The cage was an abomination. How he, an Englishman, master of a whaling ship could find himself here, trapped like circus animal was a scandal indeed.
All day he watched the people watching him. The women, painted and without stays, smoking cheroots and daring, some of them to make provocative gestures before moving on. Mission Indians met his eyes with no evidence of any interest. A few children poked sticks at him. No one stopped them.
His ship stood off the harbor, boarded by the Spanish who claimed he had no right to anchor here, to bring on fresh water and do a few repairs.
His great fear was that the ship would burn. His crew was still aboard. All day he watched and saw no movement.
They told him he would hang. But then perhaps, they said, he would be shot. It had not been decided.
``I demand justice!'' he tried to shout, but they gave him no water and his voice was dying. It was his second day in the cage.
On the third day the Americans came. They gave him water. Dirty and wild looking they had crossed the continent. It seemed they had some understanding with the Californians. They had not been arrested, flung into cages. Perhaps it was fear of retaliation that held them from such action. ``The other one is dead,'' they told him. The first mate. ``For god's sake help me,'' he said. But they would not. They knew there was much danger to themselves.
On the fourth day they beached his ship. He watched his crew dismantling it.
``They have sworn allegiance to Spain - they are now all Catholic - they will go free as Californians,'' the Spanish soldiers said.
The crew did not come to see him but he no longer cared. A soft wind blew and bright flowers nodded at him through the bars. Birds were singing. A brown eyed child dropped petals on him.
``Not a bad way to go,'' he thought.