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Show """""""'HM I ! Il'll 1 ll IH ii IMHW i Mistress of Monterey Uirqinia Stiuers Bartlett - - - - "TZZZT" J REVEILLE In one of the annals of California history, there are these paragraphs: "Turn now to the Northern coasts, to the Bay of San Diego, whose waters had lain for more than a century and a half undisturbed by European keel, whose shores had known no tread of iron heel since Sebastian Vizcaino was there. The native inhabitants yet preserved a traditional remembrance of white and bearded visitors, kept alive perhaps by an occasional rumor wafted overland from the southeast, and by distant glimpses of the white winged galleon which year after year bore its oriental treasure down past this port, which, so far as can be known, was never entered. And now the aboriginal solitude is to be forever for-ever broken. "... On the 29 th day of April, 1769, the San Carlos, otherwise called the Golden Fleece, comes in sight. . . . On board were Lieutenant Pedro Fages with twenty-five Catalan volunteers. ..." Pronounced Fah'hays. CHAPTER I 1 It was autumn of the year 1783. Senor Don Pedro Fages, Civil Governor of the Californias, Upper and Lower, drank a toast to his Most Catholic Majesty, King Carlos III of Spain, then ailed his cup and raised it to the priest in Franciscan robe and cowl sitting opposite him across the hand-hewn table. "To your Reverence!" he said. "To Fray Junipero Serra, pious priest, intrepid missionary, tireless traveler, and if I may, good soldier!" sol-dier!" He drained the cup, and wiped his short mustaches and beard with a brown hand. Junipero Serra smiled slowly. "A thousand thanks, Senor el Goberna-dor," Goberna-dor," he began ceremoniously. But Fages stopped him with a twinkle in his eye. "No, no, Padre! None of that when we are here alone. You and I have enjoyed too many privations together, have gone thirsty and hungry, hun-gry, have eaten mule meat or worse, too many times for us to stand on ceremony when we are by ourselves, even though you are Padre Presidente of the Missions in California, and I . ." "Governor of all the Californias," finished the priest. "But I had believed be-lieved . . that is, it had come to my attention, that his Excellency believed there were times when he was not greeted with the proper respect re-spect when he deigned to visit the Mission San Carlos at Carmel." Fages laughed. "Oh, that! That complaint was simply necessary to show some of these priests that a healthier respect for the Crown was a desirable trait in them. That never applied to you, Padre." "We are in a country where we are unable to demonstrate the recognition rec-ognition due your worthy person. The King himself would understand the lack of these ceremonies. He would not be displeased, however, but edified, I believe, and he would rejoice to witness that what is possible pos-sible to do is done." Fages still smiled, though the other's oth-er's tone implied a rebuke. "Scold me, Padre, if you will. I deserve it, I suppose. But I have been thinking of something ... deciding de-ciding something. And today I have sent messengers with the results of my decisions to the Viceroy in Mexico. Mex-ico. And what do you suppose the message is?" The priest caught his breath and moved his fingers uneasily toward his beads. Although he seemed to be studying a corner of the brush ceiling over the Governor's head, he was reading Fages, and Fages knew it. Years of a wary comradeship com-radeship had taught Serra to read every expression in the other's face. He had seen it light with a strange inner fire when some vista of this new California unrolled itself be-f.-o Tramps: seen it erow lean and tense through long days of starvation starva-tion and burning heat, or gray and drawn when the Governor's small company of Catalonian soldiers fell, one by one, prey to the scurvy. But he could never quite tell whether the lines that branched from the twinkling twin-kling brown eyes came from squinting squint-ing against the blazing sun, or from sudden rollicking laughter. Now he realized he had never seen quite this expression before. He felt a little excitement communicated to himself from Fages' feverish eyes. A little excitement, and quite a little lit-tle fear. This message had it to do with him? Were some of his cherished cher-ished plans for furthering the Church in California to be frustrated? frustrat-ed? He breathed heavily. "I dare not suppose. You will have to tell me." Fages pushed back his chair and began pacing back and forth down the dirt floor of the long room. "I have been thinking, and I have decided that it is not well for man to live alone. That is natural, isn't it Padie, and a teaching of the Church? Ah, yes. So I have tins day sen', word to the Viceroy that I wish to have my wife join me here" Serra also rose to his feet He remembered now that he had seen before the expression that smoldered smol-dered in the Governor's eyes, but in the eyes of other men. "Ah!" he said softly. "Ah! Your wife. I see. So you want her in California with you. Naturally." He walked to the low door and stared thoughtfully at a group of Indian children, playing some absorbing ab-sorbing game with a hoop and a dart while a circle of elders watched them lazily in the afternoon sunshine. sun-shine. "Strange, Pedro Fages. I always think of you as a man among men; a soldier, an explorer. A man's man entirely. But of course you are married. It must be a long time since you hve seen your wife, yes?" "A long time," he answered in a low voice. "A long, long time. Eight years. I have a son, too, Padre. And the last time I saw him he was a few days old. "Now that I feel I am going to stay here, somehow the need for that son and his mother has become more than I can bear. And needing need-ing them so I must talk to you about "There Are Still Thousands Wandering in Benighted Darkness Dark-ness in This California." them. I think they can be happy here. I am. The living quarters at the presidio are not so bad, and oh, Padre, what a garden I have planted! Hundreds of peach trees, and figs, and pears. And I have a vineyard that is doing well in the sandy soil around the presidio. Yes, it is home to me, and must be to them." "God grant that it may. And your wife she is not used to pioneering?" pioneer-ing?" Fages frowned and began plucking pluck-ing his beard. "That's the rub. She isn't. But I have written Viceroy Mayorga, and Felipe de Neve, to persuade her to come. She can not withstand them. The Dona Eulalia, my wife, is years younger than I, and when we married in Barcelona, she was a reigning belle. I never could understand un-derstand why she married a rough old soldier like I am. But she did, and here she must come." "Of course she must. And she will. 'Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands.' Ah, Senor el Gober-nador! Gober-nador! How easily your plans go forward. You have but to command, com-mand, and lo, the deed you have commanded is done, while I . . ." The Governor took the priest's arm, and the two walked out into the little garden in front of the priest's quarters. There was great i activity all around the mission establishment es-tablishment Indian neophytes were going and coming on various errands. er-rands. Up from the orchard came a troupe of children, los pajareros, whose miniature bows and arrows had kept the predatory birds from the fruit In the vegetable garden a few stooping Indian girls still dug weeds, while others, who had finished fin-ished their stints, ran to join the hoop-and-dart game with their fellows. fel-lows. Fages drew a deep breath as he looked about him and remained quiet. qui-et. But the priest's eyes were upon him with an unspoken entreaty which he could not ignore. "What worries you now, my good Father?" he asked affectionately. The missionary folded his hands In the sleeves of his robe, and began speaking. "It is this. The fall of the year Is upon us. What crops we have will soon be gathered, the fruit will be dried, the corn stored. 'And the mountains shall drop down new wine.' A busy happy time. But to me, a sad and thoughtful time. It is autumn, and nature prepares for sleep. And I am recalled to my long sleep, and my body's mortality. mor-tality. Ai, my poor old body!" Don Pedro looked at him quickly. "You are not well? How is your ulcered leg?'.' "That is nothing. Since the young mule driver put some of the ointment oint-ment upon it that he uses on his beasts I have not thought much about it. But you must know I do not regret my miserable carcass its due infirmities. It is only that I fear I shall be called to my undeserved un-deserved reward before I have finished fin-ished the . tasks I have set myself to do for the glory of God in California." Cali-fornia." "Padre mio, if you should be taken from us this night, which God forbid, you have accomplished more than seems humanly possible for one man to do. You have performed per-formed miracles, wonders." The other groaned. "Nothing! Nothing! A few hands-ful hands-ful of souls brought to salvation when there are still thousands wandering wan-dering in benighted darkness in this California! It is not enough. Stronger Strong-er and stronger every day, every hour, I hear the command to bring in more souls. I seem to see whole armies of dark unsaved spirits, their arms lifted, begging, pleading, praying pray-ing for the Church to rescue them from never-ending damnation!" He raised his clasped hands toward heaven, and gazed upward. The Governor stared at the missionary, mis-sionary, then averted his eyes as though embarrassed. "Ah, my son," the father contin ued, "you love California. Why do you stand in the way of her further development? Why do you Impede the progress of Mother Church? Why, oh, why, do you not lend your assistance, your Influence to the founding of that mission on the Santa Barbara Channel which is so dear to my heart?" He took a step toward the Governor, Gov-ernor, with outflung hands; Impassioned, Impas-sioned, eloquent. Fages avoided the missionary's eyes, which met his only at moments mo-ments like this, and which burned with fanaticism unfathomable to the soldier's understanding. He felt miserable, mis-erable, small; a shriveled, cringing monster groveling in the path of a flaming archangel. He rolled his eyes helplessly for another point on which to rest them than upon the fervid missionary. A good, round soldier's oath would have helped him. He hesitated to mouth it, but whispered It to himself, him-self, gaining strength from its pungency. pun-gency. "I can not promise you that mission," mis-sion," he replied shortly. "There is already a presidio established at Santa Barbara, and more soldiers can not be spared for a mission." "And why not? Two soldiers out of a whole garrison! Only two, to establish a mission! What could be more important?" Fages' patience fled. "Good Father, you attend to your affairs of the Church, and I will attend at-tend to mine of the State! 'Only two soldiers' you say. I need every so-dier so-dier in the province, and more besides be-sides to protect California." The priest turned on his heel, and walked into his house. The Governor Gover-nor followed him firmly. Pio, an Indian boy, was lighting the candles. "Begone," ordered the priest. The boy east afrightened look at the angry faces distorted by the candlelight, and scuttled out. Priest and soldier faced each other across the table. "You know well I am a good churchman," continued the Governor. Gover-nor. "I am not a pious man by nature, na-ture, but in my lenience with you Franciscans in California I have almost al-most overstepped my authority. Why, in Mexico, they call me a frailero, a priest lover!" "They do misjudge you," murmured mur-mured Serra with a touch of sarcasm. sar-casm. "No more than you do. I have done what I could for the Church, and for these worthless Indians, who, in my mind, seem better off in their native savagery than living under the yoke of slavery which the Church has laid upon them." (TO BE CONTINUED) |
