The Cross of Santa Fe
The kings highway which led up from Vera Cruz, the chief port of the
eastern coast of Mexico, to the capital city of New Spain had in the
eighteenth century more history connected with it than any other road in
the new world. Over it had passed Montezuma with all the splendor of
his pagan court. On it, too, had marched and counter marched his grim
conqueror, the great Cortez. Through its white dust had traveled an
almost endless procession of mules and slaves, carrying the treasures of
the mines of Mexico and the rich imports of Manila and India on toward
Spain.
Over this road there was journeying, one winter day in the year 1749,
a traveler of more importance to the history of the state of California
than any one who had gone before. He was no great soldier or king, only
a priest in the brownish gray cloak of the order of St. Francis. He was
slight in figure, and limped painfully from a sore on his leg, caused,
it is supposed, by the bite of some poisonous reptile. The chance
companions who traveled with him begged him to stop and rest beside a
stream, but he would not. Then, as he grew more weary, they entreated
him to seek shelter in a ranch house near by and give up his journey.
“Speak not to me thus. I am determined to continue. I seem to hear
voices of unconverted thousands calling me,” was all the answer he
gave. So on foot, with no luggage but his prayer book, he limped out of
sight--the humble Spanish priest, Junipero Serra.
While only a schoolboy, young Serra had been more interested in the
Indian inhabitants of the new world than in boyish pleasure. As he grew
older it became his greatest desire to go to them as a missionary. At
eighteen he became a priest; but it was not until his thirty-sixth year
that he gained the opportunity of which he had so long dreamed, when,
in company with a body of missionaries, among whom were his boyhood
friends, Francisco Palou and Juan Crespi, he landed at Vera Cruz.
He was too impatient to begin his new work, to wait for the government
escort which was coming to meet them. So he started out on foot, with
only such companions as he might pick up by the way, to make the long
journey to the city of Mexico.
Sixteen years later, attended by a gay company of gentlemen and ladies,
there traveled over this road one of Spain’s wisest statesmen, Jose
de Galvez, whom the king had sent out to look after affairs in the new
world. Flourishing settlements were by this time scattered over a large
portion of Mexico, and even in the peninsula of Lower California there
were a number of missions. It was almost a hundred years before this
time that two Catholic priests of the Society of Jesus had asked
permission to found mission settlements among the Indians of this
peninsula.
“You may found the missions if you like, but do not look to us for money
to help you,” was the answer returned by the officers of the government.
So the two Jesuit priests set about collecting funds for the work.
They were eloquent men, and the people who heard them preach became so
interested in the Indians that they were glad to give. And so, little by
little, this fund grew. As the good work went on, greater gifts poured
in. Whole fortunes were left them, and finally they had a very large
sum carefully invested in the city of Mexico. This was known as the Pius
Fund. From it was taken all the money needed for the founding of the
missions of Lower California; and, many years later, the expenses of
founding the twenty-one missions of Upper California came from the same
source. This fund became the subject of a long dispute between Mexico
and the United States, of which an account is given in Chapter XI.
In 1767 all the Jesuit priests in New Spain were called back to Europe,
and a large portion of their wealth and missions on the peninsula were
given over to the order of St. Francis, with Junipero Serra at their
head. It was Galvez’s duty to superintend this change, and while he
was on his way to the peninsula for that purpose he was overtaken by
an order from the king of Spain to occupy and fortify the ports of San
Diego and Monterey. The Spanish government had the description of these
ports furnished by Vizcaino in his account of his explorations in Upper
and Lower California over one hundred and sixty years before.
The articles of the king’s order were: first, to establish the Catholic
faith; second, to extend Spanish dominion; third, to check the ambitious
schemes of a foreign power; and lastly, to carry out a plan formed by
Philip the Third, as long ago as 1603, for the establishment of a town
on the California coast where there was a harbor suitable for ships of
the Manila trade.
Galvez at once proceeded to organize four expeditions for the settlement
of Upper California, two by land, two by sea. Captain Portola, governor
of the peninsula, was put in command, with good leaders under him.
Still, Galvez was not satisfied.
“This is all very well,” he said; “these men will obey my orders,
but they do not care much whether this land is settled or not, and if
discouragements arise, back they will come, and I shall have the whole
thing to do over again. I must find some one who is interested in the
work, some one who will not find anything impossible. I think I shall
send for that lame, pale-faced priest, with the beautiful eyes, who has
taken up the work of these missions so eagerly.”
“So you think we can make the venture a success?” asked Galvez, after he
had talked over his plans with Junipero.
“Surely,” said Padre Serra, his eyes shining, his whole face glowing
with enthusiasm. “It is God’s work to carry the cross of the holy faith
[Santa Fe] into the wilderness, and He will go with us; can you not hear
the heathen calling us to bring them the blessed Gospel? I can see that
I have lived all my life for this glorious day.”
Then they went to work, the priest and the king’s counselor--down on the
wharf, even working with their own hands, packing away the cargo.
“Hurry! Hurry!” said Galvez. The word was passed along, and in a short
time the four expeditions were ready.
Many were the trials and discouragements of the various parties. Scurvy
was so severe among the sailors that one ship lost all its crew save two
men, and there were a number of deaths on another ship; while a third
vessel which started later was never heard from. Padre Junipero, who
accompanied the second land party, under the charge of Governor Portola,
became so ill from the wound on his leg that the commander urged him
to return; but he would not. Calling a muleteer who was busy after the
day’s march, doctoring the sores on his animals, he said:--
“Come, my son, and cure my sores also.”
“Padre,” exclaimed the man, shocked at the idea, “I am no surgeon; I
doctor only my beasts.”
“Think then that I am a beast, my child,” said the padre, “and treat me
accordingly.”
The man obeyed. Gathering some leaves of the malva, or cheese plant, he
bruised them a little, heated them on the stones of the camp fire, and
spreading them with warm tallow, applied them to the wound. The next
morning the leg was so much better that the cure was thought to be a
miracle. Still the padre was very weak; and there was great rejoicing in
the party when at last they looked down from a height on San Diego
Bay, with the two ships--the San Carlos and the San Antonio--riding at
anchor, white tents on the beach, and soldiers grouped about. Salutes
were fired by the newcomers and returned by the soldiers and ships, and
very soon the four expeditions were reunited.
On the next day, Sunday, solemn thanksgiving services were held. Then
for fourteen days all were busy attending to the sick, making ready for
the departure of the ship San Antonio, which was to be sent back for
supplies, and packing up food and other necessities for the journey to
Monterey. The San Antonio sailed on the 9th of July, 1769, and five days
later Governor Portola and two thirds of the well portion of the company
started overland to Monterey.
Meantime Padre Junipero had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to
begin his great work--the conversion of the heathen. He had written
back in his own peculiar way to his friend Padre Palou, whom he left in
charge of the missions of Lower California.
“Long Live Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, This to Fray Francisco Palou.
“My dear friend and Sir:--
“I, thanks be to God, arrived day before yesterday at this, in truth,
beautiful, and with reason famous, port of San Diego. We find Gentiles
[the name given to the wild Indians] here in great numbers. They seem to
lead temperate lives on various seeds and on fish which they catch from
their rafts of tule which are formed like a canoe.”
The second day after the departure of Portola and his party, Sunday,
July 16, Padre Serra felt that the glorious moment for which he had so
long prayed had at length arrived. The mission bells were unpacked and
hung on a tree, and a neophyte, or converted Indian, whom he had brought
with him from the peninsula, was appointed to ring them. As the sweet
tones sounded on the clear air, all the party who were able gathered
about the padre, who stood lifting the cross of Christ on high. All
joined in solemnly chanting a hymn, and a sermon was preached. Then with
more chanting, the tolling of, the bells, and the firing of muskets, was
concluded the ceremony of the founding of the first of the California
missions, that of San Diego.
Portola and his men, in spite of many discouragements, traveled steadily
northward for nearly two months until at last, one October morning, they
saw what they thought to be Point Pinos, the name given by Cabrillo to
the pine-covered cape to the south of Monterey Bay. They were right in
thinking this Point Pinos, but the sad part is that when they climbed
a hill and looked down on the bay they had come so far to find, they
failed to recognize it.
They tramped wearily over the sun-dried hills that bordered it,
and walked on its sandy beach, but could not believe the wide, open
roadstead, encircled by bare brown heights, could be the well-inclosed
port lying at the foot of hills richly green, so warmly described by
Vizcaino in his winter voyage. It was a great disappointment, for this
was the latitude in which they had expected to find Monterey. After
talking it over, they decided they must be still too far south, so they
tramped on for many days.
On the last day of October, those of the party who were well enough,
climbed a high hill--(Point San Pedro on the west coast of the
peninsula)--and were rewarded by a glorious view. On their left the
great ocean stretched away to the horizon line, its waves breaking in
high-tossed foam on the rocky shore beneath them. Before them they saw
an open bay, or roadstead, lying between the point on which they stood,
and one extending into the sea far to the northwest. Upon looking at
their map of Vizcaino’s voyage, they rightly decided that this farther
projection was Point Reyes; the little bay sheltered by the curve of its
arm was the one named on the map St. Francis, and now known as Drakes
Bay. Well out to sea they discovered a group of rocky islands which they
called Farallones; but not a man who stood on the height dreamed that
only a short distance to the right up the rocky coast there lay a bay
so immense and so perfectly inclosed that it would ever be one of the
wonders of the land they were exploring.
On account of the sick of the party, among whom were the commander and
his lieutenant, it was decided to travel no further, but to camp here
while Sergeant Ortega was dispatched to follow the coast line to Point
Reyes and explore the little bay it inclosed.
With a few men and three days’ provisions consisting of small cakes made
of bran and water, which was the only food they had left, this brave
Spanish officer marched away, little imagining the honor which was
soon to be his. Leading this expedition, he was the first white man to
explore the peninsula where now stands the guardian city of the western
coast, and we must wonder what were his thoughts when, pushing his way
up some brush-covered heights, he came out suddenly upon the great bay
we call San Francisco.
What a mighty surprise was that sixty miles of peaceful water that had
so long remained hidden from European explorers, baffling the anxious
gaze of Cabrillo, the faithful explorations of Ferrelo, the eagle eyes
of Drake, and the earnest search of Vizcaino!
Pushing steadily on toward Point Reyes, Ortega encountered a second
surprise, when from the Presidio hills he looked down on beautiful
Golden Gate, whose rumpled waters seemed to say:--
“No farther can you come. We keep guard here.”
Seeing that it was quite impossible for him to reach Point Reyes, Ortega
decided to return to Portola. He found the commander and his party so
weakened by sickness and the lack of food that it had been decided to
explore no farther, but to return at once to the southern mission. After
a painful march of sixty days the party reached San Diego.
Bitter was the disappointment of Padre Junipero Serra at the failure to
found the mission of Monterey. He did not believe, as many of the party
reported, that the bay was filled up with sand. Keener still was his
grief when Portola, after looking over the supply of food, announced
that unless the ship San Antonio or the sloop San Jose arrived by
a certain date with provisions, they would have to abandon Upper
California and return to the peninsula.
The padre at once called the people together for a nine days’ session of
prayer and other church services at which to pray for the coming of the
relief boat. Portola, though he attended the services, went steadily on
with his preparations for departure. On the morning of the day before
the one set for the beginning of the march toward Lower California,
the padres went to the heights overlooking the bay, where they remained
watching and praying. At sea a heavy fog hung over the water. Hour after
hour passed as they gazed out on the lovely bay. Noon came, but they
would not return to the mission to rest or eat. The afternoon wore away,
the sun sank in the clouds above the horizon, then, as all hope seemed
gone, the fog was lifted by a sunset breeze, and there, far out at sea,
they saw a white sail. The good men fell on their knees in thanksgiving,
while their Indian servants ran to carry the news to camp.
This vessel, the San Antonio, brought not only abundant provisions but
fresh orders from Galvez to hurry the work at Monterey. The settlement
of Upper California was now made certain.
An expedition by land and the San Antonio by sea immediately started
northward. A few weeks later Padre Junipero wrote to Padre Palou: “By
the favor of God, after a month and a half of painful navigation,
the San Antonio found anchor in this port of Monterey, which we find
unvarying in circumstances and substance as described by Don Sebastian
Vizcaino.”
They even found Vizcaino’s oak. Indeed, it is said on good authority,
that the oak remained standing until 1838, when the high tides washed
the earth from its roots so that it fell.
Soon the land expedition arrived, and one June morning in 1770 the
members of the two parties, all in their best attire, were gathered on
the beach for the purpose of founding the second mission. It must have
been a pretty scene,--the stanch little vessel San Antonio, gay with
bunting, swinging at anchor a short distance out, while on shore were
grouped the sailors in the bright dress of seamen of those times, the
soldiers in leather uniform, the governor and his staff in the handsome
costumes of Spanish officials, and the padres in their gray robes. Close
beside the oak a brush house had been built, bells hung, and an altar
erected. While the bells tolled, the solemn service of dedication was
held by Padre Junipero, and so was founded the Mission San Carlos de
Borromeo at Monterey.
Near each of the earlier coast missions there was also founded a
military station called a presidio, a name borrowed from the Roman
presidium. The word meant a fort or fortified town. These presidios were
intended to guard the safety of the missions from the wild Indians, and
to defend the coast from ships of other countries.
After the religious services Governor Portola proceeded to found the
presidio and take formal possession in the name of the king of Spain by
hoisting and saluting the royal banner, pulling up bunches of grass, and
casting stones, which was an ancient manner of taking possession of a
piece of land or country. The presidio of Monterey was for a long time
the site of the capital of Upper California and therefore most important
in the history of the state.
For the sake of better land and water the mission site was soon removed
about six miles, to the Carmelo River. Although not so wealthy as some
of the missions, it was the home of Padre Junipero Serra, president of
all the missions, and so its history is especially interesting.
The news of the settlement of San Diego and Monterey was received in
Mexico with great joy, and it was resolved to found five more missions
above San Diego. Four of these were San Gabriel, near the present site
of Los Angeles; San Luis Obispo, farther north; San Antonio; and San
Francisco. Before leaving the peninsula, Padre Serra had asked Galvez,
“And for Father Francisco, head of our order, is there to be no mission
for him?” To which Galvez had replied, “If Saint Francis wants a
mission, let him cause his port to be found and it will be placed
there.” When the beautiful bay was discovered by Sergeant Ortega, it
was thought that this might be the harbor Saint Francis intended for
himself, but before naming it for the head of the order it was necessary
that it should be explored. Although two land expeditions were sent up
for this purpose, they were unsuccessful; and it was not until August,
1775, about four months after the eventful battle of Lexington had taken
place on the Atlantic coast, that white men first entered the Bay of San
Francisco in a ship.
Lieutenant Ayala of the Spanish navy, with the San Carlos, had the honor
of conducting this expedition.
He reached the entrance to the bay just as night was coming on. Not
liking to trust his vessel in a strange harbor, he sent forward a boat
to make explorations, and then, as it was a little slow in returning,
he daringly pushed on in the darkness into the unknown water. His small
craft bobbed and plunged in the rough water of the bar, darted through
Golden Gate, and came safely to anchor near North Beach. Soon after
this exploration it was settled that here Saint Francis should have his
mission.
Padre Junipero Serra appointed his friend Francisco Palou, who had now
joined him in his work in Upper California, to make this settlement, and
on the 9th of October, 1776, there was founded in that portion of San
Francisco known as the Mission District, at the corner of Sixteenth
and Dolores streets, the mission of San Francisco. This is often called
Mission Dolores from the name of a small lake and stream beside which
it was built. To-day the name San Francisco rests not only on the old
mission building, with its white pillars, but on the beautiful city
which is the metropolis of our western coast.
As fast as possible Padre Junipero hastened the establishment of
missions, choosing those places where there were the largest native
settlements. In the vicinity of Monterey Bay there were, besides the San
Carlos mission, Santa Cruz on the northern curve of the bay, and in the
fertile valley back of the Santa Cruz Mountains the missions of Santa
Clara, San Jose, and San Juan Bautista. Farther south on a lonely height
stood Soledad, and much farther south, San Miguel.
The Indians along the Santa Barbara Channel, of whom there were a great
many, were more intelligent and industrious than in other portions of
the country settled by the missionaries, and here were the missions of
Santa Barbara, San Buenaventura, La Purisima, and Santa Inez.
In the south, in the fertile valley where are now the great grain fields
of Los Angeles county, San Fernando was founded. Between San Gabriel and
San Diego were placed San Juan Capistrano, San Luis Rey, and the chapel
of Pala. San Rafael and Solano, to the north of San Francisco Bay,
complete the list of twenty-one missions of Upper California.
It is impossible to give more than the names of most of these missions,
although about each many true and beautiful stories might be told. It
would be well if those who live near one of these noble ruins would seek
out its particular history and the stories connected with it. This would
be interesting and helpful work for the students in the schools of the
state.
The story of the missions seems like a fairy tale, wonderful and
unreal. Into a wilderness inhabited only by savage men and wild animals,
hundreds of miles from any civilized settlement, there came these men
trained as simple priests.
Two by two they came, bringing with them, for the starting of each
mission, a few soldiers, seven to ten, a few converted Indians from
the missions of Lower California, a little live stock, some church
furniture, and always the bells; yet in a little over forty years they
had succeeded in founding a chain of missions whose sweet-toned bells
chimed the hours and called to prayer from San Diego to the Bay of San
Francisco.
Churches were built larger and often of a purer type of architecture
than those in the civilized well-settled portions of the
land,--buildings that have lasted for a hundred years and may last many
years longer if care is taken to preserve them. Canals of stone and
cement and dams of masonry were constructed that would do credit to our
best workmen of to-day.
The little packages of wheat and other grains, seeds from Spanish
oranges and olives, little dried bundles of grapevines from Mexico,
developed, under their care, into the great fields of grain, groves
of oranges and olives, and the wide-spreading vineyards of the mission
ranches. All these wonders were performed with Indian workmen trained by
the padres.
But what the missionaries cared for more than their success in building
and planting were the thousands of baptized Indians at each mission.
These they instructed daily for the good of their souls in the truths of
the Christian religion, while for their bodily needs they were taught to
plow the earth, to plant seed, to raise and care for domestic animals.
They learned also many useful trades; and music, frescoing, and art were
taught those who seemed to have an especial taste for such things.
At the head of this great work was gentle Padre Junipero Serra, the most
interesting character in the history of the missions. He was frail and
slender and much worn by constant labor of head and hands, but his every
thought and action seemed to be for others. Back and forth from Monterey
to San Diego, from mission to mission, he traveled almost constantly,
teaching, baptizing, confirming thousands of his dusky charges. He was
president of all the missions, and besides this was bishop, doctor,
judge, and architect, as well as steward of the mission products and
money.
Associated with him in his work were a group of noble men whose lives
were spent in caring for the native people with whom they worked and
among whom they finally died. The inhabitants of California may well
honor the mission padres for their earnest, unselfish lives, and in no
way can this be done so fully as in the preservation of the grand old
buildings they left behind, which are indeed fitting monuments to their
devotion, energy, and skill.
Beginning with San Diego, let us, in fancy, visit the missions in the
early part of the nineteenth century.
It is a winter day in the year 1813 when we ride up the broad,
wind-swept road which leads to the newly dedicated mission building of
San Diego. The wide plain that surrounds it is green with native grass
and the blades of young wheat. Of the two hundred cattle, one hundred
sheep, one hundred horses, and twenty asses brought up by Padre Junipero
in 1769 to be divided among the earlier missions, San Diego had only its
due share; yet under the wise management of the padres, they have now at
this mission, feeding on the green plains, thousands of cattle, horses,
and sheep, which are tended by comfortably clothed Indian herders. Near
the mission are the green and gold of orange orchards, the gray of the
olive, and the bare branches of extensive vineyards. At one side we
see a large kitchen garden where young Indians are at work planting and
hoeing.
As we draw up in front of the church, Indian servants come out to take
our horses. We dismount, and a padre who is superintending work in
the orchard comes and welcomes us with gentle courtesy. He sends us a
servant to show us to our room, a small square apartment with a hard
earthen floor and bare, whitewashed walls with no ornament but a cross.
The beds are of rawhide stretched over a frame. The covering consists
of sheets of coarse cotton grown and woven at the southern missions,
and blankets, coarse but warm, made by the Indians from the wool of the
mission sheep.
Dinner at the padre’s table we find most enjoyable. There is beef
and chicken, the frijole, or red bean of Spain, and other vegetables
prepared in a tasty manner peculiar to Spanish cooking, so we do not
doubt that the cook has been taught his trade by the padre himself. The
Indian boys who wait on the table also show careful training, performing
their duties quickly and quietly. Here we can find for bread the
tortilla,--still the food of the Indian and Mexican people of
California. It is a thin cake made of meal or flour and water, and baked
without grease on a hot stone or griddle. Wines made at the mission,
the favorite chocolate, thick and sweet, and some fruit from the padre’s
garden complete the meal.
Dinner over, we visit the church and admire the striking contrast
between the red tiles of the roof and the creamy white of the walls.
All the buildings are made of bricks molded from a clay called adobe
and dried slowly in the sun. Each brick is twelve inches square by four
inches thick, and the walls are laid two or three bricks deep, those of
the church itself being nearly four feet in thickness. It seems almost
impossible that so large and well made a building could have been
constructed by untrained workmen. Next to the church are the rooms of
the padres, then the dining room and the quarters of the mission
guard, which consists apparently of but two men, the rest being at the
presidio, several miles away. Adjoining these are the storehouses and
shops of the Indian workmen, all of which open on the great courtyard.
In the courtyard is a busy scene. Blacksmiths with hammer and anvil make
sounding blows as they work up old iron into needed farm utensils. The
soap maker’s caldron sends up a cloud of ill-smelling steam. At one side
carpenters are at work trimming and cutting square holes in logs for the
beams of new buildings which the padres wish to put up. Saddle makers,
squatted on the ground, are busy fashioning saddletrees, carving, and
sewing leather. The shoemaker is hard at work with needle and awl. These
and many other trades are all going on at once. These courts, which are
called patios, were generally several acres in extent and at the most
flourishing period of the missions each settlement often gave shelter to
over a thousand people.
Behind the central court is the home of the unmarried women. This, and
the rooms for their work, open on a separate square where there is shade
from orange and fig trees and a bathing pond supplied by the zanja, or
water ditch. Here square-figured, heavy-featured Indian girls are busy
spinning and weaving thread into cloth. Others are cutting out and
sewing garments. Some, squatted on the ground, are grinding corn into a
coarse meal for the atole, or mush. At the zanja several are engaged in
washing clothes. Here these girls live under the care of an old Indian
woman, and unless she accompanies them they may not, until they are
married, go outside these walls. Near the mission we visit a long row
of small adobe buildings, the homes of the families of the Christian
Indians; a neat, busy settlement where the little ones, comfortably
clothed, play about attended by the older children, while the mothers
work for the padres four or five hours daily.
Leaving San Diego and traveling northward along “El Camino Real,” the
highway which leads from mission to mission, we reach San Luis Rey,
“King of the Missions,” as it is sometimes called. Its church is the
largest of all those erected by the padres, being one hundred and sixty
feet long, fifty-eight feet wide, and sixty feet high. Its one square,
two-story tower has a chime of bells, the sweet clear tones of which
reached our ears while we were yet miles from the mission. Counting
the arches of the long corridor, we find there are two hundred and
fifty-six. This mission became very wealthy. At one time it had a
baptized Indian population of several thousand, owned twenty-four
thousand cattle, ten thousand horses, and one hundred thousand sheep,
and harvested fourteen thousand bushels of grain a year.
Its prosperity was due in a great measure to good Padre Peyri, who had
charge of it from its beginning. Many years afterwards, as we shall
see, the padres were ordered by the Mexican government to leave their
missions, the wealth they had gathered, and the Indians they had taught
and cared for. Father Peyri, knowing how hard it would be for him to get
away from his Indian children, as he called them, slipped off by night
to San Diego. In the morning the Indians missed him. Learning what had
happened, five hundred of them mounted their ponies in hot haste and
galloped all the way to San Diego, forty-five miles, to bring him back
by force. They arrived just as the ship, with Padre Peyri on board,
was weighing anchor. Standing on deck with outstretched arms, the padre
blessed them amid their tears and loud cries. Some flung themselves into
the water and swam after the ship. Four reached it, and, climbing up
its sides, so implored to be taken on board that the padre consented and
carried them with him to Rome, where one afterwards became a priest.
The next link in our chain, the most beautiful of all the missions, is
that of San Juan Capistrano. It was founded in 1776, the year of
our Declaration of Independence, but in 1812 it was destroyed by an
earthquake, the massive towers and noble arch falling in on the Indians,
who were assembled in the church for morning prayers. Many of them were
killed. The church has never been rebuilt.
It is Christmas Day when we reach San Gabriel, the next station on El
Camino Real. Inside the great cactus fence which incloses the square
about the mission we see a strangely mixed company,--Indians in their
best clothes, their faces shining from a liberal use of mission soap and
water; soldiers in their leather suits freshened up for the holiday;
a few ranchmen in the gay dress of the times, riding beautiful horses;
women and girls each brilliant in a bright-colored skirt with shawl or
scarf gracefully draped over head and shoulders.
The Christmas Day morning service, held at four o’clock and known by the
common people as the Rooster Mass, is long since over. The crowd is now
gathered for the Pastorel, which, like the miracle plays of the Middle
Ages, is a drama with characters taken from the Bible.
First to appear on the scene is an orchestra composed of young Indians
playing violins, bass viols, reeds, flutes, and guitars. Closely
following come the actors, representing San Gabriel and attendant
angels, Satan, Blind Bartimeus, and a company of shepherds. The
entertainment is very simple. There is the announcement of the birth of
the Savior, the adoration of the babe, and the offering of gifts. The
play concludes with a protracted struggle between San Gabriel and Satan
for the possession of Blind Bartimeus, in which the saint finally comes
off victor while the orchestra plays lively music. After the Pastorel
there are games, dancing, and feasting. Every one seems happy, and it is
with regret that we leave the gay scene.
Through the hills to the north, across the Arroyo Seco, not dry now, but
a swift stream turbulent from the winter rains, we journey on. We pass
Eagle Rock, a great bowlder high upon the green hillside, one of the
landmarks of the region, and enter the valley of the Los Angeles River.
After traveling for several hours, we come to a large plantation of
trees, vines, and grainfields, in the midst of which lies the mission
of San Fernando. Its land extends for miles on every side and is
exceedingly fertile. In front of the beautiful cloisters, under tall
and stately palm trees, a fountain sends high its sparkling water, which
falls back with pleasant tinkle into a basin of carved stone.
When we reach San Buenaventura, the next mission on our route, we find
priests and Indians exceedingly busy, for word has come from Monterey
that a Yankee trading vessel will soon sail for the south, and cattle
must be killed and the fat rendered into tallow for the market. As hides
and tallow are about the only commodities the padres have for sale, this
is an important event. Indians tend the caldrons of bubbling grease, and
keep up the fires under the kettles. When the tallow is slightly cooled,
they pour it into sacks made from the skins of animals. These, when
filled with the hardened tallow, look as though each again held a plump
beast.
Traveling up the coast we come one afternoon to
A golden bay ‘neath soft blue skies Where on a hillside creamy rise The
mission towers whose patron saint Is Barbara--with legend quaint.
Here spring is merging into summer, and we are in time to see the
ceremony which closes the wheat harvest. The workmen gather the last
four sheaves from the field, and, fastening them in the form of a cross,
carry them, followed by a long procession of dusky reapers, up the
ascent to the church. As they approach, the bells burst out in a joyous
peal, and from the mission doors the padres come forth, one bearing a
cross, another the banner of the Virgin. A choir of Indian boys follows,
chanting a hymn. All advance slowly down the avenue to meet the sheaf
bearers, then counter march to the church, where the harvest festival is
celebrated.
Passing by other missions, we must close our journey with a visit to San
Carlos, the Monterey mission, most prominent of all in the history of
the church and state. It was from the first the special charge of Padre
Junipero Serra, and, at the time we see it, his monument as well; for in
it at last his weary body was laid to rest beside his friend Padre Juan
Crespi, to whose writings, next to those of Padre Francisco Palou, we
are most indebted for our knowledge of Junipero Serra and his great
work. In 1813, with its graceful arched front and two towers, San Carlos
was a noble-looking building, but since that time one tower has fallen.
We are reminded, as we look, of the scene when Junipero lay dying. Ever
since morning the grief-stricken people had been waiting, listening for
the news from the sick room. When the tolling of the bell announced that
the beautiful life was ended, crowds came weeping and lamenting, anxious
to see again the beloved face.
It was with great difficulty that the Indians could be kept from tearing
the padre’s robe from his body, so earnestly did they desire to possess
some relic of the father they had loved so long.
Here we notice the daily life of the Indian, which (in 1813) is the same
at all the missions. At sunrise comes the sound of the bells calling
to the morning prayers, and we see the natives hurrying to the church.
After service they gather for breakfast of mush and tortillas. As the
flocks and herds have increased, meat forms part of the daily food,
sometimes from the freshly killed beeves, but generally in a dried state
called carne seco. After breakfast the workers go in groups to their
various employments. Dinner is served at eleven, and they have a resting
period until two. Then work is again taken up and continued until
an hour before sunset, when the bells call to evening prayer. Supper
follows the evening service, after which the Indians can do as they like
until bedtime. We see some engaged in a game of ball. Many are squatted
on the ground playing other games,--gambling, we suspect. In one group
there is dancing to the music of violin and guitar. There is laughter
and chattering on all sides, and to us they seem happy, at least for the
time.
The life led by the Indians at the missions was not generally a
hard one. No doubt when they first came, or were brought, into the
settlements, from their free wild life, they found it harder to keep the
regular hours of the missions than to perform the work, which was seldom
very heavy. When disobedient or lazy, they were punished severely,
judging by the standards of to-day, but really no harder than was at
that time the custom in schools and in navies the world over. When the
soldiers came in contact with the natives, there was generally cruel
treatment for the latter. But as far as possible the padres stood
between their charges and the soldiers, always placing the mission as
far from the presidio as the safety of the former would allow.
At San Diego, about five years after its settlement, wild Indians
surprised the mission guard, and killed the padre and several of the
converted Indians in a most cruel manner. The Spanish government gave
orders that the murderers should be taken and executed and this mission
abandoned; but Padre Junipero begged so hard for the culprits, who, he
said, knew no better, having no knowledge of God, that he was finally
allowed to have his way. Gentleness and patience won the day; not only
the Indians who made the attack were converted, but many more of their
tribe, and the mission became a flourishing settlement. There was once
a rebellion among the Santa Clara and San Jose Indians, led by a young
convert from Santa Clara, which required soldiers from Monterey to put
down. Generally, however, the mission life was peaceful, the Indians
being fond of their padres.
When Mexico became free from Spain, no more money was sent up to pay the
soldiers or run the government in Upper California, and for a long time
the missions advanced the money for the expenses of the government.
After a time the new priests who came up from Mexico were not generally
men of such education and noble character as the early mission padres.
They cared less for missionary work, and were not so energetic. Their
influence was not always good for the Indians, who quickly saw the
difference between them and their old padres. They had little confidence
in the newcomers, so at the few missions where such as these were in
charge the Indians were disobedient, and received harsh punishments from
the padres; and trouble followed.
In 1833 the Mexican government decided to confirm the mandate issued by
Spain several years before in regard to the breaking up of the mission
settlements. By this law each Indian was to have his own piece of land
to own and care for. He was to be no longer under the control of the
church, but to be his own master like any other citizen. As for the
padres, they were to give up their wealth and lands, and leave for other
missionary fields. That this would create a great change in California
all realized; still it was no new idea, but the plan Spain had in mind
when the missions were first founded. The mistake was in supposing that
it was possible for a people to rise in so short a time from the
wild life of the California Indian to the position of self-supporting
citizens in a civilized country.
When the Indians understood this order, some were pleased and,
like children when freed from restraint, ceased to work and became
troublesome. Many, however, when they found that the padres were to
leave them, became very unhappy; some, it is said, even died from
homesickness for the mission and the padre. One committed suicide.
It was soon seen that they were not fitted to look after themselves.
Only a few years had passed since they were savages, knowing nothing of
civilized life, and they still needed some one to guide them. They not
only began to drink and gamble, but were cheated and ill-treated on all
sides, until many of them became afraid of living in towns and went back
to wild life. For this they were no longer fitted, and they suffered so
much from hunger and cold that great numbers of them died.
Because the Indians were not capable of caring for themselves at
the time of the secularization of the missions, the padres are often
severely blamed. It is said that they tried to keep the natives without
knowledge, in fact something like slaves. But the truth is that the
padres taught them by thousands, not only to cultivate the soil, to
irrigate wisely, to raise domestic cattle, but to work at every trade
that could be of use in a new country. They were encouraged to choose
from among themselves alcaldes, or under officers of the mission.
In this way every inducement was given to the Indian showing himself
capable of self-control, to rise to a prominent position in his little
world, where he generally ruled his fellow-workmen wisely and kindly.
Added to this, the Indians acquired, through the teaching and example of
the padres, a religion that has lasted through generations. The breaking
up of the mission settlements scattered the Indians through the country,
many of them going back to the wild life in the forest and mountains,
where they no longer had any religious instructions. Yet to-day, after
all the years that have passed, there are few Indians from San Diego to
San Francisco who do not speak the language of the padres and follow,
though it may be but feebly, the teaching of the Catholic faith, the
“Santa Fe” of the padres.
Some of the mission buildings, many of the flocks, and much of the land
fell into the hands of men who had no possible right to them. Orchards
and vineyards were cut down, cattle killed and stolen, and there was
only ruin where a short time before there had been thousands of busy
people leading comfortable lives. Soon the churches were neglected
and began to crumble away, bats flew in and out of the broken arches,
squirrels chattered fearlessly in the padre’s dining room, and the only
human visitor was some sad-hearted Indian worshiper, slipping timidly
into the desolate building to kneel alone before the altar where once
Sweet strains from dusky neophytes
Rose up to God in praise,
When life centered ‘round the missions
In the happy golden days.