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not a few compatriots with whom to talk over the old, gay, easy days that lingered here long after the rest of California had become charged with American energy.
Monterey, and not the Mission Dolores in San Francisco, as Bret Harte expected, seems destined to be the ‘last sigh’ of the native Californian.” It required more than a mere war—particularly a war between far off Mexico and farther off America—or a mere change of governing authority to disturb the peace, or to stifle the spirit of hospitality of Monterey. The simple truth is that these happy and contented people, in their delightful little world, isolated from and with
small knowledge of the world at large, were living in a paradise of beautiful dreams, and were taking scant heed of the great events of the time. To them it was incredible that anybody should want to take from them the joys and pleasures that had been uninterruptedly theirs for three quarters of a century, and which in their simple view would go on forever. A striking example of this unsuspecting and hospitable spirit was afforded in 1842 when Commodore Thomas Ap Catesby Jones, commanding an American squadron, under the belief that war had been declared
between the United States and Mexico, landed a force of a hundred and fifty marines, and raised the American flag over Monterey. He soon discovered his mistake, restored the Mexican flag, withdrew his marines, and fired a salute in apology. Official notice was taken of the incident, but the Commodore was promptly forgiven
