PELAJO
Laverne was about to reply, with the feeling of superior knowledge,
"It's because they are not Americans," when she caught sight of Uncle
Jason, Pablo, and a pile of rough timber, an excavation made in the
side hill, a slope over which she had been training some blossoming
vines.
"Oh, Uncle Jason," she cried, with eager forbiddance. "That's my
garden. What are you going to do?"
"Build a house for a pony. This seemed most convenient, though he is
such a cunning little fellow I think we could have trained him to go
up the steps."
His shrewd, humorous smile and her own curiosity disarmed her.
"The pony? Have you really----"
"Well, I had to take him or see him go to some one else. I was afraid
he would get a hard master. And he is such a pretty intelligent
fellow. He talks, his fashion. And he laughs, too."
"Oh, now you are making fun."
"Well, if you won't have him I can sell him again. He's just fit for a
little girl, or some one hardly grown up."
"But who had him before?"
"A young lady. A delicate little body. I've had my eye on him some
time."
"If she loved him why did she want to sell him?" and Laverne glanced
up with a kind of incredulity.
"She was going away." He had not the courage to say that she was dead,
that she had made a vain struggle for recovery, and failed.
"I suppose horses are not quite like people," she returned
thoughtfully. "They like those who are good to them."
"Well--they're grateful, and as a general thing appreciate kind
treatment. Humans don't always do that."
She had not gone very far in the philosophy of ingratitude, but she
was wondering if the pony had been very fond of his mistress.
"This place was the handiest. Then he can go cropping the tufts of
grass about here, and we shall not have to lug the feed up on the next
round," viewing the sort of natural terraces with a squint in one eye.
"I'm sorry about the posies."
"Oh, well--they grow so easily. And here was the spruce tree, and, oh,
we ought to have a big veranda to the house, where we could sit and
sew and I could study lessons and we could have supper."
"But the place isn't really mine, you know. And I shouldn't want to
spend a great deal of money. Some day we may have a house in which we
can truly settle ourselves."
Miss Holmes, who had been looking on, smiled now. "The Señora Estenega
is very anxious to sell," she said.
"And it is so splendid all around. There are trees and trees and they
are full of birds. Oh, you never heard such singing. And the flowers!
Why, I wanted to dance all around the paths for very gladness. But it
was dull and dark inside, and full of ugly portraits and Virgins and
hideous babies."
"They wouldn't want to sell the pictures, they are old family relics,"
appended Miss Holmes.
"And she asks a fortune for the estate. These old Spanish people have
caught on to values mighty quick. But a house for the pony is as much
as we can compass now. In a few years you shall have a home to your
liking."
Miss Holmes went within, and soon there was a savory smell of fish
frying and cakes baking on a bed of coals.
"That will do for to-night, Pablo," Jason Chadsey said. "Come early
to-morrow morning and I will show you about the posts."
The Mexican nodded slowly, and walked to the kitchen door, where Miss
Holmes gave him a chunk of bread and a fish, and he went his way.
Uncle Jason washed hands and face in true Yankee fashion, with a great
splurge. He had enlarged the rude cistern and led a rivulet of clear
water down to it. In many of the outlying districts there were but few
conveniences, and yet San Francisco had flashed into existence as if a
new Kubla Khan had decreed it. Perhaps no city in the world could
boast such rapid advances, or gain in population. Those early years
will always sound like a fairy tale. But it had some of the best and
most energetic brain and brawn from the East, whose forefathers had
settled other wildernesses much less promising.
The pony shared interest with the visit and the promise of the
Estenega girls coming up every morning. She was a very happy little
girl to-night; Uncle Jason thought she had not been quite so bright of
late, but now her eyes flashed with an eager light, and her pretty
lips melted from one curve to another, while her voice had a bird-like
gayety. The day had been so full and taken so much energy, that she
laid her head in Miss Holmes' lap and went fast asleep. Jason Chadsey
read his paper by the light of the smoky lamp, and Miss Holmes dreamed
of clean, orderly Boston even if its streets did run crooked.
The Estenegas were certainly not bright scholars. But the Yankee
schoolma'am had seen obtuse children before. They were extremely
narrow and incurious as to real knowledge, but anxious to get on with
English. Laverne flashed up and down the walk. Pablo set up the frame,
put on a rude roof, then filled in the chinks with a common kind of
adobe. The pony would not live much indoors, to be sure, but he needed
some shelter.
"Do you know what his name is, Pablo?" the child asked.
Pablo shook his head. He was a dried-up specimen, with a skin like
leather and small deep-set eyes, quite bowed in the shoulders, which
made him no taller than some boys of a dozen years. He had a little
hut of his own down in the wilds, and he often lay on the sand when
the sun was too hot, and drowsed from pure laziness.
Uncle Jason led the pony home at night. He had been well kept, for his
coat was smooth, just far enough off of black to be a rich brown.
Shapely, with slender legs, a head not too large for his body, a
flowing mane, now braided up in tails, flexible nostrils that quivered
with every breath, and the most beautiful large, dark eyes that looked
as if they could laugh and understand many things.
She had been somewhat dubious all along. She had really felt afraid of
Bruno at first, but as she looked at the merry eyes she laughed.
"Yes, I _do_ like you," she said. "I'm glad you are not any larger.
And his tail almost sweeps the ground," watching her uncle, who was
patting his neck and smoothing down to his nose, and talking in a
persuasive voice.
"Maybe you won't like his name. He comes of good stock, it seems, and
if he was ten years younger would be worth a pile of money."
"Why, he doesn't look old. And his name--"
"Is Pelajo."
She repeated it, and he came a step nearer. She ventured to pat him,
and then she reached up and put her arm over his neck. Uncle Jason
handed her a lump of sugar, but she drew back as his soft nose touched
her hand.
"You must learn to give him tidbits, even a handful of grass or wild
oats."
"Oh, I shall like you very much, I know," she declared, in a glad
voice, and he seemed to understand, for he rubbed against her
shoulder, and this time she did not shrink away. He was used to being
caressed. Perhaps he dumbly questioned what had become of his sweet
young mistress who had petted him the last year.
It was so warm they tethered him and set Bruno to keep watch, for
there were many prowlers and thieves about; not quite as many down
here perhaps, since horses and money were the only desirable things in
their estimation. He was all right in the morning. The first thing
Laverne did was to rush out and greet him, and he seemed quite as glad
to see her.
She did shake a little when she was perched up on his back, but Uncle
Jason walked beside her up and down the gravelly path, and after a
little it was really exhilarating. When she had taken two or three
lessons she felt quite safe and began to enjoy it. Uncle Jason taught
her to ride astride as well; it might be useful, he declared, and
certainly was a common-sense view of the matter. So Pelajo grew into
the little girl's heart.
On Sunday morning she always went to church with Miss Holmes, and the
churches were really well filled if the rest of the day was devoted to
pleasure. The lovely spring was now over, though fruit trees were
still blooming and laden with fruit. But there had been a few days
that seemed to scorch up everything and dry up the small streams and
cisterns.
The church bells were ringing in a leisurely, devoted fashion. "Come
to church for rest and refreshment," they said, when suddenly there
was a wild clangor and each one looked at his neighbor with frightened
eyes, or stood motionless, not knowing which way to turn. Then
something shot up in the air, scarlet against the sunshine, and the
cry of terror rang out, "Fire! Fire!"
There had been a fear lest the gang of lawless desperadoes who had
half threatened and half laughed about keeping the anniversary of the
great fire the year before would make some endeavor. But June 14th had
passed, though there had been unusual watchfulness. After a week the
orderly part of the city breathed more freely. And this day seemed
almost like a special thanksgiving for safety. Before they had time to
voice it the red terror began. Crowds with hymn and prayer books in
their hands paused paralyzed before the church they had made such
efforts to gain and enjoyed so thoroughly, the brief five months they
had worshipped in it. And now they fled up and down the streets, while
the fire swept this way and that with a tremendous roar. From Pacific
over to Jackson Street, Washington, Stockton, Dupont. Goods and
invalids were hurried out to the Plaza, and then the wind swept the
fire this way and that, and they had to fly again and save nothing.
Buildings were blown up with a horrid din like war. And so for four
mortal hours of frantic endeavor with no reservoirs near. And when it
had ceased to spread it lay a great mass of charred and smouldering
ruins, and several lives had gone with it. That it was the work of
incendiaries there could be no doubt. Ruined men invoked the arm of
speedy justice if they could not have law.
In one way it was not so disastrous as the fire of the year before,
which had taken the business part and immense stocks of goods. This
was more of a residential section, but homeless people were running to
and fro, wild with the agony of loss of all they had. Parents and
children separated, elderly people wandering about in a dazed
condition, the scene one of the wildest confusion.
Miss Holmes had decided to go over to hear Mr. Williams, instead of
the church nearer by, which she usually attended. Then they would go
to Mr. Dawson's for lunch, and meet Miss Gaines and bring her home
with them. At first she thought she could find a way through, but the
fire spread so rapidly over to Montgomery Street, that she did not
dare venture. It might go down to the very edge of the bay and on its
march take in the Dawsons. She held tight to Laverne, and used
strenuous efforts to force her way through, but throngs were coming
up, drawn by a weird fascination such as a fire always exercises. The
child began to cry. Her hat was torn off. Oh, if anything _should_
happen to her!
After a while the way began to grow clearer, but it seemed as if she
was in a new place.
"Oh, I'm so tired," cried Laverne. "And my foot hurts. Let us sit
down."
They were out of the well-built part. A tall old pine offered shelter.
She sat down on the dry earth and took the child in her lap.
"Oh, do you think Uncle Jason will be burned up?" she moaned. "If we
could only find him. And will our house go, too?"
"Oh, no, dear. It is in a different direction. That will be safe."
"If we could only get there. Do you think Pelajo will be frightened?
And everything looks so strange here. Are you not afraid of all these
wild men?"
They seemed, indeed, inhabitants of every clime. And though they
looked sharply at the woman and child, no one molested them.
"Are you rested now? Shall we go home?"
"Oh, I do hope Uncle Jason is there. What if he had come to the fire
and was killed!"
"Hush, dear! Don't think of such a thing."
What would she do alone with the child if any untoward accident
happened to him? She shuddered!
They picked their way over strange places, but they still saw the
black smoke of the holocaust going skyward. Miss Holmes kept one or
two objective points in mind. True, streets had been laid out, but
they were overgrown with brush and the rampant cactus, with tangles of
vines. In some places they had begun to wither. Rabbits scurried
hither and thither, amazed at the steps. Birds were still carolling as
if there was naught but joy in the world.
"And I am so hungry! Oh, when will we get home? Suppose we are lost?"
complained the child wearily.
"I think we have been lost, but now I see where we are," the elder
exclaimed, in a hopeful tone. "It is not far. And then we will have a
nice supper. Poor, tired little girl, I wish I could carry you."
"Oh, you couldn't," and there was a sound in her voice as if she had
smiled. "But if it isn't much farther--my legs feel as if they would
drop off."
"We have come ever so much out of our way. I could not see in the
crowd, and it pushed one about so. I never want to see another fire."
"Oh, now I know." Laverne let go of the elder's hand, and in spite of
fatigue gave two or three skips. "Could I make Bruno hear, I wonder?
Bruno! Bru--no!"
Either she made him hear or he had a presentiment. He came bounding
through the brush with short, sharp barks of joy, and lunged so
against Laverne that she nearly lost her balance.
"Oh, good doggie, good Bruno!" she cried, in joy. "What if there were
dogs burned up in the fire, and maybe horses?"
Miss Holmes shuddered. She had seen some men carrying a mattress with
a human body, when a fierce blazing brand had fallen in it, and though
she turned her head then, she almost screamed now.
They dropped down on the small porch steps and sat there a few
moments.
"I must go and see Pelajo," Laverne said, weary as she was.
He whinnied with joy, and rubbed his nose on her small hand.
"Oh, Pelajo, I am so glad you were not in the fire," and she could
have kissed him for very thankfulness.
Uncle Jason was nowhere to be seen. When Miss Holmes was a little
rested she built a fire and put on the kettle. There was part of the
leg of lamb they had had yesterday, and the pie she had baked early
this morning. For in spite of all his wanderings, Jason Chadsey had
preserved his New England fondness for such pies as a New England
woman could make. And there was a great bowl of delicious berries.
They had their meal, being puzzled just what to call it, since it was
a little too early for supper. Then they swung in the hammocks while
old Pablo came to look after Pelajo, and talk about the fire, which
he insisted was still burning. They waited and waited until the poor
little girl begged to go to bed.
"It hasn't seemed a bit like Sunday," she murmured sleepily.
Then Marian Holmes swung drowsily in the hammock again. Through the
opening between two trees she could see the great glowing stars that
seemed as gorgeous again as in the eastern skies. There were screams
of night birds, the long note of the owl, the tree frog beseeching
stridently for rain. Now and then Bruno would flip his ears or
straighten them, and at last he gave a sudden rush down the street,
and returned with his master, but the clock had struck ten.
He dropped on the step as they had done.
"Were you alarmed when you came from church? Of course you knew about
the fire."
"We were really in it," and Miss Holmes detailed her day, leaving out
some of the most trying incidents.
"Thank God you came back safely," he returned, with deep feeling. "It
was a most awful catastrophe. There has been an indignation meeting
held, and some of the miscreants will be brought to justice. Then,
there must be better arrangements for fighting fires. It was a
terrific sight, and there are hundreds of homeless people. The best
provision that could be, was made for them. Generous-hearted people
took them in, supplied them with food. Accidents were plentiful. Yet
it has been a terrible day, but if I had thought of you and the child
being there--"
"Oh, you couldn't, you see. And we came safely out of it all, so
don't feel distressed. Will you have some supper?"
"Yes. Though I was at the Dawsons' and had a meal. They came mighty
near going once or twice, if a dangerous gust of wind had lasted
longer. And the crowds that poured in upon them! The courage of these
people seems superhuman, but it has been severely tried now. I do not
believe any city ever suffered so much by fire and had the pluck to go
on again."
She began to busy herself about the meal. He leaned against the flat
post and went sound asleep, though he wakened easily. Then leaving her
dishes, an unusual thing for her, she retired herself.
For days the fire was the uppermost subject. They had always planned
rebuilding before with tremendous energy, but now courage seemed to
wane in this direction. But it was taken up energetically in others.
The great want of water in the fire department had to be remedied
speedily, and at any cost. Money was offered freely.
The other was a more strenuous effort for the punishment of criminals,
and a rigorous observance of law.
Among the immigrants had been convicts from different lands, lawless
men who formed themselves into bands for plunder and maliciousness.
Clark's Point, Broadway, and one end of Pacific Street was called
Sydney Town from its great number of convicts and ticket-of-leave men
from the Colonies; and to them were added the criminally inclined from
the States, who had left their own cities for the city's good. And
out of the earnest endeavor to put a stop to the lawlessness and crime
the Vigilance Committee was formed. Then an old Mexican law was
exhumed that forbade the emigration to California of criminals
convicted of crime elsewhere. Notices were served upon many vicious
persons and they were compelled to leave the city. And with it all
grew a greater regard for law and order.
Energy and perseverance did not fail, it is true, and the confidence
born of the geographical knowledge that this must eventually be the
great highway of trade, and the idea of a glorious future destiny,
inspired the really solid portion of the community to continue their
efforts to make it the city of the world. Still, many of the middle
classes, discouraged by misfortunes, returned to their native cities.
Others went further south in the more equable climate and became
farmers. Still others wooed by the endless forests further north, and
the many advantages for starting new cities on a better industrial
foundation, went to seek better fortunes. The city never could recover
from all the evils it was said. But the splendid bay and the
magnificent harbor were left, the gold fields were not exhausted. And
now arose the demand for a railroad across the Continent, which had a
hard fight for many years, but succeeded at length.
At Clark's Point a huge rock was quarried, and removed, and the hill
excavated to make room for new streets. Sansome and Battery Streets
were carried out and filled up with the débris. The wharves were
pushed further out, great warehouses built, and though it was a fact
that fewer people came to seek their fortunes, more brought with them
the idea of settling. Wherever any tiny stream ran among the sand
hills numerous vegetable gardens were laid out, and the fertility was
remarkable. Markets opened here and there, the New World Market,
enlarged and improved, where it seemed as if one might buy all the
luxuries of the world. San Francisco began to lose the characteristics
of a Spanish or Mexican town, how could such drowsy ways be tolerated
among the adventurous, hard-working people!
There came to be an admixture of foreign races--musical Germans;
light-hearted, theatre and dance-loving French; some from different
Mongolian countries, who looked on with grave faces, seldom
affiliating, and the Chinese, who made a settlement of their own, many
of them content to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, laundrymen
and servants, but others aspiring to the rank of merchants, even
bringing their wives later on.
On the opposite side of the bay, settlements were changing into towns,
and business seemed to run riot everywhere. There was no lack of
employment for those willing to work.
All these things were far away from the little girl's life. She
studied because she loved to know about everything, that was a New
England heritage. She acquired Spanish rapidly, while the Estenega
girls were stumbling over English. The Señora came up one afternoon
and they had a sort of high tea, with game of several kinds, a bird
pie, and a pudding that would have rejoiced the heart of a far
Easterner. It was a wonderful feast for the children, but the Señora
shook her head gravely over the superabundance of luxuries.
"Was not the little girl going to learn lace-making and drawn-work
that she would want presently for her trousseau? And were not the
catechism and the prayers, confirmation, music, and languages enough
for any girl? And these new Americanos, who dressed in silks and
velvets, and trailed up and down the streets nodding and laughing to
men!" and the Señora shuddered.
It was very true that stylishly attired women promenaded the two
shopping streets where the windows were full of rich goods. For the
early settlers had not to spin and weave in this golden country.
Vessels were coming in frequently laden with goods from almost
everywhere. India and China sent treasures, France and England did not
lag behind. So the women went gorgeously arrayed, leaned out of
handsome private equipages, as if they were queens. For gold was found
in most unexpected places, and miners came in only to waste and gamble
it away.
The old Spanish residents shook their heads over this wild
extravagance, and clung more closely to their Church and the old ways.
Even the natives were often amazed. There were not a few who had
Spanish blood, and proud enough they were of it. The emigration of the
French began to exercise an influence upon the heterogeneous society.
The skilled workman gave a finer air to shops and buildings; the
higher classes, lured by the wonderful reports, added their ease and
refinement to the society, gradually crystallizing into settled
classes.
"It is not all the Americans," Miss Holmes said, in answer to the
Señora's strictures. "All the Eastern cities I have seen are quite
unlike this. They grew slowly, and each from its own peculiar
industry. We had no gold mines on the Eastern coast, and you are
likely to prize more highly the fortunes you have to struggle for.
Here we have every nation, it seems to me, and often the very liberty
of choice degenerates into license. But it is hardly fair to blame it
all on our people."
"They have invaded us and taken away our land, our rights. Years ago
we were happy and content, and now it is all excitement, and if you do
not join you are pushed to the wall, driven out. The gold in the hills
was all ours."
"But you let it lie there. Yes, you could have discovered it. It was
the wild dream of more than one explorer, and yet he never tapped the
great secrets the land held."
Now that the hitherto placid Spanish woman was roused she went over
the ground with great bitterness, the war, the ceding of the country,
the influx of the nations for greed. Half her talk lapsed into her
native tongue. Miss Holmes pitied her in a certain way, but was it not
the old, old story since De Soto had crossed the Continent and Tonti
came down the Mississippi? The weaker nation was always distanced by
the stronger. And was supine content a virtue?
Meanwhile, the children had a merry time. Carmen gained courage to
mount Pelajo and rode around in fine style. The younger ones wanted
their turn. When they were called in to tea their cheeks glowed,
their eyes were bright with excitement, and they chattered like a
flock of birds.
The Señora looked on in surprise.
"Do you always allow so much wildness?" she asked, in a rather
disapproving tone.
If they had a little frolic their walk home always sobered them.
"Oh, no," returned Miss Holmes, with a smile. "They have lessons. This
is a holiday. And I am glad for Laverne to have companions. We
sometimes think she gets too grave."
"Girls," and their mother rapped on the table. What with their
laughing, the broken English, and the Spanish they were in quite a
whirl. Laverne looked on more calmly. Indeed, the Señora was a little
angry that she seemed rather to shame her girls.
"Oh, please, Señora, do not scold them. We were so merry riding the
pony. He is almost human. And he understood Spanish. I did not know
that before."
Laverne's face was a study, in its sweet pleading. The girls quieted
down, and their mother looked less severe, but she was considering a
proper penance.
The moon came up early. How magnificently the soft light silvered all
the open spaces, until one forgot the drought. Each twig that swayed
to and fro in the translucent air seemed alive.
Miss Holmes and Laverne walked some distance with their guests,
leaving Bruno to keep watch. They parted with the utmost cordiality.
"We have had such a splendid time," whispered Carmencita. "I wish I
was an American girl and had a good indulgent uncle such as thou
hast, little one. Then I would not care to go to the convent."
Laverne was astonished at the outburst, for Carmen had heretofore
rather cavilled at Americans. They walked back in silence until they
met Bruno's greeting.
"Didn't you have a nice time with the girls?" Miss Holmes asked.
"Oh, yes! Carmen was--well, I think I have been not exactly afraid of
her, but she seemed so much older, and this afternoon she was
splendid. And she wished--what do you think--that she was an American
girl! And I wish I knew some American girls."
"You will go to school presently. Your uncle was talking of it."
The thought startled the little girl. She was not quite sure she liked
it.
"Oh, there he is now," and she ran to meet him. The moon was up higher
and it was lighter. Her hands were outstretched, but he caught her
under the arms and, lifting her up, gave her several kisses. It was so
gratifying to have her always glad to see him.
Then he put her down and she caught his hand in both of hers and went
a hop and a skip, giving short, soft laughs.
"I'm late. Did you eat up all the supper?"
"Oh, we had ours early. The Estenegas were here, the mother and all.
We had a good, good time," with emphasis. "They all rode Pelajo.
Anesta fell off twice, but it didn't hurt any, she asked us not to
tell. And oh, how hungry they were!"
"Little girls ought always to be hungry. That makes them grow."
"And Carmen wished she had an uncle like you."
"Why--she has scarcely seen me."
"But then I talk about you," the child added, naïvely.
"Well--do you want to give me away?"
"Oh no, no."
"Or shall we adopt her?"
A positive unwillingness sprang up in the child's heart.
"I think her mother would not let her come," she replied evasively.
"But you would like her? You are tired of being alone."
"No, I don't want any one but you for all time," she admitted, a
little jealously.
He laughed. He was fond of this confession.
Miss Holmes' supper was satisfactory to the hungry man as well.
Afterward they went out and sat on the flat stone step. That always
made him think of his boyhood.
"Little one," he began, "how would you like to move? Or are the
Estenegas too dear to give up?"
"Move!" in a tone of surprise.
"Yes. We haven't much worldly goods, as these traps do not belong to
us. But we can take ourselves, Bruno, and Pelajo."
"Where would we go?"
"Quite far from here. Up on Telegraph Hill."
"Oh, that would be splendid! We could always see the bay, and over the
strait to all the mountains beyond. Yes, I should like to go."
"Well, I am glad. It will be more convenient for me, but we would
have to go, anyhow. This place has been sold."
"Is there a stable? And I think I would like a garden. And at least
_one_ tree."
He laughed.
"They have been taking down part of the hill. No doubt some day they
will take it all down. That is the fashion of cities. But our end not
being so high will not be disturbed for some time to come."
"This has been nice," she said retrospectively. "But I shall like the
new place, and the bay, and--and----"
"And the change," he laughed. Then he called Miss Holmes, who had put
away the last of her dishes.
He had talked this over with her before, but he had not made his
bargain until to-day. Then they settled a few of the most important
points. There were to be some repairs made, but they could go the next
week. And to-morrow he would take them up to see it.
"Will you like to go?" Laverne asked of Miss Holmes as they were
preparing for bed.
"Yes, I think I shall. We shall be so much nearer everything. We can
often walk down among the stores. And we shall be nearer Miss Gaines.
You will miss the Estenega girls."
"But there may be other girls. I'd like to know some new ones," and
there was a sound of delightful expectation in her voice.