SAN FRANCISCO DE ASIS
The story of Bucareli's determination to found a presidio at San
Francisco, and Anza's march with the colonists for it from Sonora, has
already been recounted. When Serra and Galvez were making their original
plans for the establishment of the three first Missions of Alta
California, Serra expressed his disappointment that St. Francis was
neglected by asking: "And for our founder St. Francis there is no
Mission?" To which Galvez replied: "If St. Francis desires a Mission,
let him show us his harbor and he shall have one." It therefore seemed
providential that when Portolá, Pages, and Crespí, in 1769, saw the Bay
of Monterey they did not recognize it, and were thus led on further
north, where the great Bay of San Francisco was soon afterwards
discovered and reasonably well surveyed.
Palou eventually established the Mission October 9, 1776. None of the
Indians were present to witness the ceremony, as they had fled, the
preceding month, from the attacks of certain of their enemies. When they
returned in December they brought trouble with them. They stole all in
their reach; one party discharged arrows at the corporal of the guard;
another insulted a soldier's wife; and an attempt was made to kill the
San Carlos neophyte who had been brought here. The officers shut up one
of these hostiles, whereat a party of his comrades rushed to the rescue,
fired their arrows at the Mission, and were only driven back when the
soldiers arrived and fired their muskets in the air. Next day the
sergeant went out to make arrests and another struggle ensued, in which
one was killed and one wounded. All now sued for peace, which, with
sundry floggings, was granted. For three months they now kept away from
the Mission.
In 1777 they began to return, and on October 4, Padre Serra, on his
first visit, was able to say mass in the presence of seventeen adult
native converts. Then, passing over to the presidio on October 10, as he
stood gazing on the waters flowing out to the setting sun through the
purple walls of the Golden Gate, he exclaimed with a heart too full of
thanksgiving to be longer restrained: "Thanks be to God that now our
father St. Francis with the Holy Cross of the Procession of Missions,
has reached the last limit of the Californian continent. To go farther
he must have boats."
In 1782, April 25, the corner-stone of a new church was laid at San
Francisco. Three padres were present, together with the Mission guard
and a body of troops from the presidio. In the Mission records it says:
"There was enclosed in the cavity of said corner-stone the image of our
Holy Father St. Francis, some relics in the form of bones of St. Pius
and other holy martyrs, five medals of various saints, and a goodly
portion of silver coin."
In 1785 Governor Pages complained to the viceroy, among other things,
that the presidio of San Francisco had been deprived of mass for three
years, notwithstanding the obligation of the friars to serve as
chaplains. Palou replied that the padres were under no obligation to
serve gratuitously, and that they were always ready to attend the
soldiers when their other duties allowed.
In November, 1787, Captain Soler, who for a brief time acted as
temporary governor and inspector, suggested that the presidio of San
Francisco be abandoned and its company transferred to Santa Barbara.
Later, as I have shown elsewhere, a proposition was again made for the
abandonment of San Francisco; so it is apparent that Fate herself was
protecting it for its future great and wonderful history.
In 1790 San Francisco reported 551 baptisms and 205 deaths, with a
present neophyte population of 438. Large stock had increased to 2000
head and small to 1700.
Three years later, on November 14, the celebrated English navigator,
George Vancouver, in his vessel "Discovery," sailed into San Francisco
Bay. His arrival caused quite a flutter of excitement both at the
presidio and Mission, where he was kindly entertained. The governor was
afraid of this elaborate hospitality to the hated and feared English,
and issued orders to the commandant providing for a more frigid
reception in the future, so, on Vancouver's second visit, he did not
find matters so agreeable, and grumbled accordingly.
Tiles were made and put on the church roofs in 1795; more houses were
built for the neophytes, and all roofed with tiles. Half a league of
ditch was also dug around the potrero (pasture ground) and fields.
In 1806 San Francisco was enlivened by the presence of the Russian
chamberlain, Rezánof, who had been on a special voyage around the world,
and was driven by scurvy and want of provisions to the California
settlements. He was accompanied by Dr. G.H. von Langsdorff. Langsdorff's
account of the visit and reception at several points in California is
interesting. He gives a full description of the Indians and their method
of life at the Mission; commends the zeal and self-sacrifice of the
padres; speaks of the ingenuity shown by the women in making baskets;
the system of allowing the cattle and horses to run wild, etc. Visiting
the Mission of San José by boat, he and his companions had quite an
adventurous time getting back, owing to the contrary winds.
Rezánof's visit and its consequences have been made the subject of much
and romantic writing. Gertrude Atherton's novel, _Rezánof_, is devoted
to this episode in his life. The burden of the story is possibly true,
viz., that the Russians in their settlements to the north were suffering
for want of the food that California was producing in abundance. Yet,
owing to the absurd Spanish laws governing California, she was forbidden
to sell to or trade with any foreign peoples or powers. Rezánof, who was
well acquainted with this prohibitory law, determined upon trying to
overcome it for the immediate relief of his suffering compatriots. He
was fairly well received when he reached San Francisco, but he could
accomplish nothing in the way of trading or the sale of the needed
provisions.
Now began a campaign of strategic waiting. To complicate (or simplify)
the situation, in the _bailes_ and _festas_ given to the distinguished
Russian, Rezánof danced and chatted with Concha Argüello, the daughter
of the stern old commandant of the post.
Did they fall in love with each other, or did they not? Some writers say
one thing and some another. Anyhow, the girl thought she had received
the honest love of a noble man and responded with ardor and devotion. So
sure was she of his affection that she finally prevailed upon her father
(so we are told) to sell to Rezánof the provisions for which he had
come. The vessel, accordingly, was well and satisfactorily laden and
Rezánof sailed away. Being a Russian subject, he was not allowed to
marry the daughter of a foreigner without the consent of his sovereign,
and he was to hurry to Moscow and gain permission to return and wed the
lady of his choice.
He never returned. Hence the accusation that he acted in bad faith to
her and her father. This charge seems to be unfounded, for it is known
that he left his vessel and started overland to reach Moscow earlier
than he could have done by ship, that he was taken seriously ill on the
trip and died.
But Concha did not know of this. No one informed her of the death of her
lover, and her weary waiting for his return is what has given the touch
of keenest pathos to the romantic story. Bret Harte, in his inimitable
style, has put into exquisite verse, the story of the waiting of this
true-hearted Spanish maiden[4]:
[4] From Poems by Bret Harte. By permission of the publishers, The
Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, Mass.
"He with grave provincial magnates long had held serene debate
On the Treaty of Alliance and the high affairs of state;
He from grave provincial magnates oft had turned to talk apart
With the Comandante's daughter on the questions of the heart,
Until points of gravest import yielded slowly one by one,
And by Love was consummated what Diplomacy begun;
Till beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen cannon are,
He received the twofold contract for approval of the Czar;
Till beside the brazen cannon the betrothèd bade adieu,
And from sallyport and gateway north the Russian eagles flew.
Long beside the deep embrasures, where the brazen cannon are,
Did they wait the promised bridegroom and the answer of the Czar.
Day by day ...
Week by week ...
So each year the seasons shifted,--wet and warm and drear and dry;
Half a year of clouds and flowers, half a year of dust and sky.
Still it brought no ship nor message,--brought no tidings, ill or
meet,
For the statesmanlike Commander, for the daughter fair and sweet.
Yet she heard the varying message, voiceless to all ears beside:
'He will come,' the flowers whispered; 'Come no more,' the dry hills
sighed.
Then the grim Commander, pacing where the brazen cannon are,
Comforted the maid with proverbs, wisdom gathered from afar;
* * * * *
So with proverbs and caresses, half in faith and half in doubt,
Every day some hope was kindled, flickered, faded, and went out.
* * * * *
Forty years on wall and bastion swept the hollow idle breeze
Since the Russian eagle fluttered from the California seas;
Forty years on wall and bastion wrought its slow but sure decay,
And St. George's cross was lifted in the port of Monterey;
And the Citadel was lighted, and the hall was gaily drest,
All to honor Sir George Simpson, famous traveler and guest.
* * * * *
The formal speeches ended, and amidst the laugh and wine,
Some one spoke of Concha's lover,--heedless of the warning sign.
Quickly then cried Sir George Simpson: 'Speak no ill
of him, I pray!
He is dead. He died, poor fellow, forty years ago this
day.--
'Died while speeding home to Russia, falling from a
fractious horse.
Left a sweetheart, too, they tell me. Married, I
suppose, of course!
'Lives she yet?' A deathlike silence fell on banquet,
guests, and hall,
And a trembling figure rising fixed the awestruck gaze
of all.
Two black eyes in darkened orbits gleamed beneath the
nun's white hood;
Black serge hid the wasted figure, bowed and stricken
where it stood.
'Lives she yet?' Sir George repeated. All were hushed
as Concha drew
Closer yet her nun's attire. 'Senyor, pardon, she died,
too!'"
In 1810 Moraga, the ensign at the presidio, was sent with seventeen men
to punish the gentiles of the region of the Carquines Strait, who for
several years had been harassing the neophytes at San Francisco, and
sixteen of whom they had killed. Moraga had a hard fight against a
hundred and twenty of them, and captured eighteen, whom he soon
released, "as they were all sure to die of their wounds." The survivors
retreated to their huts and made a desperate resistance, and were so
determined not to be captured that, when one hut was set on fire, its
inmates preferred to perish in the flames rather than to surrender. A
full report of this affair was sent to the King of Spain and as a result
he promoted Moraga and other officers, and increased the pay of some of
the soldiers. He also tendered the thanks of the nation to all the
participants.
Runaway neophytes gave considerable trouble for several years, and in
1819 a force was sent from San Francisco to punish these recalcitrants
and their allies. A sharp fight took place near the site of the present
Stockton, in which 27 Indians were killed, 20 wounded, and 16 captured,
with 49 horses.
The Mission report for 1821-1830 shows a decrease in neophyte population
from 1252 to 219, though this was largely caused by the sending of
neophytes to the newly founded Missions of San Rafael and San
Francisco Solano.
San Francisco was secularized in 1834-1835, with Joaquin Estudillo as
comisionado. The valuation in 1835 was real estate and fixtures,
$25,800; church property, $17,800; available assets in excess of debts
(chiefly live-stock), $16,400, or a total of $60,000. If any property
was ever divided among the Indians, there is no record to show it.
On June 5, 1845, Pio Pico's proclamation was made, requiring the
Indians of Dolores Mission to reunite and occupy it or it would be
declared abandoned and disposed of for the general good of the
department. A fraudulent title to the Mission was given, and antedated
February 10, 1845; but it was afterwards declared void, and the building
was duly returned to the custody of the archbishop, under whose
direction it still remains.
After Commodore Sloat had taken possession of Monterey for the United
States, in 1846, it was merely the work of a day or so to get despatches
to Captain Montgomery, of the ship "Portsmouth," who was in San
Francisco bay and who immediately raised the stars and stripes, and thus
the city of the Golden Gate entered into American possession. While the
city was materially concerned in the events immediately following the
occupation, the Mission was already too nearly dead to participate. In
1846 the bishop succeeded in finding a curate for a short period, but
nothing in the records can be found as to the final disposition of the
property belonging to the ex-Mission. In the political caldron it had
totally disappeared.
In the early days the Mission Indians were buried in the graveyard, then
the soldiers and settlers, Spanish and Mexican, and the priests, and,
later, the _Americanos_. But all is neglected and uncared for, except by
Nature, and, after all, perhaps it is better so. The kindly spirited
Earth Mother has given forth vines and myrtle and ivy and other plants
in profusion, that have hidden the old graveled walks and the broken
flags. Rose bushes grow untrimmed, untrained and frankly beautiful;
while pepper and cypress wave gracefully and poetically suggestive over
graves of high and low, historic and unknown. For here are names carved
on stone denoting that beneath lie buried those who helped make
California history. Just at the side entrance of the church is a stone
with this inscription to the first governor of California: "Aqui yacen
los restos del Capitan Don Luis Antonio Argüello, Primer Gobernador del
Alta California, Bajo el Gobierno Mejicano. Nació en San Francisco el 21
de Junio, 1774, y murió en el mismo lugar el 27 de Marzo, 1830."
Farther along is a brown stone monument, erected by the members of the
famous fire company, to Casey, who was hung by the Vigilantes--Casey,
who shot James King of William. The monument, adorned with firemen's
helmets and bugles in stone, stands under the shadow of drooping pepper
sprays, and is inscribed: "Sacred to the memory of James P. Casey, who
Departed this life May 23, 1856, Aged 27 years. May God forgive my
Persecutors. Requiescat en pace."
Poor, sad Dolores! How utterly lost it now looks!
During the earthquake and fire of 1906, the new church by its side was
destroyed. But the old Indian-built structure was preserved and still
stands as a grand memorial of the past.