Francisco de Solano at Sonoma, but it may be that his fears regarding the Russians were groundless. Certainly they did everything they could to show a spirit of friendship for the Spaniards. They were extremely deferential and courteous in all their acts and aided the Franciscans with contributions of both money and ornaments in the erection of the Mission at Sonoma.

But the Spanish rulers and settlers of California could not get over their dislike and distrust of all strangers. When Alexander Kofkoff, the Russian officer in charge of affairs at Fort Ross, came down to San Francisco in 1815 to transact some business, Luis Antonio Arguello, the Comandante of San Francisco, wrote a bitter letter to Governor Sola against the Russians, saying that their presence in the country was an insult to the Spanish flag. And this same Arguello was the brother of the beautiful Concepcion whose troth had been plighted to Resnoff, the Russian, in other and happier days.

In these times, however, the Spanish power believed itself to be most seriously threatened by Mexican revolutionists and other revolutionists from South American countries who had thrown off the Spanish yoke. Every now and then these people would make their appearance in the harbor of Monterey and in other ports along the California coast. Added to this was the ever present fear of Yankee traders. The Governor made it his business to visit the various presidios, where he harangued the troops and strove as best he could to impress them with a proper sense of their duty in case the threatened dangers were realized. He went so far as to instruct all the people as to the course they were to pursue in the event of an invasion from any enemy whatsoever. Non-combatants were instructed to retire to the interior immediately upon notice of attack, driv

ing the cattle and horses with them and carrying as much supplies as possible. The Spaniards knew they could not defend the coast against a strong attack because of the weakness of the defenses, but they believed they could still hold their ground by retiring to the interior and fighting from the vantage point of a superior knowledge of the country.

In the latter part of the year 1818 the Spaniards of California found at their doors the trouble they so long had feared. Two privateers came into the harbor of Monterey demanding the surrender of the country. They were Buenos Ayres insurgents. Monterey refused to surrender and a battle took place. It was a good hot fight while it lasted, and it seems that both sides were whipped, for the Spanish finally abandoned Monterey and retreated to the interior, while the enemy, rather bady hurt and crippled, put out to sea, never to return. The Spaniards then came back to Monterey and busied themselves strengthening their fortifications that they might be the better prepared for a future attack.

The Buenos Ayres privateersmen after their warm experiences at Monterey ran into Santa Barbara under a flag of truce. They promised the inhabitants there that they would go their way and not molest California again, but they did not keep their promise. Reaching San Pedro harbor, the Commander, a Frenchman named Bouchard, landed a number of his men whom he marched southward for the purpose of raiding the Mission San Juan Capistrano. They were intercepted on the way by Ensign Santiago Arguello with thirty men from the presidio of San Diego and completely routed. On this occasion Father Luis Antonio Martinez greatly distinguished himself. He appeared at the psychological moment at the head of thirty-five of the stoutest of the Indians of San Luis Obispo to aid Arguello.

The invaders lost their courage, scurried for their ships and put out to sea as fast as sails could carry them.

Things went on from bad to worse and California continued in a feverish state of excitement until the climax came in 1822 when the ship San Carlos appeared in the harbor of Monterey flying a flag of green, white and red with an eagle and a crown in the center-a strange flag, indeed, and too new to have found a place on the chart of national colors. The Comandante and the troops of Monterey prepared immediately to pour destruction on the heads of the strangers. Governor Sola, who had received private advices of the final success of the revolution in Mexico, issued a command that the strangers be allowed to land and convey whatever message they had to present. A boat manned by oarsmen gaily uniformed put off from the ship and landed their leader, who presented himself to the Comandante of Monterey and addressed him as follows: "I am the Canon Augustin Fernandez de San Vicente. I have come from the Imperial Mexican Capital with dispatches directed to the Governor of this Province, Don Pablo Vicente de Sola. I demand to be conducted to his presence in the name of my Sovereign, the Liberator of Mexico, General Don Augustin de Iturbide."

The hour when Spanish dominion in California was to end had come. Sola knew it well. His fortress was ready to fight, and to fight to the death, but the Governor fully realized how unnecessary and unavailing bloodshed would be. There was nothing to do but to accept the inevitable-nothing but to strike the colors. Assembling the people and the soldiers, Pablo Vicente de Sola, last of the King's men, addressed them in solemn words. He told them what he knew to be the situation and advised them to accept with him the authority of Mexico. The garrison

murmured but finally submitted to the Governor's admonition. The flag of Spain was hauled down, never to be raised again in California, and in its place was hoisted the tri-color of the new Empire of the South, where for a brief time Don Iturbide was sitting on his new throne. California now became a Province of Mexico, and the Spanish era, which had not been without great deeds and much honor, was irrevocably closed.

The loss of California was doubtless considered among the least of the calamities which befell Spain when the days of evil were thick upon her. She did not then know, as now she knows, that when this great, golden stretch of a thousand miles of the Pacific Coast of America slipped from her grasp she had deep reason to mourn. She did not foresee the days that were to be when the alien and the stranger would wring from the shining streams and the sunlit hills of California stupendous treasures of gold. She was not granted the vision of a California which was destined to be a greater country than Spain had itself ever been within her own confines.

Yet, the Spain that once owned and dominated half the earth could not have held California indefinitely. Sooner or later it had to be that this brightest of jewels would fall from her crown. All that can be said is that had Spain known the wealth of California she would have made a sterner effort to retain it in her possession.

California can never be otherwise than proud of her history as a Spanish province. The Governors who ruled the territory during the Spanish era were invariably men of high moral characters, who carried out with conscientious energy the policy of the fatherland in a far distant and isolated part of the world.

Nor was it a mistake of either judgment or policy

that lost California to Spain whose scheme of conquest and colonization was without a flaw. First, there were the Missions for the care and education of the Indians; next came the presidios for the protection of the country; then the pueblos. Under this threefold system, California would ultimately have prospered and developed into a great and happy country as surely as it has now done under a different system and a different race of people.

But, with the passing of Spanish dominion and authority in California, all that was Spanish did not disappear. Spain's language, her customs, the blood of her splendid people, her traditions and her religion still linger on the dusty highways and flame from the embers of the past to soften the asperities of modern thought and action. Nor can the day ever come when the memories of Spain will wholly depart from the new, bright empire which Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo was the first to sight from the decks of his daring ships on that dim and distant morning of 1542.