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Updated: June 13, 2025
I have been awakened at night by the sound of oars and the tinkling of guitars beneath the window; and seeing a boat loitering in the moonlight, have been tempted to believe it the Flying Dutchman of Spiting Devil, and to try whether a silver bullet might not put an end to his unhappy cruisings; but, happening to recollect that there was a living young lady in the haunted room, who might be terrified by the report of fire-arms, I have refrained from pulling trigger.
Octavia passed the days in a kind of lotus-eater's dream. The evenings were always sure to bring enjoyment. Best of all were the rapturous horseback rides with Teddy, when the moon gave light over the wind-swept leagues, chaperoned by the wheeling night-hawk and the startled owl. Often the Mexicans would come up from their shacks with their guitars and sing the weirdest of heart-breaking songs.
There were two guitars and a music-book on one of the tables, and the walls were adorned with pictures, and a magnificent silver lamp hung from the centre; and, indeed, everything had been done to give the room a cheerful and habitable appearance.
In that show Fred had been one of a group who blacked up and played on mandolins and guitars and banjos, and though he had played in front of Bunny, Sue and Uncle Tad, none of them knew him, nor did Fred see them. The night the show left the town, and just before the lion escaped, Fred had a quarrel with one of the managers and left.
These are the only instruments, with the exception of the drums and trumpets at Monterey that I ever heard in California; and I suspect they play upon no others, for at a great fandango at which I was afterwards present, and where they mustered all the music they could find, there were three violins and two guitars, and no other instrument.
Though a Spaniard, he was very liberal, and, being respected by all parties, he ventured to remain, and the Patriots had not molested him. The young ladies of the family were playing on their guitars, and two or three other people having come in, we were proposing a dance, when we were startled by the sound of musketry.
I felt that I could not yield, and that though it meant the ruin of happiness by obstinacy, I could not yield. I shrank from yielding in that moment as men shrink from public repentance. He had not moved from his post in the garden. We shook hands. A band of Italian musicians wandered into the garden and began to sing Verdi to a vigorous thrumming of guitars.
"Throne of heaven!" ejaculated the Tarasconian, turning pale, as he rushed into the enclosure. Hapless Tartarin! what a sight awaited him! Beneath the arches of the little cloister, amongst bottles, pastry, scattered cushions, pipes, tambourines, and guitars, Baya was singing "Marco la Bella" with a ship captain's cap over one ear.
Probably it was because nobody could hear what anybody said that everybody talked together. I cannot recall a moment when stray musicians were not strumming on guitars and mandolins, and the oyster man was not shrieking: "Ostreche! Fresche! Ostreche!" though nobody paid the least attention to him or ever bought one of his oysters. And above the uproar was the continuous cry: "Ecco me!
We made our way to the front gate, which was opened as we arrived by Senora Ortes, who had been directed by her mistress to let us in. "Dona Dolores awaits you in her sitting-room," she said; "you are welcome." She led the way into the house. We found Dona Dolores with a female friend, somewhat older, seated in a well-furnished room, with a couple of guitars on a sofa beside them.
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