In 1806 San Francisco was enlivened by the presence of the Russian chamberlain, Rezánof, who had been on a special voyage around the world, and was driven by scurvy and want of provisions to the California settlements. He was accompanied by Dr. G.H. von Langsdorff. Langsdorff's account of the visit and reception at several points in California is interesting. He gives a full description of the Indians and their method of life at the Mission; commends the zeal and self-sacrifice of the padres; speaks of the ingenuity shown by the women in making baskets; the system of allowing the cattle and horses to run wild, etc. Visiting the Mission of San José by boat, he and his companions had quite an adventurous time getting back, owing to the contrary winds.
Rezánof's visit and its consequences have been made the subject of much and romantic writing. Gertrude Atherton's novel, Rezánof, is devoted to this episode in his life. The burden of the story is possibly true, viz., that the Russians in their settlements to the north were suffering for want of the food that California was producing in abundance. Yet, owing to the absurd Spanish laws governing California, she was forbidden to sell to or trade with any foreign peoples or powers. Rezánof, who was well acquainted with this prohibitory law, determined upon trying to overcome it for the immediate relief of his suffering compatriots. He was fairly well received when he reached San Francisco, but he could accomplish nothing in the way of trading or the sale of the needed provisions.
Now began a campaign of strategic waiting. To complicate (or simplify) the situation, in the bailes and festas given to the distinguished Russian, Rezánof danced and chatted with Concha Argüello, the daughter of the stern old commandant of the post.
Did they fall in love with each other, or did they not? Some writers say one thing and some another. Anyhow, the girl thought she had received the honest love of a noble man and responded with ardor and devotion. So sure was she of his affection that she finally prevailed upon her father (so we are told) to sell to Rezánof the provisions for which he had come. The vessel, accordingly, was well and satisfactorily laden and Rezánof sailed away. Being a Russian subject, he was not allowed to marry the daughter of a foreigner without the consent of his sovereign, and he was to hurry to Moscow and gain permission to return and wed the lady of his choice.
He never returned. Hence the accusation that he acted in bad faith to her and her father. This charge seems to be unfounded, for it is known that he left his vessel and started overland to reach Moscow earlier than he could have done by ship, that he was taken seriously ill on the trip and died.
But Concha did not know of this. No one informed her of the death of her lover, and her weary waiting for his return is what has given the touch of keenest pathos to the romantic story. Bret Harte, in his inimitable style, has put into exquisite verse, the story of the waiting of this true-hearted Spanish maiden[4]:
[4] From Poems by Bret Harte. By permission of the publishers, The Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, Mass.
"He with grave provincial magnates long had held serene debate
On the Treaty of Alliance and the high affairs of state;
He from grave provincial magnates oft had turned to talk apart
With the Comandante's daughter on the questions of the heart,
Until points of gravest import yielded slowly one by one,
And by Love was consummated what Diplomacy begun;
Till beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen cannon are,
He received the twofold contract for approval of the Czar;
Till beside the brazen cannon the betrothèd bade adieu,
And from sallyport and gateway north the Russian eagles flew.
Long beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen cannon are,
Did they wait the promised bridegroom and the answer of the Czar.
Day by day ...
Week by week ...
So each year the seasons shifted,--wet and warm and drear and dry;
Half a year of clouds and flowers, half a year of dust and sky.
Still it brought no ship nor message,--brought no tidings, ill or meet,
For the statesmanlike Commander, for the daughter fair and sweet.
Yet she heard the varying message, voiceless to all ears beside:
'He will come,' the flowers whispered; 'Come no more,' the dry hills sighed.
Then the grim Commander, pacing where the brazen cannon are,
Comforted the maid with proverbs, wisdom gathered from afar;
So with proverbs and caresses, half in faith and half in doubt,
Every day some hope was kindled, flickered, faded, and went out.
Forty years on wall and bastion swept the hollow idle breeze
Since the Russian eagle fluttered from the California seas;
Forty years on wall and bastion wrought its slow but sure decay,
And St. George's cross was lifted in the port of Monterey;
And the Citadel was lighted, and the hall was gaily drest,
All to honor Sir George Simpson, famous traveler and guest.
The formal speeches ended, and amidst the laugh and wine,
Some one spoke of Concha's lover,--heedless of the warning sign.
Quickly then cried Sir George Simpson: 'Speak no ill of him, I pray!
He is dead. He died, poor fellow, forty years ago this day.--
'Died while speeding home to Russia, falling from a fractious horse.
Left a sweetheart, too, they tell me. Married, I suppose, of course!
'Lives she yet?' A deathlike silence fell on banquet, guests, and hall,
And a trembling figure rising fixed the awestruck gaze of all.
Two black eyes in darkened orbits gleamed beneath the nun's white hood;
Black serge hid the wasted figure, bowed and stricken where it stood.
'Lives she yet?' Sir George repeated. All were hushed as Concha drew
Closer yet her nun's attire. 'Senyor, pardon, she died, too!'"
In 1810 Moraga, the ensign at the presidio, was sent with seventeen men to punish the gentiles of the region of the Carquines Strait, who for several years had been harassing the neophytes at San Francisco, and sixteen of whom they had killed. Moraga had a hard fight against a hundred and twenty of them, and captured eighteen, whom he soon released, "as they were all sure to die of their wounds." The survivors retreated to their huts and made a desperate resistance, and were so determined not to be captured that, when one hut was set on fire, its inmates preferred to perish in the flames rather than to surrender. A full report of this affair was sent to the King of Spain and as a result he promoted Moraga and other officers, and increased the pay of some of the soldiers. He also tendered the thanks of the nation to all the participants.
Runaway neophytes gave considerable trouble for several years, and in 1819 a force was sent from San Francisco to punish these recalcitrants and their allies. A sharp fight took place near the site of the present Stockton, in which 27 Indians were killed, 20 wounded, and 16 captured, with 49 horses.