondering what had become of their lost commander and the provisions he had gone in search of, and the two companies separated east of the Sierras. After three weeks of fruitless waiting, Walker then moved northward, expecting to find Fremont at Sutter's Fort. Upon reaching the Calaveras River, however, Walker learned from a chance hunter that Fremont was in the Santa Clara Valley, whether he had gone from Monterey, intending to return to the San Joaquin on another search for Walker. And here the two companies came together about the middle of February, 1846. The combined force then temporarily encamped on the Laguna Rancho south of San Jose. After only a short stay in this locality the party began to move leisurely toward the coast, and after crossing the Santa Cruz Mountains by way of Los Gatos, went into camp in the Salinas Valley, some twenty or twenty-five miles from Monterey. It is not certain what course Fremont intended to pursue from this point onward. There is some reason to believe that he planned to travel down the coast to Santa Barbara, or perhaps spend a few weeks until the Oregon route should be clear of snow in the little valley of the coast range near Salinas, which had seemed so like paradise to the half-starved immigrants of the Child's Walker Party a few years before. But whatever his purpose, he seems to have had no thought that the presence of the company near Monterey would be construed as a violation of his understanding with the California officials. The Americans were surprised and then considerably angered, therefore, when peremptory orders came from the authorities at Monterey to leave the province immediately or take the consequences. Fremont, though perhaps technically in the wrong, refused to obey this blunt demand and moving his camp to the top of a nearby hill, known as Hawks Peak, prepared to resist whatever force the Californians might bring against him. The expected attack, however, did not develop. There was a good deal of bluster and the mustering of a considerable force by the Californians, but inasmuch as the demonstration was probably gotten up chiefly to satisfy the Mexican government or to quiet the protests of the British Vice-Consul against the presence of the Americans in California, no actual hostilities took place. Fremont, after waiting some three or four days, withdrew under cover of darkness from his fortified position and started for Oregon by way of the San Joaquin and the Sacramento. While the Hawks Peak Affair in itself amounted to little, its results were most unfortunate. The distrust and antipathy of Fremont's company toward the Californians were greatly increased and the feelings of the latter were correspondingly ruffled and outraged. Among the American settlers in the Sacramento, also, the incident created much excitement and it was persistently rumored that the government had planned to expel or seize all foreign residents of the province. In this sense, at least, the episode was one of the most direct causes of the Bear Flag Revolt. Not long after the Hawks Peak episode, a messenger from Washington reached Monterey. This was Lieutenant Archibald H. Gillespie of the United States Marine Corps, to whom references already been made as the bearer of a copy of Buchanan's dispatch to Larkin and as a confidential agent to the American government. Though Gillespie had destroyed Buchanan's letter, he had brought most of his other papers through unharmed. Among these was a packet of letters for Fremont from Senator Thomas H. Benton, Fremont's influential father-in-law. After a stay of only two days at Monterey, Gillespie hazened on to Yerbaueva, where he remained a short time with the American Vice-Consul, W. A. Lytisdorf, and then sent out to overtake John C. Fremont. The latter, after reaching the San Joaquin, had moved northward at a leisurely pace, reaching the Klamath Lake region about the middle of May. Here Gillespie overtook the party, and besides delivering to Fremont the Benton letters, acquainted him with the nature of Larkin's confidential appointment and the purposes of the Polk administration so far as Gillespie himself understood them. It was not at all strange that the information and dispatches brought by Gillespie caused a radical change in Fremont's plans. Instead of continuing his route to the Columbia, he resolved on an immediate return to California. This course was dictated by common sense and lay plainly in the line of duty. Incidentally, it coincided with Fremont's own desires. But had it been otherwise, he could scarcely have gone serenely on his way to Oregon, knowing that events in which his government was vitally concerned were rapidly coming to a crisis in California and that his presence there might change the destiny of the province. Fremont has been pretty severely handled by his critics for the abrupt return from Oregon. He himself testified that he was led to believe through certain enigmatic and obscure passages in the letters from Benton, passages written, he says, in a prearranged code, that California was in imminent danger of slipping into British hands and that the administration expected him to act on his own initiative to force stall such an eventuality. Whether Fremont was right or wrong in this interpretation of the situation is really immaterial. The true justification for his return to California lay not in what he read between the lines of Benton's letters, but in the simple fact that a trusted agent of the United States government, the confidential representative of the State Department and of the President himself, had traveled post-haste more than five hundred miles from San Francisco to Oregon through a dangerous and almost unbroken wilderness to overtake the exploring party and urge its return to the Mexican province. Unless Gillespie made this journey for his health, or out of mere whim, or for some other ridiculous purpose, Fremont had no option in the matter. It was his unmistakable duty to turn back to California. When Gillespie and Fremont reached the Sacramento after a serious rush with the Klamath Indians, they encamped at the Marysville Buttes above the junction of the Feather and Sacramento Rivers. Here rumors came to them of intended hostilities by the Californians against the American residents in the Valley. There may or may not have been truth in these reports, but even if the intentions of the native leaders had been unfriendly, it is doubtful owing to the confusion in the provincial government if they could have made any serious move against the foreign settlers. Naturally, however, the Americans viewed the situation with a good deal of concern, especially as the hostile demonstration against Fremont and the Hawks Peak Affair was still vividly before them. This uneasiness gave place to actual alarm when information, apparently authentic, spread through the Valley that a company of two hundred and fifty Californians was advancing toward the Sacramento, burning houses, driving off cattle, and destroying the grain. In the face of this supposed danger, the scattered settlers of the Valley hastily came together to affect a military organization. The natural rendezvous was Fremont's camp, where sixty or more well-disciplined men already furnished the nucleus for an effective resistance against any force the Californians might have at their command. The position of Fremont in this emergency was surrounded by some embarrassment. Everything learned probably as much as Gillespie himself knew of the plans of the administration, and believing that California must be secured as quickly as possible to prevent its seizure by Great Britain, for, in spite of much argument to the contrary, Fremont was evidently sincere in this conviction. The American commander faced a difficult problem. If he took an active part in organizing a settlers' revolt, he would not only lend the uprising the official sanction of the United States government, but would also lay himself open to severe censure and perhaps punishment in case the administration later disavowed the movement. The other horn of the dilemma was equally serious. If the revolt collapsed because Fremont failed to support it and the American settlers should be killed or driven out of the province, a fate Fremont evidently feared for them, not only would the blame for this rest upon his shoulders, but also the greater reproach as he saw it of standing irresolably by while California passed out of the reach of the United States into the waiting hands of England. Fremont's course in the emergency has been the object of both unreasonable criticism and of exaggerated praise. He did not save California by his presence in the Sacramento, nor did he take an active part in the first stages of the bear flag movement, but he did make the latter possible by giving it his moral support and by secret promises of aid if his assistance should be required. How far he was actually responsible for fomenting the revolt is one of those disputed points on which there is no possibility of agreement. Putting all partisanship aside and acknowledging that personal ambition probably played its part, the fair-minded historian must still acknowledge that Fremont, viewing the situation in the light of what he knew of California conditions and believing that President Polk had determined upon the acquisition of California, pursued a perfectly natural and not altogether blame-worthy course. Unfortunately, claims later made on his behalf were far beyond his actual performances and his reputation suffered much in consequence. The first hostile act of the bear flag uprising was the seizure of a band of horses which were being driven from Sonoma to the Santa Clara Valley for the use of General Castro. Rumor reached the Americans at Fremont's camp that these animals were to be employed in the threatened expedition against the settlers of the Sacramento. Encouraged doubtless by Fremont, about a dozen men under the leadership of Ezekiel Merritt started out to intercept the drove. They succeeded without the slightest difficulty in surprising the small guard under Francisco Arce and took from them the greater part of the horses. These they brought back to Fremont's headquarters, which in the meantime had been moved farther down the Sacramento. No blood was shed in this encounter nor were the Californians aware that anything more serious than a robbery had taken place. The next step was of more significance. Encouraged by their success against Arce and realizing that they had already gone too far for halfway measures, Merritt's company turned their attention to the capture of Sonoma. Originally established to check the Russian advance, this settlement, with the exception of New Helvetia, which was only nominally under California control, had become the leading political and military center of the province north of Monterey. Sonoma's chief claim to importance arose from the fact that it was home of Mariano G. Vallejo, in many respects the most dominant figure among the Californians. Toward Americans, Vallejo had always shown the kindliest feeling and was already pretty thoroughly committed to Larkin's plan of independence. Under these circumstances Vallejo and his fellow townsmen were naturally not anticipating any trouble with their American neighbors in the Sacramento. It was with the utmost surprise, therefore, that the general and his family awoke about dawn on the quiet Sunday of June 14th to find themselves surrounded by a band of 33 armed men, dressed for the most part in trappers' guard, and evidently come on hostile business. At first Vallejo had considerable difficulty in finding out what the Americans wanted, but through an interpreter he soon learned that they had come to make him prisoner and take possession of the town. The leaders of the attacking force, Merritt, Semple, and William Knight, undertook to explain to Vallejo the purpose of the uprising and to arrange the terms of his capitulation. The conference, held in the prisoner's house, made such slow progress that the rank and file of the company outside grew impatient and deposed Merritt from command, electing John Grigsby in his stead. The new leader made no faster headway than the old, and William B. I. was accordingly sent in to speed up the negotiations. When the latter entered the room, he says, he found most of the conferees too far gone for business. Vallejo's wine and a guardiente taken on empty stomachs had proved almost too much for the American commissioners. At last, however, the articles of capitulation were completed and signed. General Vallejo, his brother Captain Salvador Vallejo and Colonel Victor Proudhon were sent as prisoners of war to Fremont's camp under positive assurance that no harm should come to them or to their property. In the meanwhile, I. was elected captain of the company in the place of Grigsby, who seems to have become somewhat alarmed at the progress the movement was taking under his leadership, and the Republic of California was soon brought into being. As a first step in the creation of the new government, William Todd, an enthusiastic member of the Revolution, designed the flag. This was made from a piece of unbleached cotton cloth, five feet long and three feet wide. In the upper left-hand corner, a five-pointed star was roughly painted with red ink, while facing this stood the crude figure of a grizzly bear, which gave both the flag and its Republic its familiar name. A strip of red flannel on the lower edge of the cotton, and the words California Republic, done in red, completed the design. When the flag had been completed, I had prepared a proclamation in which he set forth a justification in purposes of the Revolution. The next move was to organize a government. Nothing much could be done as yet in this direction, but a general statement of principles of the movement was drawn up, which I'd evidently thought might serve as the basis for a more elaborate constitution later on. So far the uprising had preceded without bloodshed, but a few days after the taking of Sonoma, two Americans, Cowie and Fowler, were captured by a band of Californians and unceremoniously put to death. Whether this was the act of an individual or the result of official orders cannot be determined with certainty. Footnote. Responsibility for the act has been laid at the door of the notorious Three-Fingered Jack. In footnote. It led, however, to unfortunate reprisals in which a few of Fremont's men, under Carson's command, ambushed and shot three rather inoffensive Californians. As the movement progressed, the force under I'd received considerable reinforcement from settlers in the Sacramento and around San Francisco Bay. Fremont, having resigned his commission in the United States Army, also openly joined the uprising, thus lending to it the effective support of his highly skilled company and strengthening the idea, already nearly universal, that the United States government was behind the whole affair. The Californians, in turn, were doing their utmost to subdue the revolt. It had been necessary first for Castro and Pico to compose their differences, which in fact had already reached the stage of civil war, and then after issuing the appropriate proclamations, without which no Californian could commence a serious undertaking, to muster the inadequate provincial forces against the American revolutionists. Castro, whose headquarters were fixed at Santa Clara, succeeded in putting an army of 160 men into the field. These were divided into three divisions, only one of which, that led by Joaquin de la Torre, ever made contact with the Americans. This was in the nature of a surprise skirmish which occurred between Petaluma and San Rafael. In it one of the Californians was killed by American fire. In the south, Pico, still somewhat in doubt as to the purity of Castro's motives, sent out one fervent appeal after another to his fellow citizens to rise in arms against the vile Americans. Quote, Fly Mexicans, he wrote, in one of the most lurid of these proclamations, fly Mexicans in all haste and pursuit of the treacherous foe, follow him to the farthest wilderness, punish his audacity, and in case we fail let us form a cemetery where posterity may remember to the glory of Mexican history the heroism of her sons. compatriots run swiftly with me to crown your brows with a fresh laurels of unfading glory. In the fields of the north they are scattered, ready to spring to your noble foreheads. In spite of such appeals, however, both the citizenry of Los Angeles and of Santa Barbara, where Pico was then located, met the emergency with such indifference that when the governor marched north to form a junction with Castro, he had at his disposal only about a hundred men. The two California leaders, so long bitter rivals, met with a show of friendship at the peaceful ranch of Santa Margarita near the mission of San Luis Obispo. What they might have done against the revolting Americans will always remain a matter of conjecture, for by this time the bear flag was a thing of the past. Its activities had been superseded by agencies of greater magnitude. The news of war between the United States and Mexico had at last reached California. What place should the bear flag movement have in California history? It was neither authorized by President Polk, nor in keeping with his California policy. It put an end to Larkin's hope of a peaceful annexation, and it was unquestionably responsible for much of the ill-will among the native inhabitants, which later made necessary the forceful conquest of the province. It was never a general movement among the Americans in California, many of whom condemned it out of hand, but was confined to a limited area and carried out largely by trappers instead of by permanent residents. It did not save California from falling into British hands, nor hastened its acquisition by the United States. This much the historian must now admit. Yet the sarcastic criticism so often passed upon the movement, and those who participated in it, since Bankrafft and Royce set the fashion, is entirely out of place. Merit, simple-eyed and their companions, it is true, had no respect for California law and institutions, and too little acquaintance with the conditions in the province. They were also in no actual danger at the hands of Castro before the seizure of Sonoma, though they had substantial reason to think that they were. They could not know the actual plans of their government for acquiring California by peaceful means, but they did know that a deep-seated conviction prevailed throughout the United States that annexation must some time somehow be brought back. Yet the movement was only a local affair with no very definite purpose or plan or procedure, yet it soon gave promise of a much larger proportions. If its actual accomplishments were of little importance, this was only because the outbreak of the Mexican War made its further progress unnecessary. Had this war not come when it did, there is every reason to believe that the bare flag revolt would have brought to a successful conclusion about California, that is, by the agency of an armed uprising among the American settlers in the province. In such case, I'd or Fremont might have stood out as the creator of a new republic, the Sam Houston of the Pacific Coast. Chapter 16 The Conquest of California Apart from the bare flag revolt, there were two clearly defined stages in the conquest of California by the American forces. The first of these, extending from July 7 to August 15, 1846, though devoid of bloodshed, resulted in the temporary establishment of American control over every place of significance in the province. The second, beginning with a local revolt in Los Angeles on September 22, was a matter of much greater importance and for a time seriously threatened the continuance of American control. As previously stated, the Polk Administration was determined upon the acquisition of California in case of war with Mexico. At the same time the Washington government believed that the Californians disaffected as they were with Mexico might easily be persuaded to transfer their allegiance to the United States without the necessity of armed conquest. The opinion also prevailed that, even were the Californians so inclined, they could not offer very serious resistance to the United States because of military weakness and inefficiency. These views were the basis of the Administration's policy regarding California. As early as June 1845, George Bancroft, Secretary of the Navy, instructed Commodore John D. Slote, then in command of the American naval forces in the Pacific, to seize the harbor of San Francisco in the event of war with Mexico, and such other California ports as his strength would permit. As these harbors were said to be open and defenseless, little difficulty was anticipated in carrying out the Secretary's instructions. Occupation of the sea coast ports, however, was but the first step in fulfilling the President's program. Slote was then to use every precaution to secure and preserve the goodwill of the Californians so that the province might be acquired through friendly cooperation rather than by armed conquest. In the spring of 1846, Slote, with five vessels under his command, was on the west coast of Mexico expecting any moment to learn of the outbreak of war. In April, upon the receipt of an urgent request from Larkin, set off after Fremont's affair at Hawkes Peak, he ordered one of his vessels, the Portsmouth, under Captain John B. Montgomery, to sail to Monterey. Here, and later at San Francisco, Montgomery kept close watch upon the rapid development of the California situation, including the bare flag revolt. But knowing nothing as yet of any declaration of war, he was able to play only the role of an observer in the proceedings. On May 17th, word reached the American fleet at anchor in the harbor of Mazatlán that hostilities had begun between Mexico and the United States. But as the report was not official, Slote contented himself with despatching a single additional vessel, the Cyan, under command of Captain Mervine to join the Portsmouth at Monterey, while he remained in the Mexican harbor with the remainder of the fleet. A few weeks later, receiving additional confirmation of the earlier report, he quietly slipped out of Mazatlán and sailed direct to Monterey. In taking this course, Slote was not only guided by Bancroft's orders of the previous year, but also by evidence, apparently genuine, that the British government planned to check the American occupation of California. Admiral Seymour, whose interest in California has already been referred to, was then cruising in the vicinity of Slote's command and had shown an unpleasant curiosity in the doings of the American fleet. It was credibly reported that he intended to forestall Slote's occupation of any California port, and as later evidence showed, only the absence of official orders prevented him from making this attempt. As it was, however, Slote found no obstruction in his way at Monterey. His flagship, the Savanna, anchored in the harbor on July 2, but instead of taking immediate possession of the fort, with a hesitancy and vacillation strangely out of keeping with the tradition of the American navy, he delayed action until the morning of the 7th. The intervening time was occupied in conferences with Larkin in the preparation of plans and proclamations for the conquest of the province and in the exchange of official courtesies with the California authorities. At last, however, stirred by news of Fremont's activities in the north, the fear of Admiral Seymour's arrival and the urging of his own officers, Slote decided to act. The occupation of Monterey then became almost a matter of routine. There had been no powder in the fort to salute the American vessels when they sailed into port. All of the soldiers, a mere handful, had gone south with Castro, and a Mexican flag had not been seen in the town for three months. Accordingly, when the formal demand for surrender was refused because there was no one with authority to grant it, Slote disembark some two hundred and fifty men who marched unmolested to the customs house where they raised the American flag, fired a salute, and formally proclaimed California annex to the United States. Two days later the flag was raised over San Francisco and Sonoma and on the 11th at Sutter's Fort. In all these proceedings and in the proclamations accompanying them, it is worth recording that the American officers sought, according to their instructions, to conciliate the Californians and to treat them with all possible consideration. Two weeks after the occupation of Monterey, new vigor was instilled into the American activities by the resignation of Slote and the transference of his command to a more aggressive leader, Commodore Robert F. Stockton, who had arrived on the 15th of July from Norfolk, Virginia in the Congress. Just before leaving Norfolk, Stockton had held a conference with the Secretary of the Navy and was therefore far better acquainted with the plans of the administration than with Slote, nor by temperament was he given to halfway measures. Having assumed command of both naval and land operations in California, Stockton at once enrolled the bear flag battalion, which Fremont had brought to Monterey, as volunteers in the United States Army. At the same time he commissioned Fremont a major and Gillespie a captain in the battalion. He then proceeded after issuing what has generally been regarded as an unfortunate proclamation against the California leaders to carry out the conquest of Southern California. In keeping with this plan, Fremont and his command were sent to San Diego on the Sian and Stockton with some 360 men landed at San Pedro. The California Army, under General Castro, at this time consisted of only a hundred men, almost without arms and so disaffected that they could not be counted upon to obey their officers. Under such conditions both Castro and Governor Pico gave up all thought of resistance to the American advance and after vainly seeking to negotiate a suspension of hostilities with Stockton, adjourned the California assembly, then in the last forlorn session at Los Angeles, and fled into retirement. Castro went immediately to Sonora by way of the old Anza Trail through the Colorado Desert, while Pico, after remaining some time on his ranch near San Bernardino, took refuge at last in lower California. Deprived of these two leaders, the Californians made no resistance, either to Stockton's advance upon Los Angeles from San Pedro or to Fremont's expedition northward from San Diego. On August 13 the United Command of Fremont and Stockton entered Los Angeles, raised the American flag, and received the allegiance of the leading citizens. Four days later Stockton proclaimed the province a territory of the United States. The first phase of the conquest, except for a few minor episodes, was completed. It had been accomplished without loss of life and distinguished by no very exciting incidents. From this statement, of course, the bear flag movement is excluded, as has been shown, it was not properly a part of the conquest by the United States government in the footnote. The second phase of the conquest was characterized by some pretty vigorous fighting and a considerable amount of bloodshed. Stockton and Fremont, apparently misled by the ease of their triumph, left Los Angeles early in September in command of Captain Gillespie in a force of fifty men. As events proved, this garrison was wholly inadequate to control the turbulent element in the Pueblo and only invited insurrection by its presence. Gillespie himself was lacking intact, while a population over which he ruled had always been distinguished for an unusual readiness to revolt. The first outbreak occurred before daylight, September 23, when a motley company of Californians, filled with patriotism and perhaps with wine, attacked the adobe quarters in which Gillespie's men were sleeping. The party was led by Serbulo Varela, a frequent disturber of the peace, even when Los Angeles was under native rule, and his followers belonged to the semi-outlaw class of California society. The attack was easily repulsed, but when Gillespie the next day sought to arrest the offenders, he found a revolution of no mean proportions already underway. Before the end of twenty-four hours, he and his men were surrounded by a force of several hundred Californians and the revolt was in full swing. As leaders of the movement, several of Castro's former officers, all of whom had given their parole not to take up arms against the United States, now came forward. Chief of these were José María Flores, José Antonio Carrillo, and Andrés Pico. The success of the movement, which all things considered was quite surprising, was due, however, not so much to the ability of these leaders as to the popular enthusiasm which supported it and to the swiftness with which the revolutionists carried out their operations, a swiftness made possible by the superior horsemanship for which the Californians had long been noted. The first victory of the uprising occurred while Gillespie was shut up in Los Angeles, about a score of Americans under command of B.D. Wilson, hearing that the country was up in arms, took refuge with Isaac Williams, one of the early Santa Fe traders who had settled on the Chino Rancho some twenty-five miles east of Los Angeles. On September 26th, this party was surrounded by a force of seventy mounted Californians and compelled to surrender after a short skirmish in which one of the Californians was killed and several of the Americans wounded. The success of this engagement greatly encouraged the Californians in their attack upon Gillespie. The latter, who had taken up his position on what was afterwards known as Fort Hill, back at the old Plaza Church, was in a serious predicament. His supplies were cut off and a force overwhelmingly superior to his own kept him continually invested. The nearest assistance to which he could look was at Monterey, approximately four hundred miles away, and the route over which a courier had to pass, even should he elude the besieging force, lay through a country where every native inhabitant must be counted upon as an enemy. These difficulties, however, did not prevent one of Gillespie's men, John Browne, or Juan Flocko, lean John, as he was commonly known, from carrying the message for aid to Commodore Stockton, who was not at Monterey as Gillespie supposed, but at San Francisco a hundred miles beyond. Leaving Los Angeles at eight o'clock on the evening of September 24, with a short message from Gillespie written on cigarette papers and concealed in his hair, unarmed and equipped only with spurs and riata, Browne successfully passed the enemy lines. He was pursued, however, by fifteen Californians, but escaped from them by jumping his horse, already mortally wounded, across a thirteen-foot ravine. Two miles more, and the horse died. Lean John walked twenty-seven miles to the ranch of an American, where he secured another horse with which he reached Santa Barbara. From here, obtaining fresh horses as he could, he rode almost continuously until he arrived at Monterey on the evening of the twenty-ninth. Up to this time, according to the report of an eyewitness of his arrival, Browne had had neither rest nor sleep since leaving Los Angeles. He slept three hours at Monterey, then pushed on to San Francisco, which he reached either late on the thirtieth or early the next morning. The distance covered was over five hundred miles. Browne's actual riding time was less than five days. It is a record not easily matched. Upon receipt of Gillespie's message, Stockton at once ordered Captain Mervine to sail for San Pedro in the Savannah with three hundred and fifty men. At Salcelito, however, the relief ship encountered such a heavy fog that progress was impossible for several days, and Mervine did not reach San Pedro until the seventh of October. As it proved, however, even without this delay, Mervine's assistance would have been too late. On the thirtieth, even before Lean John's arrival at San Francisco, Gillespie had realized the hopelessness of his position and accepted the only chance of escape by surrendering to the California commander. Under the terms of the agreement the Americans were allowed to withdraw a molested descent to Pedro without the loss of flags or weapons. Here they were under pledge to embark immediately upon a merchant vessel then in the harbor. But Gillespie, hoping for the arrival of one of Stockton's fleet, delayed this feature of the agreement for four days after his arrival at the harbor. At the end of that time, not knowing whether or not the message carried by Brown had reached Stockton, he spiked the cannon he had brought from Los Angeles on ox carts, threw one of them into the bay, and took his men on board the waiting van Dalia. Here Mervine found him when the Savannah reached San Pedro on the seventh. At six o'clock on the morning following Mervine's arrival some three hundred men, including Gillespie's command, disembarked from the vessels and prepared to march against Los Angeles. For the first four or five miles the mounted Californians who were present in considerable number on the hills surrounding the landing place made no serious attempt to retard the American advance but confined their efforts to a few volleys at long range. Captain Mervine's force, however, found that they had entered upon something very unlike a holiday. Our march, wrote Lieutenant Robert C. Duvall, one of the officers under Mervine, was performed over a continuous plain overgrown with wild mustard rising in places to six or eight feet in height. The ground was excessively dry, the clouds of dust were suffocating, and there was not a breath of wind in motion. There was no water on our line of march for ten or twelve miles and we suffered greatly from thirst." Residents of Southern California can appreciate how this October day, surcharged with electricity and tolerably hot and without the faintest breeze except perhaps a few dry puffs from the Mojave Desert, sucked away the spirits and reduced the energy of the marching troops. So great was the exhaustion that a halt was called at half-past two in the afternoon and camp made for the night on the old Dominguez Rancho some fifteen miles from San Pedro. The Californians by this time had become more threatening and were forming on a hill or plateau overlooking the American camp for a sudden onslaught. To prevent this maneuver, part of the Americans charged the enemy formation. But in as much as the Californians withdrew before their opponents came within effective rifle range, there was no damage done on either side. No further excitement arose until about two o'clock the next morning. Then the Californians succeeded in bringing up a small cannon with which they sent a single shot into the American camp. A detachment sent out by Mervine to capture the gun found no trace of it or of those who had fired it, but the next day it reappeared in a most effective and unpleasant fashion. The camp was broken about six o'clock on the morning of the ninth and the march began again toward Los Angeles. As the Americans got underway they found the Californians drawn up on either side of the road to dispute their advance. The force, numbering about a hundred and twenty men under command of Jose Carrillo, were well mounted and armed with carbines and lances. The guns were of various grades of effectiveness. The lances were eight-foot willow lances tipped with blades beaten out of files and rasps. In spite of their homemade appearance these lances were ugly weapons in the hands of skillful horsemen. The real strength of Carrillo's company, however, lay in the little cannon which the Americans had vainly sought to capture during a preceding night. This was a bronze four-pounder, known as a Pedrero or a swivel-gun. It had long done duty on the Los Angeles plaza before the coming of the American forces in the firing of salutes and in the celebration of holidays. When news of Stockton's approach reached Puebla, at the time of his first occupation of the town an old Mexican woman with the pride of her people, or so the story goes, had resolved to save at least one thing from the hands of the Americans. She accordingly hid this gun in the tulles near her house, only to dig it up again when Gillespie retreated to San Pedro. The piece was mounted on the front axle of an overland wagon in such a way that the range could be obtained by raising or lowering the tongue. In the Battle of Dominguez the gun was in charge of Ignacio Aguilar, who fired it by applying a lighted cigarette to the touch-hole. Eight or ten horsemen dragged it with their riadas into position or out of harm's way as necessity arose. The methods used by the Californians in the handling of this old woman's gun as it was appropriately named, and its effectiveness in the battle can best be shown by Duval's own words quoted by J. M. Gwin. When within about four hundred yards the enemy opened fire on us with their artillery. We made frequent charges, driving them before us, and at one time causing them to leave some of their cannonballs and cartridges. But owing to the rapidity with which they could carry off the gun using their lassos on every part, they were able to choose their own distance entirely out of all range of our muskets. The horsemen kept out of danger, apparently content to let the gun do the fighting, end quote. Worn out with a futile effort to capture the four pounder and convinced that further progress would result in useless loss of life, the Americans resolved to return to San Pedro and await a more favorable time for the capture of Los Angeles. This decision was strengthened by the report that the Pueblo was defended by some five or six hundred additional troops, and the fear that even if the town were taken, the American force would find itself cut off from communication with the supporting vessels at San Pedro and be compelled to surrender. On the retreat, Merbine's men were harassed by Carrillo's troops as long as the ammunition of the Californians held out. Getting the ever present old woman's gun upon a hill ahead of the Americans, the Californians fired at the retiring column until their powder, which had been made at the San Gabriel mission, was wholly exhausted and a usefulness of the little cannon came to an end. When the Americans reached San Pedro, they were so thoroughly exhausted with heat and fatigue that many of them could scarcely drag one foot after the other. In addition, they had suffered in the battle, which was a clear victory for the Californians, a loss of at least four men killed or mortally wounded and six others more or less seriously injured. The American dead were buried on a little island near the eastern entrance of San Pedro Bay. For many years previous to this, the island had borne the name of Dead Man's Island, but the burying party from the savannah christened it thus anew. At the present time, the island is rapidly disappearing before the action of wind and tide, and even now there is little left of this first burial place of American soldiers killed on California soil. The battle of Dominguez Rancho was followed by an interval of quiet on either side. Flores was proclaimed provisional governor by a sort of rump assembly in Los Angeles, and the revolt spread to nearly every part of the province where the Americans were not in full control. San Diego and Santa Barbara both passed into the hands of their former owners, and in the north Manuel Castro, Joaquin de la Torre, and one or two others, carried on an annoying guerrilla warfare which finally culminated in the severe skirmish known as the Battle of Natividad. This engagement differed from most of the battles of the south in that no regular United States troops took part in it. It was fought in the Salinas Valley at one of the fords of the river some fifteen miles from Monterey. A company of sixty or seventy Americans with a band of three hundred horses brought from Sacramento were on their way from San Juan Bautista to join Fremont at Monterey. Learning of this the Californians got together their scattered bands for a surprise attack, hoping if possible to capture the horses and thus prevent or at least delay Fremont's march down the coast to aid Stockton against Los Angeles. The leaders of the Californians, who were close to one hundred and fifty in number, were Manuel Castro, Jose Chavez, Francisco Rico, and the Tud de la Torres. The Americans, most of whom were settlers or newly arrived immigrants, were commanded by two recently created captains, Charles Burrows and B. K. Thompson. In the first skirmish a small counting party from this force, which included a number of Indians, was surrounded by Castro's men and several of its members were killed or wounded. When the main body of Americans came up, a brief but sharp engagement followed in which the Californians, after inflicting rather serious injuries upon their opponents, retired from the field. The total American loss in this battle was about the same as that suffered by Mervine on his march from San Pedro. Four or five killed and an equal number wounded. Castro's forces suffered somewhat more severely. After the engagement, most of the Californians, taking with them Thomas O. Larkin, whom they had captured the night before, retired down the coast toward Los Angeles. The Americans, in turn, withdrawing to a ranch near San Juan Batista, united with Fremont's force of three hundred men from Monterey, and a little later moved south to cooperate in the capture of Los Angeles. In the meantime, the Californians had been called upon to face another American force, which was coming upon them from an unexpected quarter. The plans of the United States War Department for the conquest of Mexico called for four lines of invasion of the enemy's territory. The first, under General Taylor, aimed at the subjugation of Tamulipas, Nuevo León, and Coahila. The second, in charge of General Wool, proposed to subdue the important state of Chihuahua. The third, commanded by General Scott, struck at the Mexican capital by way of Veracruz. And the fourth, with which this narrative is alone concerned, had as its objective the conquest of New Mexico and California. The last force was under the command of Colonel, afterwards General Stephen W. Kearney, an officer of considerable skill and force of character. Leaving Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, in the spring of 1846, this Army of the West, as Kearney's command was known, marched to Santa Fe and took possession of the province of New Mexico without serious difficulty. From Santa Fe, Kearney set out for the coast, where he expected to cooperate with the naval forces under Stockton and the volunteers from the American settlers in taking complete possession of California and establishing there a new government under American control. To aid Kearney in the enterprise, the War Department later sent a considerable body of reinforcements to the coast, selecting for this purpose a battalion recruited from the Mormon immigrants in Salt Lake and a regiment of New York volunteers under Colonel Stevens. The Mormon battalion, as it was called, marched overland. The New York regiment went by sea around Cape Horn. Neither force, however, reached California in time to be of any actual assistance in the conquest. With about three hundred dragoons under his command, Kearney left Santa Fe on September 25th over the old Healer River Trail, which the Patis had followed some twenty years before. Near Socorro, however, he met Kit Carson, who was on his way to Washington with desk batches from Stockton. Carson, having left California before the uprising in Los Angeles against Gillespie had broken out, of course knew nothing of the general revolt that had turned the province topsy-turvy since his departure. He therefore informed Kearney that American rule had been established on the coast with little opposition, and that the natives had accepted it in good part. Acting upon this information, Kearney sent back nearly two-thirds of his battalion. But having requisitioned the reluctant services of Carson as a guide, he continued his own way to California with a hundred men who remained. At the Colorado, through intercepted desk batches, he learned something of the revolt in California, but the information was too meager for him to determine how serious the situation really was. In crossing the desert west of the Colorado, Kearney's force experienced the greatest privations. The animals were sometimes without water for forty-eight and sixty hours at a time, so that many of them died of thirst. And it was not until the party reached the little stream known as Carrizo Creek that the way again became adorable. By this time, however, both men and beasts were so exhausted that they were in no condition for a serious test of arms. On December 2nd Kearney's troops arrived at Warner's Ranch where an abundance of food was retained. On the 5th they were joined by a party of thirty-five men whom Stockton, again in possession of San Diego, had sent under Gillespie and Lieutenant Beale to reinforce Kearney's detachment. There was now, between the American position in San Diego, a considerable body of well-mounted Californians led by Andreas Pico. This force was camped near the Indian village of San Pasquale and Kearney with the approval of Gillespie resolved to order an attack against it the following morning. Camp was broken, accordingly, before daybreak of December 6th. But the American troops were already exhausted by the long march from Santa Fe, and as the preceding night had been cold and rainy, their vitality was running at a low ebb. The Californians, moreover, had already been warned of the impending danger and were prepared to meet the advancing force. In the first attack Captain Johnson, the leader of the charge, was instantly killed and only the arrival of the main body under Kearney saved the advance guard from annihilation. With the appearance of this larger number of the enemy, the Californians fled. But when Kearney's troopers, poorly mounted and somewhat disorganized, were strung out in a long line of pursuit, Pico's forces suddenly wheeled and almost swept the Americans from the field. This contest, the bloodiest in the entire conquest of California, lasted upwards of half an hour before the Californians withdrew. Sixteen or eighteen Americans were killed, most of them with lances, and nearly a scorer seriously wounded. Among the latter were General Kearney and Captain Gillespie. The condition of the American forces after the battle was serious. Our provisions were exhausted, wrote Major Emery. Our horses dead, our mules on their last legs, and our men, now reduced to one third of their number, were ragged, worn down by fatigue, and emaciated." The same rider elsewhere spoke of his companions as the most tattered and ill-fed detachment of men that ever the United States mustered under her colors. The Californians, though they had left the battlefield in possession of the Americans, were by no means beaten, and continued to threaten and harass the exhausted column as it strove to move forward to San Diego. Finally, though Lieutenant Godley, Fremont's famous scout, had already been sent to Stockton with a request for aid, Lieutenant Beale, Kit Carson, and an Indian were dispatched under cover of darkness to hurry forward the reinforcements which by this time were imperatively needed. After the severest hardships the three scouts succeeded in reaching San Diego, and on the tenth a detachment of a hundred and eighty men from Stockton's command made its welcome appearance in Kearney's camp. On the twelfth the combined forces marched without incident into San Diego. The arrival of General Kearney at San Diego was unfortunately followed by a dispute over a question of rank between himself and Commodore Stockton. The difference was at last temporarily adjusted through a compromise which left Stockton nominally in command, but put Kearney in actual charge of military operations. It was then decided that the combined forces at San Diego should move northward to cooperate with Fremont's advance from Monterey against Los Angeles. On December 29, in keeping with this plan, some six hundred men marched out of San Diego, accompanied by artillery and a baggage train, and took the road through San Louis Ray and Capestrano for Los Angeles. Their equipment was not of the best and the going proved difficult. Of this stage at the expedition Stockton wrote, quote, Our men were badly clothed and their shoes generally made by themselves out of canvas. It was very cold and the roads heavy. Our animals were all poor and weak, some of them giving out daily, which gave much hard work to the men in dragging the heavy carts loaded with ammunition and provisions through deep sands and up steep ascents. And the prospect before us was far from being that which we might have desired. But nothing could break down the fine spirits of those under my command or cool their readiness and ardor to perform their duty. And they went through the whole march of one hundred and forty-five miles with a cheerfulness, end quote. Fortunately for the Americans, no opposition from the enemy was encountered until the expedition came to the will-aligned banks of the San Gabriel River. In its course through the mountains this stream flows through deep canyons and over a hard rocky bed. But in the lowlands where the Americans were compelled to find a ford, the river broadens out and in many places there is sufficient quicksand to make things extremely difficult. The bank opposite the ford selected by the Americans was also commanded by a high bluff, which afforded the enemy a most convenient station for his artillery. This consisted chiefly of two nine-pounders, which were well supported by squadrons of horsemen on either flank. The entire force of the Californians amounted to five hundred or six hundred men. General Flores was in command with Andreas Pico and Jose Carrillo serving under him. With surprising ease, considering the strong position of the enemy, the Americans succeeded in dragging their artillery across the river and dislodged Flores from his position on the bluff. The following brief description by Major Emery, one of the participants, gives a vivid picture of the skirmish. Quote, Halfway between the hill and the river the enemy made a furious charge on our left flank. At the same moment our right was threatened. The first and second battalions were thrown into squares and after firing one or two shots, drove off the enemy. The right wing was ordered to form a square, but seeing the enemy hesitate, the order was countermanded. The first battalion, which formed the right, was directed to rush the hill, supposing that that would be the contested point. The great was our surprise to find it abandoned. The enemy pitched his camp upon the hills in view, but when morning came he was gone. Quote, Thus in an hour and a half after the first shot was fired, the American force, baggage train and all, was across the river and the Californians were retiring toward Los Angeles. The next day, January 9, came the last battle on California soil. As the Americans proceeded from the San Gabriel River toward Los Angeles, the California horseman again presented some slight opposition and shortly before four o'clock in the afternoon, Flores made his last stand near the banks of the Los Angeles River. As usual the Californians confined their activities to artillery fire at long range supplemented by cavalry charges upon the flank and rear. These attacks resulted in but little damage, however, except of those who made them. As a matter of fact the Californians, realizing the hopelessness of their resistance, seemed to have put but little heart in this last skirmish and withdrew before the battle was well begun. That night Stockton and Kearney camped on the outskirts of Los Angeles and the next day marched to the plaza, having already received the surrender sent out by the inhabitants. Except for insulting remarks from drunken citizens in a hostile demonstration which cost the lives of two of the Californians, the occupation of Los Angeles was accomplished without incident. Gillespie raised once more the flag which four months previously he had been compelled to lower and the control of the city passed forever out of Mexican hands. The capture of Los Angeles, however, did not result in the complete disbanding of the California troops. Though many of them returned to their homes and others continued to wander about the country in groups of two or three, the larger part of Flores's command retired to the San Pasquale and Verdugo ranches to await developments. These came quickly with the arrival of Fremont and his battalion at the San Fernando mission. Fremont's march down the coast, after the battle of Natividad, had met with little opposition from the enemy. The route, however, was difficult, owing chiefly to rain and mud and progress was consequently slow. Near San Luis Obispo, Jesús Pico, one of the leaders of the revolt, was captured and sentenced to be shot for breaking his parole. His life, however, was spared by Fremont at the interception of the prisoner's wife and family. As there were fourteen children to plead for Don Jesús, Fremont's clemency can easily be understood. After his release, Pico became a devoted friend to his benefactor and served the American cause with good purpose in the final surrender of the Californians. With Kearney and Stockton in control of Los Angeles and Fremont occupying the San Fernando Valley, further resistance on the part of the Californians was unthinkable. Flores, accordingly, surrendered his command to Andres Pico and left for Sonora. Jesús Pico was sent by Fremont to persuade the Californians to lay down their arms and make peace with the Americans. This they were already eager to do, provided favorable terms could be arranged. After some preliminary negotiations, articles of capitulation were accordingly drawn up and signed at the old Cahuenga ranch house to which Fremont had moved his headquarters. Though the resistance of the Californians to the American forces had proved futile, it nevertheless had about it a certain dash of gallantry and enough of the old traditional bravery of Spain to excite one's admiration. The terms of this Cahuenga capitulation, as it is sometimes called, were dictated by liberality and common sense. There was to be no revenge for broken paroles, no condemnation of property, no discrimination between Californians and Americans, no restriction against the departure of anyone from the province, no oath of allegiance even until peace had been signed between the United States and Mexico. All that was required of the Californians was to surrender their artillery and arms consisting of two cannon and perhaps a dozen muskets, a pledge to obey the laws of the United States, and a promise to refrain from joining the war again on behalf of Mexico. It was a treaty drawn in the spirit of Polk's desire for conciliation and contained little to show that it was a result of military conquest. When Fremont and Andreas Pico put their signatures to this document on January 13, 1847, the Mexican War, so far as California was concerned, was definitely over. Mexican institutions henceforth were to give place to those of Anglo-Saxon origin. Mexican laws, Mexican customs, Mexican inefficiency were to be supplanted by American laws, American manners, and American energy. Cities were to spring up where sleepy Pueblos had previously stood. The untouched resources of the generous Earth, its mines, its forests, its leagues of uncultivated soil, were to be made to serve the needs of all mankind. A new day was about to dawn on the Pacific slope.