It was evident that the two strangers represented some exalted¹ military and ecclesiastical authority. This was shown in their dress—a long-forgotten, half mediaeval costume, that to the imaginative spectator was perfectly³ in keeping with their mysterious advent⁴, and to the more practical as startling as a masquerade. The foremost figure wore a broad-brimmed hat of soft felt, with tarnished⁵ gold lace, and a dark feather tucked in its recurved flap; a short cloak of fine black cloth thrown over one shoulder left a buff leathern jacket and breeches, ornamented⁶ with large round silver buttons, exposed until they were met by high boots of untanned yellow buckskin that reached halfway⁷ up the thigh⁸. A broad baldric of green silk hung from his shoulder across his breast, and supported at his side a long sword with an enormous basket hilt, through which somewhat coquettishly peeped a white lace handkerchief. Tall and erect⁹, in spite of the grizzled hair and iron-gray moustaches and wrinkled face of a man of sixty, he suddenly halted on the deck with a military precision that made the jingling¹⁰ chains and bits of silver on his enormous spurs ring again. He was followed by an ecclesiastic² of apparently¹¹ his own age, but smoothly¹² shaven, clad in a black silk sotana and sash, and wearing the old-fashioned oblong, curl-brimmed hat sacred to "Don Basilo," of the modern opera. Behind him appeared the genial¹³ face of Senor Perkins, shining with the benignant courtesy of a master of ceremonies.  
"If this is a fair sample of the circus ashore¹⁴, I'll take two tickets," whispered Crosby, who had recovered his audacity¹⁵.
 
"I have the inexpressible honor," said Senor Perkins to Captain Bunker, with a gracious wave of his hand towards the extraordinary figures, "to present you to the illustrious Don Miguel Briones, Comandante of the Presidio of Todos Santos, at present hidden in the fog, and the very reverend and pious¹⁶ Padre Esteban, of the Mission of Todos Santos, likewise invisible. When I state to you," he continued, with a slight lifting of his voice, so as to include the curious passengers in his explanation, "that, with very few exceptions, this is the usual condition of the atmosphere at the entrance to the Mission and Presidio of Todos Santos, and that the last exception took place thirty-five years ago, when a ship entered the harbor, you will understand why these distinguished¹⁷ gentlemen have been willing to waive¹⁸ the formality of your waiting upon them first, and have taken the initiative. The illustrious Comandante has been generous to exempt¹⁹ you from the usual port regulations, and to permit you to wood and to water"—
 
"What port regulation is he talking of?" asked Captain Bunker testily²⁰.
 
"The Mexican regulations forbidding any foreign vessel²¹ to communicate with the shore," returned Senor Perkins deprecatingly.
 
"Never heard of 'em. When were they given?"
 
The Senor turned and addressed a few words to the commander, who stood apart in silent dignity.
 
"In 1792."
 
"In what?—Is he mad?" said Bunker. "Does he know what year this is?"
 
"The illustrious commander believes it to be the year of grace 1854," answered Senor Perkins quietly. "In the case of the only two vessels²² who have touched here since 1792 the order was not carried out because they were Mexican coasters. The illustrious Comandante explains that the order he speaks of as on record distinctly referred to the ship 'Columbia, which belonged to the General Washington.'"
 
"General Washington!" echoed Bunker, angrily staring at the Senor. "What's this stuff? Do you mean to say they don't know any history later than our old Revolutionary War? Haven't they heard of the United States among them? Nor California—that we took from them during the late war?"
 
"Nor how we licked 'em out of their boots, and that's saying a good deal," whispered Crosby, glancing at the Comandante's feet.
 
Senor Perkins raised a gentle, deprecating hand.
 
"For fifty years the Presidio and the Mission of Todos Santos have had but this communication with the outer world," he said blandly²³. "Hidden by impenetrable fogs from the ocean pathway at their door, cut off by burning and sterile²⁴ deserts from the surrounding country, they have preserved a trust and propagated a faith in enforced but not unhappy seclusion²⁵. The wars that have shaken mankind, the dissensions that have even disturbed the serenity²⁶ of their own nation on the mainland, have never reached them here. Left to themselves, they have created a blameless Arcadia and an ideal community within an extent of twenty square leagues. Why should we disturb their innocent complacency and tranquil²⁷ enjoyment²⁸ by information which cannot increase and might impair²⁹ their present felicity? Why should we dwell upon a late political and international episode which, while it has been a benefit to us, has been a humiliation³⁰ to them as a nation, and which might not only imperil our position as guests, but interrupt our practical relations to the wood and water, with which the country abounds³¹?"
 
He paused, and before the captain could speak, turned to the silent Commander, addressed him in a dozen phrases of fluent and courteous³² Spanish, and once more turned to Captain Bunker.
 
"I have told him you are touched to the heart with his courtesy, which you recognize as coming from the fit representative of the great Mexican nation. He reciprocates³³ your fraternal emotion, and begs you to consider the Presidio and all that it contains, at your disposition³⁴ and the disposition of your friends—the passengers, particularly those fair ladies," said Senor Perkins, turning with graceful³⁵ promptitude towards the group of lady passengers, and slightly elevating himself on the tips of his neat boots, "whose white hands he kisses, and at whose feet he lays the devotion of a Mexican caballero and officer."
 
He waved his hand towards the Comandante, who, stepping forward, swept the deck with his plumed³⁶ hat before each of the ladies in solemn succession. Recovering himself, he bowed more stiffly to the male passengers, picked his handkerchief out of the hilt of his sword, gracefully³⁷ wiped his lips, pulled the end of his long gray moustache, and became again rigid³⁹.
 
"The reverend father," continued Senor Perkins, turning towards the priest, "regrets that the rules of his order prevent his extending the same courtesy to these ladies at the Mission. But he hopes to meet them at the Presidio, and they will avail themselves of his aid and counsel there and everywhere."
 
Father Esteban, following the speaker's words with a gracious and ready smile, at once moved forward among the passengers, offering an antique snuff-box to the gentlemen, or passing before the ladies with slightly uplifted benedictory palms and a caressing⁴⁰ paternal⁴¹ gesture. Mrs. Brimmer, having essayed a French sentence, was delighted and half frightened to receive a response from the ecclesiastic, and speedily monopolized⁴² him until he was summoned by the Commander to the returning boat.
 
"A most accomplished⁴³ man, my dear," said Mrs. Brimmer, as the Excelsior's cannon⁴⁴ again thundered after the retiring oars⁴⁵, "like all of his order. He says, although Don Miguel does not speak French, that his secretary does; and we shall have no difficulty in making ourselves understood."
 
"Then you really intend to go ashore?" said Miss Keene timidly.
 
"Decidedly," returned Mrs. Brimmer potentially. "It would be most unpolite, not to say insulting, if we did not accept the invitation. You have no idea of the strictness of Spanish etiquette⁴⁶. Besides, he may have heard of Mr. Brimmer."
 
"As his last information was only up to 1792, he might have forgotten it," said Crosby gravely. "So perhaps it would be safer to go on the general invitation."
 
"As Mr. Brimmer's ancestors came over on the Mayflower, long before 1792, it doesn't seem so very impossible, if it comes to that," said Mrs. Brimmer, with her usual unanswerable naivete; "provided always that you are not joking, Mr. Crosby. One never knows when you are serious."
 
"Mrs. Brimmer is quite right; we must all go. This is no mere⁴⁸ formality," said Senor Perkins, who had returned to the ladies. "Indeed, I have myself promised the Comandante to bring YOU," he turned towards Miss Keene, "if you will permit Mrs. Markham and myself to act as your escort. It was Don Miguel's express request."
 
A slight flush of pride suffused⁴⁹ the cheek of the young girl, but the next moment she turned diffidently towards Mrs. Brimmer.
 
"We must all go together," she said; "shall we not?"
 
"You see your triumphs have begun already," said Brace⁵⁰, with a nervous smile. "You need no longer laugh at me for predicting your fate in San Francisco."
 
Miss Keene cast a hurried glance around her, in the faint hope—she scarcely knew why—that Mr. Hurlstone had overheard the Senor's invitation; nor could she tell why she was disappointed at not seeing him. But he had not appeared on deck during the presence of their strange visitors; nor was he in the boat which half an hour later conveyed her to the shore. He must have either gone in one of the other boats, or fulfilled his strange threat of remaining on the ship.
 
The boats pulled away together towards the invisible shore, piloted by Captain Bunker, the first officer, and Senor Perkins in the foremost boat. It had grown warmer, and the fog that stole softly over them touched their faces with the tenderness of caressing fingers. Miss Keene, wrapped up in the stern sheets of the boat, gave way to the dreamy influence of this weird⁵² procession through the water, retaining only perception enough to be conscious of the singular illusions of the mist that alternately thickened and lightened before their bow. At times it seemed as if they were driving full upon a vast pier⁵³ or breakwater of cold gray granite⁵⁴, that, opening to let the foremost boat pass, closed again before them; at times it seemed as if they had diverged⁵⁵ from their course, and were once more upon the open sea, the horizon a far-off line of vanishing color; at times, faint lights seemed to pierce the gathering⁵⁶ darkness, or to move like will-o'-wisps across the smooth surface, when suddenly the keel grated on the sand. A narrow but perfectly well defined strip of palpable strand⁵⁷ appeared before them; they could faintly discern the moving lower limbs of figures whose bodies were still hidden in the mist; then they were lifted from the boats; the first few steps on dry land carried them out of the fog that seemed to rise like a sloping roof from the water's edge, leaving them under its canopy⁵⁸ in the full light of actual torches held by a group of picturesquely⁶⁰ dressed people before the vista⁶¹ of a faintly lit, narrow, ascending⁶² street. The dim twilight⁶³ of the closing day lingered under this roof of fog, which seemed to hang scarcely a hundred feet above them, and showed a wall or rampart of brown adobe⁶⁴ on their right that extended nearly to the water; to the left, at the distance of a few hundred yards, another low brown wall appeared; above it rose a fringe of foliage⁶⁵, and, more distant and indistinct, two white towers, that were lost in the nebulous gray.
 
One of the figures dressed in green jackets, who seemed to be in authority, now advanced, and, after a moment's parley⁶⁶ with Senor Perkins while the Excelsior's passengers were being collected from the different boats, courteously⁶⁷ led the way along the wall of the fortification. Presently a low opening or gateway⁶⁸ appeared, followed by the challenge of a green-jacketed sentry⁶⁹, and the sentence, "Dios y Libertad" It was repeated in the interior of a dusky courtyard, surrounded by a low corridor, where a dozen green-jacketed men of aboriginal⁷⁰ type and complexion⁷¹, carrying ............