They jumped about so fast that very soon they had crushed every lump.
While the children were jumping, Massea was sitting on the ground near
by, chopping tules. He carried the chopped tules to where the children
were jumping.
“Stop jumping a minute while I throw these in. Then you can mix them
with the adobe,” said Massea.
“What are the broken tules for?” asked Docas.
“To make the bricks stick together better,” answered Massea.
While the children were mixing the tules into the adobe paste, the men
were busy, carrying piles of wooden moulds out from the Father’s house.
When the adobe was smooth, Father Joseph said, “Now watch me make the
first brick.” He filled a mould with the mixture of adobe, tule, and
water. “Now help me carry the mould to a smooth piece of ground,”
said Father Joseph to Docas.
[Illustration: And there was another brick.]
The mould had a bottom that slid out. Father Pena pulled the bottom out
from under it after they set it down. Then he raised the sides of the
mould, and the brick was left flat on the ground.
“What a nice brick!” said Alachu. She ran forward, and before any one
could stop her, she put her hand down and tried to lift the brick. It
was still soft, and her fingers made marks on it.
Father Joseph said, “You will have to wait until it dries.”
Docas had watched very closely. He went back to the hole and filled a
mould; then he and Heema brought it out to the smooth piece of ground.
They put it down near the first brick, pulled out the bottom and raised
the sides just as they had seen Father Joseph do. And there was another
brick.
Soon a great many Indians were at work making the bricks, and after a
little while there were rows and rows of bricks drying in the sun. They
were left lying flat until they were about two-thirds dry; then Docas
went around and turned them up on their edges.
GETTING THE TIMBERS
One day Heema jumped into the hut where Ama was sitting. “Where’s
Docas?” he asked.
“Out making bricks. What do you want of him?” answered Ama.
“We are going up into the mountains to get a big tree. Father Joseph
wants him to come and help drag it down.” Before Ama could answer him
he was off to find Docas.
Soon Father Joseph, Docas, Heema, and a great many other Indian men and
boys started off for the mountains where the redwood trees grow. They
took several oxen and several chains with them. The day before, Massea
and two other men had gone up to the hills to fell the trees.
About noon the party came to the place where Massea was. He had two
trees cut down, ready for them. They rested and ate some dried deer
meat. After that they fastened the oxen to one of the trees that Massea
had cut down; then they drove back to the Mission. The log dragged
along behind the oxen until it reached the Mission.
Massea had cut down two trees. There were no oxen left to drag the
second tree to the Mission, so Docas helped fasten some long chains to
the log. Then all the Indian men and boys took hold of the chains and
dragged the log down to the Mission themselves. It was not very hard
work, for there were almost a hundred Indians pulling.
Early the next day they began to chop at one of the logs with their
axes to make it square. When Massea saw that one side of it was flat he
said, “Stop.” Massea and the other men tried to roll the log over on
the other side, but it did not move at first.
“It is heavy,” said one of the men.
“Yes, but we must roll it over so that we can smooth the other side,”
said Massea.
They gave another big pull all together, and the log rolled over.
At last, instead of a rough log with bark on it, it was a smooth,
square piece of timber ready to use in building the church.
BUILDING THE CHURCH
After they had made many bricks, Father Joseph came to Massea and Docas
and said, “We can begin to build the church now.”
Alachu had been playing with some of the broken bricks. That night she
said to Docas, “I think you can’t build a very big church.”
“Why not?” asked Docas.
[Illustration: The day before, Massea and two men had gone to the hills
to fell the trees.]
“It will tumble down,” said Alachu. “I built up a brick wall that was
not any higher than I am, and it fell over while I went to get some
more bricks.”
“Oh, but we are going to make ours thick. Father Joseph told father
to-day that we should make the walls three feet thick. Besides, we
shall fasten the bricks together with mortar.”
“What’s mortar?” asked Alachu.
“Sticky stuff to keep the bricks together,” answered Docas.
Next morning they began to build the Mission church. Day after day
they worked. Massea and some of the men spread the mortar and laid the
bricks, while Docas and other men and boys made more bricks.
It took so many, many bricks!
When the side walls and the end walls were made, Father Joseph told
Massea to bring two of the square timbers, and set them up exactly in
the center of each of the end walls. It was hard work getting them in
place. Docas had to pull with all his might.
When they were putting up the timbers, Docas saw that Father Joseph
had had some of the Indians make a large notch in the upper end of
each. He wanted to ask what the notch was for, but he had asked so many
questions since he came to live at the Mission that he thought he would
wait and see.
As soon as the two posts were up, Father Joseph had the Indians lay a
long tree from one to the other in order to make the ridgepole. The
ridgepole lay snugly in the notch on top, so that it could not roll
off. But even with the notch, Father Joseph said the ridgepole would
not be steady enough. So he gave Docas some strings made of rawhide,
and told him to climb up the posts.
“What for?” asked Docas.
“To tie the ridgepole fast to the posts,” answered Father Joseph.
Docas had climbed many a tree when making storehouses for acorns, so
that it was easy for him to climb the posts. He sat on top of the
ridgepole after he had finished tying the posts together. Alachu was
watching him from below. He waved his hand to her, and she waved hers
back.
“I do hope Docas won’t fall,” said Alachu to Heema. Docas knew that
Alachu was a little frightened, so he thought, “I’ll show her what a
big boy like me can do.” He slipped out on the pole and swung himself
around on it until he was hanging by his knees. Then he pulled himself
up again on top of the pole.
Alachu called out, “Do be careful, Docas!”
“I’m all right. Don’t be scared,” he called back. Then he stood up
carefully and started to walk along the top of the ridgepole; but the
pole was round and slippery, and he slipped. He would have fallen to
the ground, but he caught hold of the ridgepole with one hand. He drew
himself up again. Then he crawled back to the nearest post, slid down,
and climbed off the wall to the ground.
Meanwhile, some of the Indians had been making curved tiles for the
roof. The tiles were made of the same adobe mud as the bricks, but were
baked in fires instead of being dried by the sun.
Alachu looked up at the ridgepole, then she looked at the tiles.
“They’ll not reach from the ridgepole to the wall. They will fall
through,” said she.
“Not when we get ready to put them on,” said Docas.
Massea had brought down from the mountains a great many smaller trees.
The Indians pulled the bark from these, and laid them in rows from
the ridgepole to the outer wall. Across these Massea and Docas wove a
network of twigs just as they did when they made the storehouse. They
tied all these trees tightly to the ridgepole so that nothing could
slip.
“There,” said Docas to Alachu, “do you think the tiles will fall
through now when we lay them on top of that?”
So, after much work, the big church was built. The floor was covered
with large, square bricks, the pictures were hung, the candles were put
up. The images of the saints were placed around the walls. Near the
front was a beautiful banner on which was a picture of the Mother of
Jesus.
Docas was happy, for he was no longer afraid that their lovely things
would get spoiled by the rain.
VISIT OF FATHER SERRA
By the time the church was built, Docas could sing very well. One day
Father Pena gave him a new hymn to learn.
“It is very hard, Father,” said Docas.
“Yes, but it is very beautiful, and I want you to be able to sing it
when Father Junipero Serra visits us,” said Father Pena.
“I would do anything for Father Serra,” answered Docas. “He loves us
so.”
So every day after that for several weeks Docas practised his new hymn
until he knew it perfectly. Yisoo learned it also.
“Father Serra will be pleased,” said Father Pena, one day when Docas
had sung the hymn very well.
Sometimes, when Docas was tired of singing, Father Pena told him
stories of Father Serra. Once he told Docas how Father Serra had walked
hundreds of miles to start the Missions.
One morning soon after they were in school, Massea, who had been out in
the fields, came hurrying up to the schoolroom.
“Father Serra is coming!” he called out. Father Pena dismissed the
school, and went out to meet Father Serra. They were very glad to see
each other, for they had not met for a long time.
Father Pena took Father Serra all over the Mission. He showed him the
fields and gardens, and the Indian village a little way from the church.
Father Serra said, “I am pleased to see how well you are getting
started.”
This was his first visit to the Mission Santa Clara since the new
church was built.
The next day was Sunday. Docas was excited, because Father Serra was to
say the mass, and he was to sing his new hymn.
The church was full, for the white people who had just come to live at
San José, about three miles away, had come to church, too. By this time
most of the Indians knew when to kneel and when to make the sign of the
cross, but Massea stood in the aisle with a long stick. It was his duty
to watch the other Indians. If one of them forgot to kneel down at the
right time Massea poked him with the end of the stick.
After the mass, Father Serra preached; then Docas and Yisoo sang their
hymn. After they had sung each verse, they waited for the people to
sing it over after them.
When the service was over, Docas, Yisoo, and all the other Indians who
had learned to play, took their violins and walked toward Father Pena’s
house, playing dance music all the way. Father Pena and Father Serra
walked along with them.
As they reached Father Pena’s house, Father Serra happened to notice
Docas. He turned and said to him, “Love God, my son.”
Docas answered, “Love God, Father.”
Father Serra then said, “Are you not one of the two boys who sang in
church?”
“Yes, Father,” answered Docas.
“You have studied well; I am pleased with you,” said the Father.
Father Serra stayed until next morning, and then he went to San
Francisco.
VISIT OF CAPTAIN VANCOUVER
By and by Docas grew to be a man, and had children of his own.
One day, as he was going home to dinner, he saw some white men ride up
to the Father’s house. He said to them, “Welcome. I will go and speak
to the Father.” He called Father Pena, who came out at once and asked
the men to come into the house. He told Docas to take the horses to the
stable.
The strangers told the Father that they had come to California to see
what new lands they could find and to trade a little. They were the
officers of a ship that was anchored in the bay near the Mission at San
Francisco.
The common sailors were getting more wood and water for their ship, so
the officers had been given horses by the Fathers of the Mission at San
Francisco and had come down to visit the Santa Clara Mission. The name
of the leader was Captain Vancouver.
Father Pena and Father Diego, who had taken the place of Father Joseph,
said they were glad to see them and that the next day would be a
holiday at the Mission. The Fathers told the Indians that they might
have a feast then.
[Illustration: Docas lived in a ’dobe house.]
Docas’s little boy, who was called Oshda, always went to Father
Pena’s house at meal time to help wait at table. Several other Indian
boys went also.
Next morning, when Father Pena was eating breakfast with Captain
Vancouver, Father Pena said, “Now we’ll have some fun.”
He called Oshda to him and told him to bring in a plate of pancakes.
Oshda smiled, for he knew what was coming. He almost ran as he went to
get the cakes.
Oshda brought the plate of cakes and put it down by Father Pena. Father
Pena then said, “Get into line.”
Quickly all the Indian boys placed themselves in a row on the other
side of the room.
Father Pena took up a cake in his hand. He said something funny to
Captain Vancouver. Oshda laughed, and the moment Father Pena saw Oshda
open his mouth to laugh, he threw the cake into Oshda’s mouth. Oshda
had to stop laughing, for his mouth was full of hot pancake.
He ate it as fast as he could, and then he was ready for another one.
Father Pena kept throwing the cakes to the different boys, until no
more cakes were left.
Docas went to the Father’s house just before breakfast. He said to
Captain Vancouver, “Some of the soldiers are going to catch and kill
some cattle for the feast. Would you not like to go out and watch?”
Captain Vancouver said he would, so Docas went to the stable and
saddled some of the Mission horses for them, and one for himself also.
They all rode together a few miles out from the Mission, where the
cattle were feeding. The soldiers rode along with them.
The cattle were very large and would not let anybody come near them.
Each of the soldiers had a long rope made of horsehair, with a noose
at the end. He twisted one end of the line around the pommel of his
saddle. The other end with the noose he swung round and round his head.
This they called a lasso.
The soldiers decided which one of the cattle they would catch first,
and then several of them galloped toward the animal. When they got
close enough, they all threw their lassos at the same time. One of the
men caught his line around the horns of the animal, another caught its
hind leg, and another its fore leg.
The horses on which the soldiers were riding stopped short, and the
animal was thrown to the ground, for the ropes held him tight so that
he could not move. Then another man went up to him and killed him.
Twenty-two of the cattle were caught and killed in this way before
Docas said it was time to go home.
“We shall have a great feast to-day,” said Docas.
After the feast was over, the Indians danced and played games. The
visitors again came out to watch them have a play fight.
They made Massea their chief and pretended that a large bundle of straw
was the enemy. Oshda and the other boys and men got their bows and
arrows. They jumped and danced around the bundle of straw, swinging
their arms and yelling. Massea at last gave them a sign, and the
Indians all shot their arrows at the straw bundle. Then they yelled
louder than ever, for they were pretending that they had beaten the
enemy.
Some of them put Massea on their shoulders, and others danced around
him. They carried him up in front of the Fathers and the visitors who
were watching; then they carried him back to the Indian village.
When it was time for evening service they stopped their games until
after service and supper were over. In the evening they had a dance.
After the visitors had stayed a day or two longer, they rode back to
San Francisco.
PREPARING HIDES AND TALLOW
As Oshda grew older, he learned to throw the lasso. By the time he was
grown he could lasso almost any of the cattle, no matter how fast his
horse or the cattle were going.
He took the skin off every animal he killed and cut holes around the
edge. Then he put stakes through the holes, drove the stakes into the
ground as far apart as the skin would stretch, and left the skin to
dry. Sometimes there were large places in the hills near the Mission,
where the skins were laid so close together you could not see the
ground.
Every time Oshda killed one of the cattle, he built a fire, hung some
big iron kettles over it, and threw the fat parts of the cattle into
these. Soon the kettles were full of boiling grease.
Docas had two more children besides Oshda,--a boy named Pantu and a
little girl named Colla. Pantu and Colla liked to go with Oshda when
he melted the fat. Oshda always said, though, that if they went with
him they must work. There were many things they could do to help. They
could bring wood and build the fire, and they could keep it going after
it was built.
[Illustration: Oshda]
When the fire was built, and the fat meat was sizzling in the kettles,
Oshda went off a little way and dug a hole in the black adobe. Then
he said to Pantu, “Run and get me some clay from the clay bank.” The
clay was wet and sticky. When Pantu brought it, it stuck to his fingers
until his hands looked as if he had been making bricks.
Oshda took the clay and plastered the sides and bottom of the hole he
had dug, smoothing them off until they were shiny. Docas came up just
then with some long sticks.
Docas stuck one of the sticks in the middle of the hole.
Oshda then said to the children, “Make some more holes just like this
one and stick the rest of the sticks up in them.”
After the fire had burned for a long time and the grease was cooked out
of the fat meat, Oshda and Docas took one of the kettles off the fire.
They brought it over by the edge of the first hole and tipped it on its
side. Pantu and Colla wanted to see what was going on, so they crowded
up close.
“Look out! The grease is very hot. It will burn you if you are not
careful,” said Docas. So Pantu and Colla stepped back.
Then Docas and Oshda began to pour the hot grease into the hole. They
poured until the hole was full; then they carried the kettle on to the
next hole.
“What are you pouring the grease out on the ground for?” asked Pantu.
“So that it may get hard and we shall have a cake of tallow to sell,”
answered Docas.
Next morning Pantu and Colla woke up very early. As soon as breakfast
was over, they ran out to look at the grease in the holes. Pantu could
run faster than Colla, so he got there first.
“Somebody has taken out the grease and put in some white stuff,” he
said.
Colla took up a long stick. She stood off a little way and poked the
white stuff with one end of the stick.
“It doesn’t move. It’s hard,” she said. She poked harder, but still
nothing happened. Then Colla went close to the hole, stretched out her
arm, and touched the white stuff with the tip of her finger. “It feels
greasy anyway, if it doesn’t look like grease,” said she.
Pantu came up also and touched it. “It’s cold, too. Perhaps it is the
grease and the cold has made it like this. You know Oshda said the
grease would harden,” he said.
After a little, Docas and Oshda came along.
“Come, see how hard our grease is,” said Pantu.
“Yes, it is ready to put into the cart,” said Oshda.
[Illustration: Then Colla went close to the hole.]
Oshda took hold of the upper end of the stick and gave a big pull. The
cake of tallow came out of the hole with a jerk. Docas took hold of
the other end of the stick on the other side of the cake of tallow, and
between them they carried it away to the cart.
MAKING THE OX-CART
Once Father Catala came out where Docas and Oshda were working. They
were gathering up some hides and doubling them up with the hair inside.
Father Catala was in charge of the Mission now, for Father Pena was
dead.
Father Catala said to Docas, “We must get our hides and tallow over to
Monterey. We want them to be ready for the next ship that comes to the
coast to trade. Will you not begin to haul them within the next few
days?”
“Yes, Father,” said Docas. “But the cart I have been using has such a
big axle hole in the wheel that I can hardly use it. The axle has worn
the hole very large.”
“Make some new wheels, and take some of the men and begin hauling the
hides. We must have them down there by the time the ship comes.”
Docas told Oshda to make the wheels, so Oshda went back to his house
and got an axe. He lived in an adobe house now. It had two rooms
below and a garret above, and a garden fenced in behind where he kept
chickens.
“Where are you going and what are you going to do?” asked Pantu, his
little brother.
“I am going to cut down an oak tree to make some new wheels for the
cart. Do you want to come along?”
Of course Pantu wanted to come along, and he was soon skipping by
Oshda’s side. Oshda took such long steps that Pantu had to run part of
the time to keep up with him.
They had to walk quite a distance from the Mission before they found a
tree that they liked. It was about two feet through.
Oshda began chopping at the tree, while Pantu played about among the
trees near by. Pantu played that he was a woodpecker and pecked away at
the trunks of the trees. After he had pecked awhile, he stooped down,
picked up an acorn, and stuck it into a little crack in the back of the
oak tree. He pressed it in hard, so that it had to stick. So he ran
from tree to tree.
After a while Oshda had chopped his tree almost through. At last the
tree began to tremble and crack. He stepped back to see which way it
was going.
As he did so he saw Pantu make a sudden dart across where the tree was
going to fall. Pantu was not looking where he was going.
“Look out, Pantu!” Oshda called.
Pantu looked up and saw the tree falling toward him, so he started
to run faster, but it was too late. The tree came down on top of him,
knocking him to the ground. He was far enough from where the tree grew
so that the trunk did not fall on him. But one of the branches hit him
on the head and knocked him down, while another scratched the skin off
his knee.
He jumped up as soon as he could, for he knew Oshda would be
frightened. Even when he was standing up, Oshda could not see him
because the tree had so many branches on it, so he had to climb out
from among the leaves and broken twigs. His head ached and he felt like
crying, but he knew that Indian boys never cry.
When Oshda saw that Pantu was not badly hurt, he began to chop up his
tree. He found a place where the trunk was smooth and round; he chopped
off two sections, each about a foot wide. He smoothed them off and made
a hole through the centre. So his wheel was really just a slice across
the tree with a hole in the centre for the axle. Oshda spent several
days making the wheel, and Pantu went out with him every day.
“There, Pantu, you may roll one of the new wheels home,” said Oshda at
last.
Oshda lifted the wheel up on its edge, and Pantu began to roll it along
down the hills. Soon he grew careless, and the wheel slipped and fell
down flat, hitting one of his toes. It was heavy and hurt him.
“Ouch!” said Pantu. Then he stopped short.
“You careless boy,” said Oshda. “First you run under a falling tree and
almost get killed. Then you let your wheel fall down on your toes. You
must be more careful.”
“I’ll try,” said Pantu, hopping about on one foot and holding the hurt
one in his hand.
So Oshda tipped the wheel up on its edge again, and this time Pantu was
very careful and rolled it safely home without letting it slip.
Their father, Docas, met them as they came home. It was almost supper
time, and he had come out to see if they were near. He looked at the
bump on Pantu’s head, at his skinned knee, and at his bruised toes. He
knew that Pantu had not been paying attention to what he was about.
Pantu looked up at his father. Docas looked gravely at him, so Pantu
hung his head a little and limped into the house.
Then Docas looked at Oshda and smiled. “He’ll learn not to be so
careless by the time he gets a few more bumps,” said Oshda, smiling.
SHIPPING THE HIDES AND TALLOW
Next morning Oshda put his new wheels on the old cart. He then got two
oxen and brought them in front of the cart. He put a strong, heavy
piece of wood across just behind the horns of the oxen and fastened it
to their horns with rawhide. Then he hitched this wooden yoke to the
cart, piled the cart full of skins, and they were ready to go.
Pantu said, “Oh, father, may I go too? I could attend to the soap-suds.”
“Yes, you may go,” said Docas.
Oshda brought out a pail of very thick soap-suds and set it down in the
corner of the cart. He also put in some soap to make more suds when
that was gone.
At last they started. Oshda and Docas walked along by the side of the
oxen, and poked them with sharp sticks to make them go. Pantu sat up in
front of the load of dry hides. As they started out, the cart jolted,
the dry hides crackled, and the axle squeaked. It made such a noise
that Father Catala, who was in the field half a mile away, heard them
coming.
When they came up to him, he said, “You had better put some more
soap-suds in the axle holes. I heard the squeaking when you first
started out.” So Pantu poured some more soap-suds on the axle.
A number of other carts were going along filled also with hides and
with tallow. Docas was in charge of the whole party. They travelled all
day and camped at night, and by the evening of the third day they were
at Monterey.
They camped just outside of Monterey, and on the next day they went up
into the town. They were wandering around, when suddenly they heard the
cry of “Sail ho!” In a few seconds every one was calling “Sail ho!” and
running down to the beach.
Pantu stood on the beach. It was evening, and the sun was down near the
water. After a few moments he saw a little white spot far out on the
water. Docas said it was the sails of the ship. There was a blazing
path from the sun to the shore, so that Pantu had to shade his eyes,
and even then he could not look long at the glowing water. But all of a
sudden the sun seemed to sink into the water, and the glow faded.
“Oh, father!” called Pantu to Docas, “the sun has dropped into the
ocean and the water has put it out.”
“Don’t be afraid. It will come up again as bright and hot as ever
to-morrow morning,” said Docas.
Little by little the ship came nearer. Pantu stood watching it until
it grew so dark that he could no longer see even the white gleam of the
sails. Docas and Oshda had been gone a long time. But still he stayed
down at the beach, although it was long past supper time.
“Come, Pantu, you must come home,” he heard Oshda saying at last.
“But I want to see the big ship come up on the beach,” said Pantu.
Oshda laughed. Then he said, “It will not come anywhere near the shore.”
Pantu said, “How can we get the heavy hides and tallow into the ship if
it stays away off there?”
“It can’t come nearer. The water is not deep enough. But they will send
some little boats ashore in the morning. We shall load the hides into
them, and they will carry them out to the ship,” answered Oshda.
In the morning, Pantu was down on the beach very early. Soon he saw a
boat leave the ship and come toward the shore. When a big wave came
rolling up, the men in the boat rowed very hard. The wave brought them
high up on the beach, then, as it began to run back again, the men
jumped out into the water, seized the boat, and kept it from being
washed back into the bay again. They fastened it so that no wave could
wash it away; then they began to load the hides.
[Illustration: Docas and Oshda brought the hides and tallow down to the
beach in the ox-carts.]
Docas and Oshda brought the hides and tallow down to the beach in the
ox-carts.
All the sailors had on thick woollen caps. Pantu wondered why they wore
that kind of cap, until he saw how they carried the hides.
A man came up on the dry sand where Docas and Oshda had piled the
hides. He took up a hide and put it on his head. He waded out through
the water, put the hide into the boat, and came back for another.
Soon all the men in the boat, except the two that held it from being
tipped over, were running back and forth, carrying hides. The men had
to be very careful not to get the hides wet, for they would spoil if
they became damp. The sharp stones cut the men’s feet, but shoes could
not be worn because the salt water would soon spoil them.
After the boat was loaded, the man who steered stood up in the stern.
Two of the men got into the boat and took their oars ready to row. Two
other men stood by the side of the boat to push it out when the time
came. They waited until a big wave floated the boat; then the man who
was steering said, “Now!”
The men outside seized hold of the boat, and ran out with it until the
water was above their waists. Then they tumbled over into the boat and
lay in the bottom, dripping wet.
The men at the oars pulled as hard as they could, but it was of no use.
A bigger wave came and swept the boat up high on the beach.
The two men jumped out and turned the boat around so that its end
pointed out to sea, and waited to try again. When a large wave came,
they again ran out with the boat, and tumbled in after they got to deep
water.
But the big waves came so close together that the boat was tossed up
and down in the air. Sometimes a big breaker would roll out from under
the boat, and let it drop on the water so hard that it seemed as if
the bottom would be broken in. Finally, a big curling wave came. The
boat was washed around sideways. The swell tipped the boat up, and then
partly broke over it.
In a moment more, the boat was upset, and hides, men and oars were
mixed up in the foaming water. They were all washed up high on the sand
a second time. But now these hides were wet, so they must be stretched
out in the sun to dry, and the boat must be loaded with some other
hides and tallow.
The third time the men said: “We shall succeed this time. The seventh
big wave is the last of the big ones for a while. We will wait for it.”
So they waited until six big waves had gone by. When the seventh came,
a quick run and a hard pull carried them beyond the reach of the
breakers, and they were safe.
“Do they always have such hard times getting off?” asked Pantu of a
white man standing near.
“No,” said the man; “the waves are unusually high to-day.”
TRADING ON THE SHIP
After the hides and tallow had been sent up to the ship, the captain
said that the people could come aboard and trade.
The Father from the Carmel Mission near Monterey said he was going
to visit the ship. He took some of his own Mission Indians with him.
Docas, Oshda, and Pantu went along also to trade for their Mission.
The sailors took them out in one of the boats. As the Father went on
board the ship, the captain gave orders to fire the big guns of the
ship as a salute to him; then the sailors showed the visitors all over
the ship. Pantu was much interested. He thought, “If only we Indians
could have boats and ships to sail about in instead of just tule-boats!”
[Illustration: As the Father went on board the ship, the captain gave
orders to fire the big guns as a salute to him.]
At last the captain took them down into the trading-room. All around it
were shelves, on which the goods were laid out. Father Catala had told
Docas to bring a great many shoes and axes for the Mission, so he
bought those first. Then the captain said, “You brought so many hides
you can still have some more things.”
At first, Docas did not know what to take. There were so many new and
beautiful things spread out before him. Soon he saw a round, flat,
thick thing, about as big as a cake of tallow, with a hole through the
middle of it.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a grindstone to sharpen your axes with,” answered the captain.
He showed Docas how to put a sharp edge on the axe with the grindstone,
so Docas said he would take two of them. Docas also got some beads and
a toothbrush for Pantu.
After the Father had finished his trading, they all got into the boat
again, and the sailors started to row them back to the shore. When they
were a little way from the ship, the sailors stopped rowing and rested,
while the men on the ship fired a parting salute to the Mission Father.
All this time Pantu had been holding his toothbrush tightly in one
hand. He was so happy to think that he was going to brush his teeth
just as the little white boys did. As soon as they got to land, he
jumped out and ran to the creek. He dipped the brush into the water,
and he rubbed and rubbed his teeth with it. He rubbed so hard that the
blood came.
“It isn’t so much fun as I thought it would be,” he said to himself.
On the next day they started for home, and Pantu had many things to
tell Colla.
LEAVING THE MISSION
Bumpty-bump went the ox-cart as it rolled along on the wheels that had
not been smoothed off perfectly round.
Creakity-creak went the dry axles, saying as plainly as they could, “We
want some more soap-suds. We want some more soap-suds.”
Wobblety-jerk went the head of a small Indian girl who sat in the cart
on some skin sacks filled with grain. With her were an old man and a
boy a little older than herself. Finally her head gave an extra big
jerk and hit against one of the posts at the side.
“Just like a girl to fall asleep and then bump her head,” said the boy.
He straightened himself up and drew an old woollen cloth around his
shoulders in imitation of the cloak worn by a Spanish gentleman who
passed them on horseback just then.
The Spanish gentleman was Don Secundini Robles, who for years had been
superintendent of the Santa Clara Mission. The old man in the cart was
Docas, and the boy and girl were his grandchildren. Their parents were
Oshda and his wife Putsha. The girl’s name was Yappa, and the boy’s
was Shecol. Don Secundini had bought a large ranch about sixteen miles
north of the Mission and was going there to live. Docas and his family
were going to live with him and be his servants.
“I’m so tired riding in this old ox-cart,” said Yappa at last.
“You would be more tired if you had to walk all the way, as I did sixty
years ago when we went to the Mission to live,” said Docas.
“Why didn’t you ride?” asked Yappa.
“We had never seen an ox-cart then,” answered Docas.
“Tell us about the time when you were young, grandpa,” said Shecol.
So Docas began and told them stories about the life at the old
rancheria, and the fight with the Indians from the other rancheria. He
told how they were saved by Father Pena from torture and how they went
to live at the Mission. Then, he told them about the building of the
big church, about the planting of the grainfields and orchards, about
the thousands and thousands of cattle and horses that belonged to the
Mission, and about the hundreds of Indians who lived under the care of
the good Fathers. “Our Mission is not now what it used to be,” said
Docas, sadly.
[Illustration: With her were an old man and a little boy.]
“What happened to the Mission?” Yappa asked.
“The Mexican government took away the lands and then the Indians left.
Some have gone back to live at the old rancherias, and some, like
ourselves, are going to live with rich Spaniards,” answered Docas.
Just then the cart stopped, and they all got out at their new home.
“Aren’t you glad the house is not built yet?” Shecol asked Yappa. “We
shall have to camp out all the summer and we can play we are wild
Indians again.”
So the children trapped fish and gathered acorns for bread just as
their grandfather told them he used to do. Docas was too old to work
much, but their father and older brother, Occano, helped Don Secundini
build the big adobe house near which Docas was to spend the rest of his
life.
PART III
WHEN DOCAS LIVED WITH DON SECUNDINI ROBLES
PART III
WHEN DOCAS LIVED WITH DON SECUNDINI ROBLES
WASH-DAY
“We must soap the ox-cart well to-night, Occano,” said Oshda to his
oldest son.
“What does the Señor Robles want us to do to-morrow?” asked Occano.
“It is not the Señor that wants us to-morrow. It is the Señora. Now
that the sun has come again, we are all going to start for the creek
very early in the morning to have a wash-day,” said Oshda.
Next morning, before it was daylight, the oxen were yoked to the cart,
and lunch was stowed away inside. Then Donna Maria, as they called the
Señora Robles, climbed into the cart with her five children. Oshda and
Occano walked by the side of the oxen.
There were five horses with soiled clothes piled up high on their
backs, led by Pantu and other of the Indian menservants. Putsha,
Colla, and other Indian women who were going to wash the clothes
walked along by the side of the horses. Shecol and Yappa went too.
Before it was light, as they went slowly along, they heard the howling
of the coyotes and other wild animals. The Spanish children crept
closer to Donna Maria then, while Shecol and Yappa held on to Putsha’s
skirts as they walked along.
As it grew light and the animals stopped howling, Donna Maria let the
children get down from the cart and run along picking flowers with
Shecol and Yappa. Such fun as they had climbing up the hillsides,
gathering whole handfuls of the first shooting-stars and buttercups!
Once they all tried to run down a steep hill to see which one would be
the first to get to a stray poppy that had blossomed earlier than the
others. Shecol was ahead, but just as he reached the poppy, he caught
his foot in a gopher hole and fell. The oldest Spanish boy was close
behind, and he fell over Shecol. Yappa fell on top of him. The four
other children were coming so fast that they could not stop, so they
were all piled in a heap.
[Illustration: Colla, Putsha, and the other women put soap on the
clothes; then they dipped them into the creek.]
They got on their feet again as soon as they could, and Yappa said,
“Shecol and the poppy must be crushed entirely.” But when Shecol could
be seen again they found that he was laughing, and that he had
happened to throw his arm around the poppy, so that it was not hurt.
Just then they heard Donna Maria’s voice calling, “Come, children. You
will get left behind,” so they started off again on a run to catch up
with the cart. Shecol gave the poppy to Yappa to carry; then he turned
somersaults all the way down to the foot of the hill.
When they got to the cart, they filled Donna Maria’s lap with flowers.
The smaller children were tired, so they sat in the back of the cart,
with their feet hanging over behind.
The children all liked to have the wash-day come, for it was like one
big picnic for them.
By and by they came to the creek. The men took the loads off the horses
and unyoked the oxen. Then they turned them all loose to graze on the
wild oats. The children helped the women carry the baskets of soiled
clothes down to the rocks.
Colla, Putsha, and the other women put soap on the clothes. Then they
dipped them into the creek and rubbed them on the rocks in the creek
bed. This made the clothes very white, for the wash-water was always
clean and fresh.
By noon the clothes were all washed, and the children had spread them
out on the tops of the bushes to dry. Then came lunch. “How good
everything tastes!” said Yappa. “We are so hungry.”
In the afternoon they all rested and played. By evening the clothes
were dry, and everything was made ready to start for home again.
The Spanish children were all tired, so they crowded down near their
mother in the cart. There was a little room left in the cart, and they
begged that Shecol and Yappa might come in with them instead of walking
all the way home. Donna Maria said “Yes,” so Shecol and Yappa nestled
down in a corner of the cart.
Yappa was sleepy, and she leaned her head against Shecol’s shoulder.
As the sun went down, the Indians began to sing “Kyrie Eleison.” She
whispered to Shecol, “That’s the song grandpa sang when he was a little
boy, and Father Serra visited the Mission.”
“Yes,” said Shecol.
The cart jolted along. The Indians kept on singing. A red moon came up
over the mountains. A flock of wild ducks whizzed by just over their
heads. The frogs began to croak in the little ponds near the road, and
the crickets began to sing in the long grass.
Yappa fell asleep and dreamed that she was a little cricket and that
she was trying to learn to sing “Kyrie Eleison,” but that it was such
hard work, because, every time she tried to sing, all she could say
was “Katy Do.” She felt very badly, for she dreamed that Father Serra
was coming toward her and that he wanted to hear her sing.
Soon she thought that Father Serra stood before her, and said, “I am
Father Serra. Will you sing for me?”
She answered, “I will try, Father,” and began. But all she could say
was “Katy Do,” so she stopped.
“I am so sorry, Father, I tried to sing ‘Kyrie Eleison,’” she said.
“You have done well, dear girl,” said the Father. “You sang your own
song the best you could.” Then he smiled at her and put his arm round
her.
She woke up just then and found that they were at home, and that her
father Oshda had her in his arms and was smiling down at her as he
carried her into the house.
THE CASCARONE BALL
“The old white hen has stolen her nest, and Donna Maria says we must go
and hunt for the eggs this morning,” said Shecol to Yappa one day.
“All right,” said Yappa. “But why doesn’t Donna Maria let that hen have
some little chickens? We have brought her so many eggs lately.”
“Don’t you know why Donna Maria wants so many eggs these days?” asked
Shecol.
“No,” said Yappa.
“Why, we are going to have a cascarone ball here next week,” said
Shecol.
“Oh, goody!” said Yappa, clapping her hands.
They started off on a run and hunted everywhere for the nests,--down
under the bushes, around the sheds, and out in the garden. At last,
when they had given up in despair and were running home through the
orchard, the old white hen jumped up with a startled cackle. She was
almost under their feet.
“Be careful, Yappa. You will step on the nest,” said Shecol.
The children stopped short and began to peep about in the long grass.
Soon they saw a little hollow with eleven eggs in it. Shecol had
brought a basket with him, and they put the eggs into that and then
carried them back carefully to the house.
That evening the Indians all gathered at Oshda’s house. Putsha brought
out a basket filled with eggs. Putsha took one and said, “Watch me,
Shecol and Yappa, so that you can do it, too.”
She made a hole in each end of the egg; then she put her mouth to one
hole and blew all the inside part of the egg out into a dish.
While Putsha was blowing the egg, Colla ran up to the Robles’ house.
Soon she came back carrying a large bowl of perfumed water in her
hands. Putsha put the eggshell into the bowl, and the perfumed water
ran into the shell through the holes in the ends. When it was partly
full, Putsha lifted the egg out and dropped some melted wax on each
of the holes in the ends. In a few minutes the wax hardened, and
Yappa held in her hand what seemed to be an egg. But it was really an
eggshell half filled with perfumed water.
“Won’t the people smell sweet when they get these eggs broken on their
heads!” said Yappa.
Putsha, Colla, and the children worked hard that evening before they
had all the eggs blown and filled.
The next night Putsha brought out another basket of eggs, but instead
of perfumed water to fill them with, Donna Maria sent a basket of gold
and silver paper, cut into tiny bits. The paper was a brittle, crackly
kind that glistened in the light. Some of these eggs they colored red,
some blue, some red and yellow, and some were spotted.
After the eggs were ready, the cooking began, and for two or three days
the Indian women were busy at that. The Robles had invited all their
friends from San José, and from all the country around. They knew that
their guests would be very hungry after riding so far.
[Illustration: “Let’s go to meet them.”]
The ball was to be on Wednesday evening, Wednesday morning Shecol heard
a great noise of shouting and laughing toward the south.
“They’re coming, Yappa. Let’s go to meet them,” he called.
When the children had run out a little way, they could see some people
coming--about twenty-five in the party. These were the Spanish guests
and their Indian servants. They were having great fun, for the men were
fine riders. They could bend down from their saddles and pick flowers
from the ground as they galloped past.
“I wonder what they are doing when they ride up against each other,”
said Yappa. As they came nearer she saw that they were smearing each
other’s faces with bright colors. Such looking people as they were! But
as that was all part of the fun, no one cared.
The Robles family took their friends inside the house to wash their
faces, while some of the Indian servants came to where Oshda lived.
“Oh, grandpa, here’s Yisoo’s son,” called Yappa to Docas as one of the
Indians stopped at their door.
Yappa could not stay to listen to what they said, for she had to hurry
and help her mother with supper. The long tables were set out in an
arbor near the house.
In the evening came the ball, for which the largest room in the house
had been cleared. Yappa and Shecol climbed up outside one of the
windows where they could see everything that went on.
As soon as the people began to gather, came the fun of smashing the
eggs on each other’s heads. Don Secundini Robles was standing in the
crowd talking to one of his friends from San José, when Donna Maria
came up behind him and smashed an eggshell filled with perfumed water
on his head. Then she jumped back among the crowd before he could turn
round to see who did it.
Every one laughed, for the scented water was running down all over his
face and dripping off the end of his nose. Soon the guests looked as if
they had silver and gold hair, so many of the paper cascarones had been
broken on their heads.
By and by all the eggs were gone. Donna Maria saw Shecol sitting in the
window.
“Run and get some napkins and some water,” she called to him.
“Come, Yappa,” he said, jumping down from the window and holding up his
arms to help his sister. They ran to the kitchen and came back loaded.
Putsha helped them carry in the pails of water.
As soon as the guests inside saw the water, they gave a shout. They
dipped the napkins in the water and began to slap each other with the
wet napkins.
Antonio, one of the men, slipped out and came back with a glass
tumbler, and after that when any one slapped him with a napkin he
threw a tumbler of water at him. By and by he threw a tumbler of water
squarely in the face of Pedro. Pedro seized the bucket of water and
threw the whole of it over Antonio. Everybody in the room laughed at
Pedro and Antonio, and the water-throwing stopped.
By this time every one was tired, so they rested a little. Then the
musicians started to play, and the real dance began.
Putsha and Shecol and Yappa went to bed soon after the dancing began,
but the Spaniards danced until morning.
THE SHEEP-SHEARING
“How hot I am!” said Shecol to Yappa, taking off his big hat and
fanning himself with it.
“What have you been doing?” asked Yappa.
“Driving the sheep into the pens,” said Shecol. “The shearing begins
to-morrow.”
“I should think the sheep would be glad to get rid of their wool these
warm days,” said Yappa, who was grinding corn.
“You had better hurry up with your tortillas. The shearers will be
here in a little while. They have just finished shearing the sheep at
the San Francisquito ranch,” said Shecol.
Soon the band of shearers came, and shortly after they arrived, supper
was served to them under the spreading grape vines a little way from
the house.
Yisoo’s son, Kole, was captain of the band of twenty shearers. It was
made up of Indians from the old Santa Clara Mission.
As soon as supper was over, the shearers went down to the creek and
came back with their arms filled with willow boughs, which Kole had
them make into a number of brush huts. They slept in these while they
were at the Robles ranch.
Oshda, Occano, and Pantu had been out for two days gathering together
the sheep belonging to the Robles, and now there were five thousand
sheep waiting in the pens, wondering what was going to happen to them.
A big shed had been built for the shearers to stand under while they
worked.
Long before the shearers were up, Shecol was sitting on the fence and
looking at the sheep.
“Where are you going to put the wool when it is cut off the sheep?” he
asked his father, as Oshda came toward the pens.
“The men will toss the fleeces up to me, and I shall throw them down
into this big bag. When the bag gets pretty well filled, I shall have
to jump up and down on the fleeces so that we can get as many into the
bag as possible,” answered Oshda. He climbed up one of the posts of
the shed and stood ready for work by a large bag that was hanging in a
frame at the edge of the roof.
In a few minutes more the shearers came and the work began. Pantu stood
by a table, and every time a shearer brought a fleece to the table,
Pantu gave him a five-cent piece.
Soon Yappa came out also to watch the shearing, but as hour after hour
went by, the sun rose higher and higher, and the air grew hot and was
filled with dust. By and by Yappa said, “I’m tired of watching them,
Shecol. Let’s go and build a brush hut for ourselves with some of the
willow branches that were left over from the shearers’ huts.”
“All right,” said Shecol. “We’ll play that we are wild Indians living
out on a rancheria as grandpa used to do.”
In a little while the hut was built.
“Now I’m going to make a mat out of some of those tules you brought
from the bay yesterday,” said Yappa.
“I’ll go out hunting, while you make the mats,” said Shecol, tying some
string to a willow stick to make a bow to play with.
[Illustration: Shecol lifted the lamb carefully in his arms and carried
it toward the hut.]
But just then Putsha called, “Come, Yappa, you must help me with the
tortillas,” and their play was broken up.
After dinner, Shecol and Yappa went down to the shearing place again to
see what was going on. As they came near, Oshda said, “Do you want a
lamb?”
“Yes,” shouted Shecol and Yappa in the same breath. “Where is it?”
“Out at the end of the shed. Its leg is broken, and you may have it if
you will take care of it.”
But they scarcely heard the last words he said, they were running so
fast for the lamb.
“Poor little lamb!” said Yappa, as they bent over it.
“We’ll bind up its leg first,” said Shecol, getting some sticks for
splints. He pulled some string out of his pocket and bound the splints
on as well as he could.
“Now we’ll put it into the hut we made,” said Yappa.
Shecol lifted the lamb carefully in his arms and carried it toward the
hut.
“Be careful. You are hurting it,” said Yappa. She placed her hand under
the lamb, and put the wounded leg, which was hanging down, up in its
proper place.
“I’ll run ahead,” said Yappa, “and get a pile of soft tule rushes ready
for you to put it down on.”
In a few minutes more the lamb was lying on the rushes in the cool
shade of the willow boughs.
“We must bring it some water,” said Shecol.
“Yes, and let’s name it Yisoo, after grandpa’s friend,” said Yappa.
The shearers stayed several days longer, but the children did not watch
them any more, for they were taking care of their pet lamb.
THE BARBECUE
“Where’s father?” asked Yappa of her mother one afternoon.
“Gone off with Don Secundini to dig the pits for the barbecue,”
answered Putsha.
“And where’s Shecol?”
“He has gone with them,” said Putsha. “But we must go to work, for we
have bread to make and corn to get ready for tortillas to-day. The corn
is all ready for you to grind. It has been soaked in the limewater.
Begin to grind it while I build a fire in the oven.”
Yappa went over to what the Mexicans called a metate, and sitting
down on the ground began to grind the corn. The metate was a big,
smooth stone with two legs on one end of it. The legs made it stand up
slanting. Yappa put some corn on the metate and ground it with another
smooth stone.
Putsha built a fire in the big brick oven at the back of the house. She
then came near where Yappa was at work, and began to make the bread.
When the fire had made the oven very hot, she went to it, scraped the
fire all out, and pushed the bread in on the hot bricks. Then she
closed the oven door and left the bread until it was baked.
When the bread was in the oven, she said to Yappa, “Hurry, Yappa, and
build a fire. Shecol will be back soon and he will be hungry. We must
have some tortillas ready for him.”
“Isn’t father coming too?” asked Yappa.
“No; he will have to stay all night to turn the meat so that it does
not burn,” answered Putsha.
Putsha put some big, smooth stones into the fire she had built outside
on the ground. Then she brought some grease and rubbed it well into the
cornmeal, so that the little grains of cornmeal all stuck together and
made a paste.
By this time, the stone Putsha had put into the fire was very hot, so
she pulled it out a little to one side and spread some of the batter
over it. In a little while one side of the tortilla was brown, so
Putsha turned it over to cook on the other side. Just as it was cooked
Shecol came hurrying up.
“Anything to eat?” he asked.
[Illustration: Yappa grinding corn.]
The tortilla was just done, so Yappa gave it to him. He rolled it up
like a jelly roll and began eating it.
“It’s good. Any more?” he asked between bites.
“In a few minutes,” answered Putsha. She had pulled out some more
stones and was cooking more tortillas.
“What have you been doing, Shecol?” asked Yappa, as they waited for the
other tortillas to cook.
“Digging a pit to cook the meat,” answered Shecol.
Next morning Donna Maria and three other women who were visiting
her, got into one of the ox-carts, which was decorated with boughs
and flowers. A second cart was standing near, and all Donna Maria’s
children climbed into it.
This cart was lined with hides so that it was not only comfortable,
but safe, for the hides kept the children from falling out. Putsha
and Colla rode in this cart also, in order to take care of the
children. A third cart was loaded so heavily with roast turkeys,
chickens, corn-tamales, bread, and other things to eat, that it went
“squeakity-squeak,” as it rolled along.
When everything was ready, Occano and some of the other drivers pushed
the oxen with the ends of their long poles, and they began to move
slowly away. The Indians walked along by the sides of the carts just as
they did on wash-day, but this time all the men went as well as the
women. Most of the men rode on horseback. One man played a violin,
while another man rode behind him to guide the horse.
When they came to the place where the barbecue was to be held, Shecol
took Yappa all round and showed her the meat cooking. As they walked
along they saw Oshda.
“There’s father!” cried Yappa.
“Yes,” said Shecol, “he has been up here all night, turning the meat
over to keep it from burning.”
As they came nearer Yappa saw a big pit in the ground about ten feet
long. This was lined with stones. An ox had been cut in half and some
long iron skewers stuck through the halves; then the oxen were hung
across the top of the pit. Yappa gave a sniff.
“It smells good,” she said. “It’s getting brown too,” and she peered
down into the pit at the glowing coals below.
They passed a place where some men had begun to dig in the ground.
“That’s where the head is cooking,” said Shecol.
“Down there in the ground?” exclaimed Yappa.
“Yes, we dug a little hole, lined it with stones, and built a fire.
After the stones were very hot, we raked the fire out, scattered some
dirt over the stones so that they should not burn the meat, and set
the head right down in it; then we filled the hole with dirt.”
Don Secundini came up just as the men finished taking the head out of
the hole. He brushed off the dirt and said, “This is the best of all
the meat.” He took it over where Donna Maria was sitting and said to
her, “You shall have the tongue.”
“Thank you,” said Donna Maria.
“I don’t think I ever tasted such good meat before,” said Yappa.
“It is so juicy and tender,” said Shecol.
Yappa looked around at the long tables. Then she said, “What a crowd
there is!”
“No wonder,” answered Shecol. “The Robles have invited everybody from
San José to San Francisco. See! There are Señor Soto and Señor Sanchez
and Señor Martinez!”
After the people had finished eating, Yappa said, “Now what shall we
do?”
“The men are going to ride on their horses and play games,” answered
Shecol.
HORSEBACK-RIDING
After the people had finished eating, Don Secundini rode out in front
of them. He leaned over from the saddle and picked up a leaf from the
ground as he galloped along.
“Well done, Don Secundini!” said Don Francisco. “Here is a rooster for
us to practise on to-day.”
As they came closer, Shecol saw the head of a live rooster sticking
out of the ground. Just then he heard a shout and saw the oldest son
of Señor Soto come on a gallop toward the rooster. As he passed the
rooster, he leaned down and tried to seize it by the head, but he
missed it. All the people laughed, and young Soto laughed too, as he
turned his horse around and came back where they were.
“Better luck next time,” he said.
Pedro then tried to seize the head, but he, too, missed.
“You boys cannot ride so well as your fathers yet,” said Señor Sanchez.
“Many a time have I seen Don Secundini ride for the rooster, and never
yet have I seen him fail.” At this he seized Pedro playfully by the leg
and pulled him down out of the saddle. Then he added, “Show the boys
how it should be done, Señor Robles.”
So Don Secundini rode away a little distance, and then came galloping
back. Suddenly he bent down, and in a moment more was holding the
kicking, flopping rooster up in the air.
“Bueno, bueno!” they all cried.
“Let’s have the game of rods,” said the Señor Martinez. All the men and
boys were on horseback, so they made a ring with the horses facing
inward. Señor Soto rode around the outside of the ring with a thick
stick in his hand. Soon he passed the stick to Pedro and then rode
quickly away. Pedro chased him as fast as his horse could go, for if he
caught up it was fair for him to whip the Señor Soto over the back with
the stick.
Several times Pedro came very close to Señor Soto, but the Señor would
give his horse a sudden pull and turn quickly to one side, so that
Pedro could not hit him. Once, however, the Señor, instead of dodging,
turned around to see how far away Pedro was. In a moment more Pedro was
close beside him whipping him as fast as he could.
One of the blows happened to hit the Señor’s horse by mistake, and the
horse gave such a jump that Señor Soto was able to get in Pedro’s old
place in the ring before he could catch up again. Then the Señor was
safe, and Pedro had to give the stick to some one else and be chased in
turn.
By and by it was home time. Shecol was playing near and Pedro noticed
him look wistfully at them as they turned to ride away.
“Would you like to go with us?” Pedro asked.
“Yes, I would,” was Shecol’s answer.
“But how could you take him? He can’t ride yet,” said Don Secundini.
[Illustration: Don Secundini]
“I could put him on a blanket on the ground and tie the blanket to my
saddle with a lasso, the way Antonio does with his little brother,”
said Pedro. “Run off and tell your mother while I get the blanket,”
continued Pedro.
In a few minutes they had started. At first Pedro went very slowly and
carefully, for fear Shecol would tumble off, but after a little, Shecol
said, “You may go faster if you like. I can stick on all right.” So
Pedro let his horse begin to gallop.
Suddenly he heard a shout. He looked around and saw Shecol sitting on
the ground quite a distance behind. The blanket was bumping over the
ground at his horse’s heels. He stopped his horse and waited until
Shecol caught up with him, and after that he went more slowly, for he
did not want to lose Shecol again.
THE RODEO
“Is it going to rain? Look at that big cloud,” said Yappa to Shecol one
afternoon in June.
“I hope it will not rain to-day,” said Shecol, “for you know we are
going to have a round-up of the cattle and then a barbecue afterward.”
In a moment more he added, “I know; it’s a dust cloud that the cattle
are making as the men drive them along.”
“Come on, then; we shall just have time to climb the tree by the
corral,” said Yappa, starting off to run.
Shecol followed after, and in a few minutes they were both safely
seated on the branch of a large live-oak tree near the corral.
“I do hope we can find our calf again,” said Yappa. “You know Don
Secundini said when he gave it to us last year that we could not keep
it unless we could tell it when we saw it this year.”
“Oh, I think we shall know it,” answered Shecol. “Remember the white
spots on its forehead and on its left hip.”
Soon a number of men came riding out toward the corrals. The servants
rode off to help drive the cattle, while Don Secundini, Don Francisco,
Señor Soto, Señor Sanchez, and Señor Martinez halted their horses just
under the tree where Shecol and Yappa were sitting.
“We shall have a fine place to see from,” said Shecol.
The men below them looked up when they heard a voice above. Don
Secundini laughed. Then he said, “Don’t fall down, little ones. These
cattle aren’t used to children, and they might hurt you.”
“We’re going to look for our calf,” said Shecol.
In a few minutes Yappa said, “There they come!”
Shecol peeped out from among the leaves and saw Oshda and Pantu driving
a little bunch of cattle toward them.
As the bunch came nearer, Don Francisco said, “There are two of my
cattle. I see my brand on the hip.”
One of Don Francisco’s men rode up, separated his two cattle from the
others and drove them to one side. The rest of that bunch belonged to
Don Secundini, so they drove the calves into a corral where they could
be branded. The old ones they drove off in another direction.
As the second bunch came near them, Yappa saw a little calf running
along with one of Don Secundini’s cows. The calf had a white spot on
its forehead and one on its left hip. Yappa gave Shecol a pull and
said, “There it is.”
“Where?” asked Shecol.
Yappa pointed it out, but Shecol said, “That can’t be our calf. That’s
the way our calf looked last year. It will have grown to be very large
by this time, and besides, father branded it with Don Secundini’s
brand. This calf has no brand yet.”
They looked over every bunch that came by, hoping to find their calf.
At last, as their eyes were beginning to get tired, Shecol said, “Don
Secundini, look at that calf at the head of the bunch that is coming.
That’s ours.”
Don Secundini looked at the calf, then he said, “Yes, Shecol, it is
yours. You have won the calf.”
The herders kept on bringing up bunch after bunch of cattle and letting
each owner pick out those that belonged to him. The cattle had been
running wild for so many months that those from the different ranches
were all mixed.
There were so many to look over that their herds were not nearly sorted
out by evening, so, while some of the men drove home the neighbors’
cattle, others prepared to keep the main herd together all night.
“And now how are you youngsters going to get home?” asked Don
Secundini, as he gathered up his bridle-reins ready to ride back to the
house.
“Aren’t they going to drive the cattle away from here?” asked Shecol.
“Not until to-morrow evening. I’ll speak to your father about you,”
said Don Secundini.
When Oshda saw where they were, he rode up to the tree. He said, “You
cannot walk home through these cattle. Drop down behind me on my horse.”
First Yappa, then Shecol, dropped down on the horse. Yappa put her arms
around Oshda, and Shecol put his arms around Yappa. In this way they
did not fall off as they rode home.
After supper Oshda said, “Good-by. I have to watch with the cattle
until midnight.”
The cattle were restive, for they were in a strange place. All of a
sudden an owl gave a screech from a tree in the midst of the herd. The
cattle became frightened and began to run toward Oshda. There were so
many of them and they were coming so fast that Oshda knew he would be
run over if he rode toward them, so he turned his horse and rode as
fast as he could ahead of them.
When he got a little ahead, he began to turn the herd toward the left.
He did not try to turn the whole big herd at once, but only to make the
front ones run crosswise. The other herders helped him, and soon more
of the cattle began to run toward the left.
After a little the whole herd were running round in a circle. The
herders let the cattle run round and round as long as they liked, but
by and by the cattle got so dusty and tired and dizzy that they stopped
running of their own accord. The herders then drove them back again,
for they were no longer afraid.
When the cattle were safely back, Oshda said, “We must keep singing or
whistling all night. That will let the cattle know that some one is
near them, and they will not be so easily frightened.”
So all the rest of the night the darkness was filled with the sound of
singing, and the cattle were quiet. Oshda and the herders with him
watched until midnight; then others came out to relieve them.
Meanwhile, the people at the Robles’ adobe had been having a gay time,
for they had a barbecue under the spreading grape vines when they first
went to the house, and in the evening they had a dance.
Next morning the work with the cattle began again, and all day every
one was busy. At the end of that time, the cattle belonging to the
different ranches were separated, the calves were branded with the
special mark of the owners, and the cattle were all turned out to roam
again.
FOR A CONCLUSION
And so Docas lived his life,--as a small boy at the Indian rancheria,
as a larger boy and man at the Mission, and as an old man with his
children and grandchildren about him at the home of Don Secundini. He
was a very old man when he went to the Robles’ home, for it was in 1769
that the first white man came to the rancheria, and it was 1849 before
Don Secundini built the big adobe ranch house. His life of mingled play
and work is ended, and therefore ended also is the story of Docas, the
Indian boy of Santa Clara.
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In addition to the above bibliography much of the material used has
been obtained either from personal interviews or from unprinted
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Coolidge, and Antoinette Knowles.
PRONUNCIATION OF NAMES
INDIAN NAMES
Alachu Ä lä´chū
Ama Ä´mä
Apa Ä´pä
Colla Kō´lä
Docas Dō´käs
Heema Hē´mä
Keoka Kē ō´kä
Kole Kō´lā
Massea Mäs sā´ä
Occano Ō kä´nō
Oshda Ōsh´dä
Pantu Pän´tū
Putsha Pū´chä
Shecol Shē´cōl
Umwa Ūm´wä
Yappa Yä´pä
Yeeta Yē´tä
Yisoo Yē´sū
SPANISH WORDS
Almaden Äl mä dān´
Antonio Än tō´nyō
bueno bwā´nō
Carmel Cär māl´
cascarone cäs cä rō´nā
Catala Cä tä´lä
Diego Dyā´gō
Dolores Dō lōr´ās
Donna Maria Dō´na Mä rē´ä
Don Secundini Robles Dōn Sā kūn dē´nē Rō´blas
Guadalupe Gwä dä lū´pā
Junipero Serra Hūn ē pā´rō Sār´rä
metate mā tä´tā
Monterey Mōn tā rā´
Pena Pā´nä
Portola Pōr tô lä´
rancheria rän chā rē´ä
rodeo rō dā´ō
San Francisco Sän Frän thēs´cō
San Francisquito Sän Frän thēs kē´tō
San Jose Sän Hō sā´
Santa Clara Sän´tä Clä´rä
Señora Sān nyō´rä
Señor Martinez Sān´nyōr Mär tē´nāz
Señor Sanchez Sān´nyōr Sän´chāz
Señor Soto Sān´nyōr Sō´tō
tortillas tōr tēl´lyas
Tulare Tū lä´rā
tule tū´lā
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.