A historic souvenir greatly prized by Americans in town and valley was the flag pole, which in Sonoma’s infancy had been hewn from the distant mountain forest, and brought down on pack animals by mission Indians under General Vallejo’s direction.  It originally stood in the centre of the plaza, where it was planted with sacred ceremonials, and where amid ringing cheers of “Viva Mexico!” it first flung to the breeze that country’s symbolical banner of green, white, and red.  Through ten fitful years it loyally waved those colors; then followed its brief humiliation by the Bear Flag episode, and early redemption by order of Commodore Sloat, who sent thither an American flag-bearer to invest it with the Stars and Stripes.  Thereafter, a patriotic impulse suggested its removal to the parade ground of the United States Army post, and as Spanish residents looked upon it as a thornful reminder of lost power they felt no regret when Uncle Sam’s boys transplanted it to new environments and made it an American feature by adoption.

But the Mexican landmark which appealed to me most pathetically was the quaint rustic belfry which stood solitary in the open space in front of the Mission buildings.  Its strong columns were the trunks of trees that looked as though they might have grown there for the purpose of shouldering the heavy cross-beams from which the chimes hung.  Its smooth timbers had been laboriously hewn by hand, as must be the case in a land where there are no saw mills.  The parts that were not bound together with thongs of rawhide, were held in place by wooden pegs.  The strips of rawhide attached to the clappers dropped low enough for me to reach, and often tempted me to make the bells speak.

Mission padres no longer dwelt in the buildings, but shepherds from distant folds came monthly to administer to the needs of this consecrated flock.  Then the many bells would call the faithful to mass, and to vespers, or chime for the wedding of favored sons and daughters.  Part of them would jingle merrily for notable christenings; but one only would toll when death whitened the lips of some distinguished victim; and again, while the blessed body was being borne to its last resting-place.

During one of my first trips to town, Jakie and I were standing by grandpa’s shop on the east side of the plaza, when suddenly those bells rang out clear and sweet, and we saw the believing glide out of their homes in every direction and wend their way to the church.  The high-born ladies had put aside their jewels, their gorgeous silks and satins, and donned the simpler garb prescribed for the season of fasts and prayer.  Those to the manor born wore the picturesque rebosa of fine lace or gauzy silk, draped over the head and about the shoulders; while those of humbler station made the shawl serve in place of the rebosa.  The Indian servants, who with mats and kneeling cushions followed their mistresses, wore white chemises, bright-colored petticoats, and handkerchiefs folded three-cornerwise over the head and knotted under the chin.  The costumes of the young girls were modelled after those of their mothers; and the little ladies appeared as demure and walked as stately as their elders.  The gentlemen also were garbed in plainer costumes than their wont, and, for custom’s sake, rode on horseback even the short distances which little children walked.