# Dawn and the Dons/DISCOVERY OF A LOST HARBOR

CHAPTER VI
DISCOVERY OF A LOST HARBOR
THE arrival of the San Antonio with supplies wrought a marvelous change at San Diego. Despair vanished, and hope revived. Sadness gave way to joy, and the air was filled with a new-born optimism.
Father Serra gave thanks to Almighty God, and began the needed preparations for the momentous journey upon which his heart and mind had been so long and so strongly set. Portola, with his accustomed energy and ability, promptly reorganized his forces, and again set his face toward the north.
It was arranged that Serra, Constanso and Prat should go with Perez on the San Antonio, and that Crespi and Fages should again make the journey by land with Portola. And so the revived and reorganized expeditionary forces were gotten under way. The San Antonio sailed out of San Diego harbor on April 16, 1770, and ​Portola began his march the following day, taking substantially the same route as that over which he had twice traveled, and with whose landmarks he had become familiar.
The land party reached Monterey Bay on May 24, thus completing their five hundred mile march in thirtyseven days, slightly less than half the seventy-eight days consumed in the initial march over the same route. Guided by a kindlier fate, they discovered
the identi-
fying marks set down by Vizcaino, including the celebrated
oak, under
which
Father
Ascension
had
said Mass, and under whose spreading branches Vizcaino had proclaimed the occupancy of Spain a hundred and fifty years before.
A rather interesting incident occurred shortly after the arrival of the land party. It will be remembered that ​ ​on the occasion of his first visit, Portola had erected two large crosses, one on Carmel Bay and one near Point Pinos. These were easily found, and concerning the second one, near Point Pinos, Father Crespi, on the day of their arrival, made the following entry in his daily journal:
“After traveling about three leagues, we arrived at one o’clock at the little salt water lake near Point Pinos, toward the northeast, where in the first journey the second cross had been set up. Before making camp, the Governor, one of the soldiers and myself went on to the cross in order to find out if there was any sign by which we might know that those of the vessel had already arrived, but nothing of the sort was found. We found the cross surrounded on all sides by arrows, and little branches with many feathered crests, stuck up in the ground, which had been put there by the gentiles.” By “gentiles,” Father Crespi means the native Indians. “There was also a string of sardines, still somewhat fresh, hanging from a branch by the side of the cross; on another was a piece of meat, and at the foot of the cross there was a little pile of mussels.”
This, of course, aroused great curiosity and much speculation, but no explanation was forthcoming until intelligent communication was established with the Indians. Then it was learned that the natives, having observed a red cross on the breast of each of the white visitors, and having seen this large cross, which appeared doubly large to them at night, believed it to be some ​sacred sign or image, possessing supernatural powers. To propitiate it and gain its friendship, they had placed food beside it; but when they saw the food was left untasted, they made offerings of arrows and feathered crests as a sign of friendship and peace.
The San Antonio, under instructions, had gone on to what was reckoned to be the latitude of the great estuary or inland sea—San Francisco Bay—seen by the Portola party on its former trip. But the vessel did no more than reach the designated latitude when, without doing any exploring, and without even noting the entrance to the estuary, the Golden Gate, she turned back and arrived: at the port of Monterey, which, it appears, was more easily found by sea than by land, on May 31, just a week after the arrival of Portola and his party.
Three days later, June 3, 1770, in the shadow of the Vizcaino oak, were enacted the solemn and stately ceremonies that re-established California as a part of Spain’s New World Empire. This oak has an interesting history, the relation of which may warrant a brief pause in our story.
At each edge of the American continent an oak tree has become historically prominent. On the Atlantic the famed and revered Charter Oak gained renown when, in 1687, Connecticut’s Royal Charter suddenly disappeared and escaped falling into the hands of the officers of King James. The tree was blown down during a storm on August 21, 1856, but a section of its trunk was preserved by the Connecticut Historical Society, and a ​marble shaft, unveiled with due ceremony in 1907 marks the spot where stood this celebrated tree.
On the Pacific Coast the historic Vizcaino an infant Spanish colony that grew into a great American commonwealth. Surviving three centuries of time, and rescued from the sea, where it had been cast by thoughtless hands, this silent actor in a mighty drama now stretches forth its leafless branches in the shadow of the old parish church at Monterey.
The story of the “Charter Oak” is one of the oft told tales of Colonial America and is known to every school boy in the land. The story of the Vizcaino Oak is not so well known.
Eighty-five years before the disappearance of Connecticut’s Royal Charter, Sebastian Vizcaino made his famous voyage that resulted in the discovery of the Harbor of Monterey. As a part of the landing ceremony, Father Ascension said mass under a large oak tree that stood near the beach where they landed, and under the same tree Vizcaino, with due ceremony, unfurled the Spanish flag.
This tree was of unusual size, of striking appearance and easily identified. Father Ascension kept a rather full diary during this history making voyage, and in it he described this oak in detail, noting also its location. This diary came into the possession of Father Serra, and when Portola, after his first and fruitless expedition, returned to San Diego with the belief growing in his mind that there was no such harbor as Vizcaino had described, ​Father Serra called Portola’s attention to this oak tree as a certain and easily found landmark of Vizcaino’s “noble harbor.” On his second expedition Portola found the oak tree described in Father Ascension’s diary, together with other landmarks described by Vizcaino.
Undisturbed, but watched with loving eyes and revered because of its historic association, the Vizcaino Oak grew and thrived until 1903, when as a result of some engineering and construction work, it became partially submerged. Father Raymond M. Mestres, a man of scholarly attainments, deeply interested in California history, had become the parish priest at Monterey in 1892, and at once became the watchful guardian of the Vizcaino Oak. He protested against its partial submergence, but was assured that no harm would result therefrom. The result, unfortunately, did not measure up to the assurance. The oak sickened and died.
Father Mestres continued tenderly and watchfully to guard the now leafless monarch, but one day in 1905 he was surprised and distressed to find that the historic oak had vanished. Upon inquiry he learned that some workmen who were preparing the ground for the erection of the Serra monument had found the tree in their way, and without knowledge of its sentimental and historic value, had uprooted it and, after considerable effort, had managed to get it into the bay. Father Mestres at once made inquiry among the fishermen whether any of them had seen the tree in the water. He was told that it had been seen floating a few miles from shore, where it was ​being carried northward toward Santa Cruz by the then prevailing south wind. He engaged fishermen to go out in their boats and the tree was found some twelve miles out at sea and towed to shore. Assisted financially by Mr. Henry Green of Monterey, Father Mestres caused the tree to be erected on ‘a prepared mound in the grounds of his church, the site of the original Mission established by Father Serra in 1770, where it is now, majestic even in death, with a marble tablet appropriately inscribed beside it.
Such is the story of the historic oak that witnessed the elaborate ceremonies conducted by Portola and Serra on ​that June day in 1770. These ceremonies are described by Richman:
On the beach, near Vizcaino’s oak—a large oak under which mass had been said by Father Ascension, and under which Vizcaino had proclaimed Spanish sovereignty in 1602—there had been erected an altar, equipped with bells, and surmounted by an image of Our Lady. Before this altar, President Serra in alb and stole, representing the church, the assembled company chanted in unison, upon their knees, the beautiful Veni Creator Spiritus. The President then, amid din of exploding arms on land and sea, blessed a great cross and the royal standards of Castile and Leon. He next sprinkled with holy water the beach and adjoining fields, ‘to put to flight all infernal enemies,’ recited the mass and preached. With a salve to the image of Our Lady, and with the singing by the company of the Te Deum Laudamus, the religious ceremony was brought to a close. It was followed by a ceremony on the part of the state. Here, as representative, the Governor, Gaspar de Portola, officiated. In his presence, the royal standards were again unfurled, grass and stones were wrenched from the earth and scattered to the four winds, and the various proceedings of the day were made a matter of record.
Portola’s first and most difficult task had been brought to a joyous and successful completion. Spain’s Pacific frontier had been moved northward to a point from which her Pacific possessions could be more effectively ​guarded against the menace of international rivals. There yet remained the important tasks of establishing a Presidio and a Mission, and the founding of a colony.
The Presidio problem presented no serious difficulty. Portola selected a site, named it the Presidio San Carlos, put his handful of soldiers in charge, and ordered the construction of suitable barracks. Father Serra selected a Mission site a short distance from the shoreline of the harbor, near the Presidio, where under his personal supervision, a small chapel was constructed, and also rooms and offices for the missionaries; all surrounded by a stockade. The Mission was given the official name of San Carlos Borromeo.
The founding of a colony presented many difficulties and necessitated the return to Mexico of Portola. He named Pedro Fages Military Governor of California, and left him some thirty soldiers to complete and occupy the Presidio. Serra, as President of the California Missions, was of course in charge of the Mission here.
With these preliminary matters arranged, Portola set sail on the San Antonio for Mexico, where Galvez and Croix were anxiously awaiting tidings of the great venture that lay so close to their hearts. It is a striking illustration of the advance made in the means of communication since Portola found the “Noble Harbor’”—a little more than a century and a half ago—that Visitador Galvez and Viceroy Croix had no knowledge of events in California during eighteen months of waiting, nor until the San Antonio, with Portola and Constanso aboard, ​arrived at San Blas on August 1, 1770, and Captain Perez and Constanso hastened to Mexico City, carrying Portola’s reports and dispatches. They arrived on August 10, and great was the rejoicing in Mexico when the rediscovery and occupancy of the port of Monterey was announced. “It was heralded first by the bells of the great Cathedral, and then responsively by those of the churches. Asolemn Mass in thanksgiving was attended by the government dignitaries, and on the sixteenth the news was spread throughout New Spain by an official proclamation.”
It was the end of the long and anxious waiting of Galvez and Croix, and now was their day of rejoicing. Galvez was recovering from a protracted fever, but the glad tidings from Portola gave him new strength, and in company with Croix, he was given a great reception in the viceregal palace.
Neither Galvez nor Croix remained in Mexico to see the fruition of the combined plans of themselves and Serra. In the following year, 1771, both were recalled to Spain, where each received the reward of a grateful sovereign. Croix was made Viceroy and Captain-General of the Kingdom of Valencia, and Galvez was made Ministro Universal—General Minister—of the Indies. Of the great trio, Serra alone remained.