Two carretas going in opposite directions had locked wheels. The postilions were hurling curses and threats at each other; the occupants of the vehicles were screaming, while numerous fellow travelers were lavishly advising the best manner of breaking up the obstruction. "Peste!" again from the Colonel. "Give way! Give way! Such drivers should be knocked senseless!" Peons now seized the teams by the bridles; others pulled and tugged at the carretas until each was backed into freedom. The stream of life once more toiled onward toward the castle. The Barcelos were carried on its bosom. The old castle was built on a bluff overlooking Monterey harbor. Its black-mouthed guns had long gaped over the quiet of the land-locked waters, and its buttressed walls meant safety to padre, Indian neophyte, and Spanish hacendado. The fort had been called "castle" by its builders when the flag of Spain waved over the Californias. Its appointments were mediæval. The moss-grown walls betokened decay; while the crumbling cement in the rock-ribbed abutments told the same story. Its ordnance was ranged to protect harbor and approaches. Moreover, it had protected them. Within the memory of the present generation two robber vessels had attempted to force entrance. The cannon thundered and one buccaneer boat laid her bones at the bottom of the bay; while the other, white flag at masthead, sued for mercy. A long line of soldiers held the crowd at proper distance from the castle. The Colonel, with his wife and sister-in-law, made his way to the entrance, then along wide corridor and winding stair to the upper battlement. Silently they looked out over the unheeding water. The surf murmured beneath them. The ocean nestled lazily against the horizon. Seabirds floated aimlessly in the air; or, with piercing cry, hurtled downward for the finny creatures below the surface of the swell. Fishing smacks, ever ready to dare the roughest weather on prospect of full nets and ready market, now, careless of both, had found sheltered nooks whence to await the great happening. Other boats swayed at anchor near the beach. "Major Silva," asked Barcelo of his second in command, "is our lookout sure he saw the fleet? I see nothing here." "Absolutely certain, Colonel. His glass showed them plainly from the tower nearly an hour ago." "Very well. See that mob out there doesn't push in any nearer." The Major saluted and departed. "The whole countryside seems to have pulled itself up by its boots and jumped into town; but as for that much-bragged of English fleet, there is not a sign. I, for one, don't believe it's coming. Bah!" blustered Barcelo. "Comandante, the foreign consuls are at the gate," announced an orderly. "Show them here." The Comandante received them all with words and manner ceremoniously polite.