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The small Californian force -- it numbered little over two hundred men -- was under the command of Juan Pardo Mesa, a captain notable for his victorious encounters with Indians and for his knowledge of their cunning. He was on the alert at dawn next morning, and long before the sun had spurned the tops of the Coast range, his assumption of meditated treachery was confirmed. A rising wind had set the young redwoods in motion. Before long the practised eye of Captain Mesa saw an increased agitation among the feathery branches, his ear caught a slight crackling. His men were flat on the ground. He stood in the shadow of a large oak. A moment later a dusky form crept out to where the brush grew more sparsely, hesitated a moment, and apparently passed back word that all was well; he was immediately followed by many of his kind; and the lower slope of the mountain, burnt bare by fire, seemed suddenly swarming with huge black rats.
Mesa waited until they were well away from cover, then gave the expected order: two hundred muskets, carbines, and flintlock pistols were discharged, and one piece of artillery.