MORAL DISCIPLINE--THE HISTORICAL PUEBLO OF SONOMA--SUGAR PLUMS.
Grandma often declared that she loved me, and did not want to be too
severe; but, for fear that I had learned much wickedness from the
little Indians with whom I had played after I left her at the Fort, she
should watch me very closely herself, and also have Georgia tell her
whenever she should see me do wrong. Consequently, for a while after I
reached Sonoma, I was frequently on the penitential bench, and was as
often punished for fancied misdoings as for real ones. Yet, I grant
that grandma was warranted in being severe the day that she got back
from town before I was ready for her.
She had left us with the promise that she would bring us something nice
if we would be good children and do certain work that she had planned.
After we had finished the task, we both became restless, wondered how
soon she would come back, and what we could do next to keep from being
lonesome. Then I espied on the upper shelf the cream-colored sugar
bowl, with the old-fashioned red roses and black foliage on its cover
and sides. Grandma had occasionally given us lumps of sugar out of it;
and I now asked Georgia if I hadn't better get it down, so that we
could each have a lump of sugar. Hesitatingly, she said, "No, I am
afraid you will break it." I assured her that I would be very careful,
and at once set a chair in place and climbed up. It was quite a strain
to reach the bowl, so I lifted it down and rested it on the lower
shelf, expecting to turn and put it into Georgia's hands. But, somehow,
before I could do this, the lid slipped off and lay in two pieces upon
the floor. Georgia cried out reproachfully,
"There, you know I didn't want you to do it, and now you will get a
good whipping for breaking grandma's best sugar bowl!"
I replied loftily that I was not afraid, because I would ask God to
mend it for me. She did not think He would do it, but I did. So I
matched the broken edges and put it on the chair, knelt down before it
and said "Please" when I made my request. I touched the pieces very
carefully, and pleaded more earnestly each time that I found them
unchanged. Finally, Georgia, watching at the door, said excitedly,
"Here comes grandma!"
I arose, so disappointed and chagrined that I scarcely heard her as she
entered and spoke to me. I fully believed that He would have mended
that cover if she had remained away a little longer; nevertheless, I
was so indignant at Him for being so slow about it, that I stood
unabashed while Georgia told all that had happened. The whipping I got
did not make much impression, but the after talks and the banishment
from "good company" were terrible.
Later, when I was called from my hiding-place, grandma saw that I had
been very miserable, and she insisted upon knowing what I had been
thinking about. Then I told her, reluctantly, that I had talked to God
and told Him I did not think that He was a very good Heavenly Father,
or He would not let me get into so much trouble; that I was mad at Him,
and didn't believe He knew how to mend dishes. She covered her face
with her apron and told me, sobbingly, that she had expected me to be
sorry for getting down her sugar bowl and for breaking its cover; that
I was so bad that I would "surely put poor old grandma's gray hair in
her grave, who had got one foot there already and the other on the
brink."
This increased my wretchedness, and I begged her to live just a little
longer so that I might show her that I would be good. She agreed to
give me another trial and ended by telling me about the "beautiful,
wicked angel who had been driven out of paradise, and spends his time
coaxing people to be bad, and then remembers them, and after they die,
takes them on his fork and pitches them back and forth in his fire."
Jakie had told me his name and also the name of his home.
Toward evening, my head ached, and I felt so ill that I crept close to
grandma and asked sorrowfully if she thought the devil meant to have me
die that night, and then take me to his hell. At a glance, she saw that
I suffered, and drew me to her, pillowed my head against her bosom and
soothingly assured me that I would be forgiven if I would make friends
with God and remember the lesson that I had learned that day. She told
me, later, I must never say "devil," or "hell," because it was not nice
in little girls, but that, instead, I might use the words, "blackman,"
and "blackman's fires." At first, I did not like to say it that way,
because I was afraid that the beautiful devil might think that I was
calling him nicknames and get angry with me.
Notwithstanding my shortcomings, the Brunners were very willing to keep
me, and strove to make a "Schweitzer child" of me, dressed me in
clothes modelled after those which grandma wore when she was small, and
by verse and legend filled my thoughts with pictures of their Alpine
country. I liked the German language, learned it rapidly and soon could
help to translate orders. Those which pleased grandma best were from
the homes of Mr. Jacob Leese, Captain Fitch, Major Prudon, and General
Vallejo; for their patronage influenced other distinguished Spanish
families at a distance to send for her excellent cheese and fancy pats
of butter. Yet, with equal nicety, she filled the orders that came from
the mess-room of the officers of our own brave boys in blue, and always
tried to have a better kerchief and apron on the evenings that officers
and orderly rode out to pay the bills.
Visitors felt more than a passing interest in us two little ones, for
accounts of the sufferings of the Donner Party had been carried to all
the settlements on the Pacific coast and had been sent in print or
writings to all parts of the United States as a warning against further
emigration to California by way of Hastings Cut-Off. Thus the name we
bore awakened sympathy for us, and in the huts of the lowly natives as
well as in the homes of the rulers of the province, we found welcome
and were greeted with words of tenderness, which were often followed by
prayers for the repose of the souls of our precious dead.
Marked attentions were also shown us by officers and soldiers from the
post. The latter gathered in the evenings at the Brunner home for
social intercourse. Some played cards, checkers, and dominoes, or
talked and sang about "_des Deutschen Vaterland_." Others reviewed
happenings in our own country, recalled battles fought and victories
won. And we, sitting between our foster grandparents, or beside Jakie,
listening to their thrilling tales, were, unwittingly, crammed with
crumbs of truth and fiction that made lasting impressions upon our
minds.
Nor were these odd bits of knowledge all we gained from those soldier
friends. They taught us the alphabet, how to spell easy words, and then
to form letters with pencil. They explained the meaning of fife and
drum calls which we heard during the day, and in mischievous
earnestness, declared that they, the best fighters of Colonel
Stephenson's famous regiment of New York Volunteers, had pledged their
arms and legs to our defence, and had only come to see if we were
worth the price they might have to, pay. Yet they made grim faces when,
all too soon, the retreat call from the barracks sounded, and away they
would have to go on the double quick, to be at post by the time of roll
call, and in bed at sound of taps.
On those evenings when grandma visited the sick, or went from home on
errands, we children were tucked away early in our trundle bed. There,
and by ourselves, we spoke of mother and the mountains. Not
infrequently, however, our thoughts would be recalled to the present by
loud, wailing squeak-squawk, squeak-squawks. As the sound drew nearer
and became shriller, we would put our fingers in our ears to muffle the
dismal tones, which we knew were only the creakings of the two wooden
wheels of some Mexican _carreta_, laboriously bringing passengers to
town, or perhaps a cruder one carrying hides to the _embarcadero_, or
possibly supplies to adjacent _ranchos_. We wondered how old people and
mothers with sick children could travel in such uncomfortable vehicles
and not become distracted by their nerve-piercing noises. Then, like a
bird-song, pleasanter scenes would steal in upon our musings, of gay
horseback parties on their way to church feasts, or fandangos, preceded
or followed by servants in charge of pack animals laden with luggage.
We rarely stayed awake long enough to say all we wished about the
Spanish people. Their methods of travel, modes of dress, and
fascinating manners were sources of never-ending discussion and
interest.
[Illustration: OLD MEXICAN CARRETA]
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF JUDGE A.L. RHODES, A TYPICAL CALIFORNIA
HOUSE OF THE BETTER CLASS IN 1849]
We had seen princely dons of many leagues ride by in state; dashing
_caballeros_ resplendent in costumes of satin and velvet, on their way
to sing beneath the windows of dark-eyed _señoritas;_ and had stood
close enough to the wearers of embroidered and lace-bedecked small
clothes, to count the scallops which closed the seams of their outer
garments, and to hear the faint tinkle of the tiny silver bells which
dangled from them. We had feasted our eyes on magnificently robed
_señoras_ and _señoritas_; caught the scent of the roses twined in
their hair, and the flash of jewels on their persons.
Such frequent object-lessons made the names and surroundings of those
grandees easy to remember. Some lived leagues distant, some were near
neighbors in that typical Mexican Pueblo of Sonoma, whose adobe walls
and red-tiled roofs nestled close to the foot of the dimpled hills
overlooking the valley from the north, and whose historic and romantic
associations were connected with distinguished families who still
called it home.
Foremost among the men was General Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo, by whom
Sonoma was founded in 1834, upon ground which had twice been
consecrated to Mission use. First by Padre Altemera, who had, in 1823,
established there the church and mission building of San Francisco
Solano. And four years later, after hostile Indians had destroyed the
sacred structures, Padre Fortune, under protection of Presidio Golden
Gate, blessed the ashes and rebuilt the church and the parochial
houses named last on the list of the historic Missions of California.
The Vallejo home covered the largest plot of ground on the north side
of the plaza, and its great house had a hospitable air, despite its
lofty watchtower, begrimed by sentry holes, overlooking every part of
the valley.
During the period that its owner was _commandante_ of the northern
frontier, the Vallejo home was headquarters for high officials of the
province. But after Commodore Sloat raised the Stars and Stripes at
Monterey, General Vallejo espoused the cause of the United States, put
aside much of his Spanish exclusiveness, and opened his doors to
Americans as graciously as to friends of his own nationality.
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.
The town seemed deserted, and the church filled, as we started
homeward, I skipping ahead until we reached a shop window where I
waited for Jakie and asked him if he knew what those pretty little
things were that I saw on a shelf, in big short-necked glass jars. Some
were round and had little "stickers" all over them, and others looked
like birds' eggs, pink, yellow, white, and violet.
He told me the round ones were sugar plums, and the egg-shaped had each
an almond nut under its bright crust; that they were candies that had
come from France in the ships that had brought the Spanish people their
fine clothes; and that they were only for the rich, and would make poor
little girls' teeth ache, if they should eat them.
Yet, after I confided to him how mother had given me a lump of loaf
sugar each night as long as it lasted, and how sorry we both felt when
there was no more, he led me into the shop and let me choose two of
each kind and color from the jars. We walked faster as I carried them
home. Jakie and grandma would not take any, but she gave Georgia and me
each a sugar plum and an egg, and saved the rest for other days when we
should be good children.