It is not surprising that the hearing was long-drawn-out and unsuccessful, for Jones had not endeared himself to the Californians any more than had his fellow countryman Graham. Even the good will that many bore toward Hartnell did not alter an underlying, hostile attitude toward Americans. Not a hand had been lifted, not a gun fired, by the surprised Californians when their capital was captured. It was only when Commodore Jones appeared peacefully in court that he encountered resistance, always cloaked with courtesy. In spite of Hartnell’s explanation of Jones’s recent act, and his eloquent appeal for justice in the earlier incident, no American citizen involved in the Graham affair received recompense of any kind, in contrast to the considerable reparation secured by the British Captain Jones.
The continuing presence of American naval officers, during this rehash of the Graham affiar, tightened the tension in Monterey, as did the arrival of General Micheltorena with an army of felons released from Mexican prisons. Other military men and diplomats from other countries continued to appear in the capital of California, until an atmosphere could be sensed as of buzzards gathering for a feast, while the victim still lived and shivered with fear.
“From war deliver us, Lord!” prayed Hugo Reid from his beautiful home at Rancho Santa Anita. But the idyl was ended, and the realization transformed the most fortunate into the most pessimistic. The rancheros had so much to lose, with any kind of change. William Hartnell saw and understood that deep pessimism was combining with lotus-land lethargy to induce a strange paralysis of brain power and manly courage, even among his best friends and closest relatives. Hartnell saw them as helpless under an evil spell. In their hearts they were living in another time. They needed someone to awaken them, to inspire them to defense of their own way of life before it vanished entirely and forever. But no such person appeared, either among the hijos del pais or in the constant stream of visitors to the California coast.
Near the beginning of that eventful year, 1842, a strange visitor had come riding north along El Camino Real. He turned aside near Alisal, rode past the two-storey adobe that was Alvarado’s summer home, and knocked at the Hartnell door. He was a French diplomat carrying a letter from his king to the man who so often had acted as host to French travellers. This personage arrived in the absence of Don Guillermo, and made an undying impression on Dona Teresa. She later told a fantastic tale of the well-known writer and world traveler, Count Duflot de Mofras:
‘While my husband . . . . was in San Diego attending to official affairs there appeared at my ranch house at Alisal a stranger who, on finding the door of the library unlocked, entered within its walls and immediately began to search every nook and corner; one of my Indian servants, who had noticed the newly arrived guest and had kept a watch on his doings, came to me in a great hurry and notified me that there was a stranger in the house. I ordered him to return to the library and ask the intruder what business he wished to transact with me; but the only answer he obtained was a peremptory order to take care of his horse. I hastened to the library and perceiving there a stranger inquired of him what right he had to search the private papers of my husband. He replied that he was called Duflot de Mofras, that he was a member of the French Legation in Mexico; that he travelled through Upper California by order of his King and that having met Mr. Hartnell in San Luis Rey had from him obtained permission to stop in Alisal as long as he pleased; that acting on that invitation he had made bold to intrude upon my premise.
‘I wondered that Mr. Hartnell should have given so unlimited an invitation to a stranger; I also wondered that I had not been notified of his arrival in San Luis Rey, but knowing that my husband was proverbially hospitable, I did not hesitate to oder a room for Mr. Mofras and extended him an invitation to dinner. While at my table he found fault with every one of our dishes, however, he did full justice to the wine. At night he listened to our playing on the piano and then retired to rest. Unfortunately in his sleeping room I had deposited a barrel of the choicest wine which my father had sent me from Santa Barbara to be given to the priests, who used it while saying mass in our private chapel. The wine was of superior quality and much sought after by every foreigner who visited this country. Next morning at breakfast my guest, not making an appearance, I detailed a servant to call him; but Mr. Mofras not giving any answer to his repeated calls I ordered the door to be broken; and there stretched upon the floor my Frenchman lay dead drunk, bedding in a filthy state and many gallons of the wine missing from the barrel. A spell of sickness overtook the drunkard; during days I watched over him with the care of a mother; at last he got stronger, took daily rides on horeseback and often returned home drunk. For my husband’s sake I never complained.
‘One day, however, he suddenly left taking along with him a new suit of black clothes belonging to Mr. Hartnell. I did not miss the property until the return of my husband; who, when informed of the behavior of De Mofras, felt very indignant and assured me that he had never seen the man and much less given him authority to stop at his house. Later in the day, having found his trunk broken open and rifled of its contents, I set about taking the required steps toward obtaining a clue to the robber and shortly after made the discovery that my late guest was the thief.’
[Serialization of Susanna Bryant Dakin's 1949 book,
The Lives of William Hartnell, pages 255 - 258]
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