| OCR Text |
Show j Mistress of Monterey Uirqinia Stivers Bartlett - h h '''rr J CHAPTER XXII Continued. 19 She writhed and struggled, clawing claw-ing at his muffling fingers. The re-bozo re-bozo slipped around her neck, her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders. shoul-ders. But Pedro Fages clutched her firmly, and at last threw her over his shoulder, and lifted her to toss her on to the horse. As soon as she touched the saddle she began to scream, and started to slide down. As her feet touched the earth at the side of the horse, Fages pinned her to the side of his animal ani-mal with one arm and looked at her a moment. "You let me alone!" she exclaimed ex-claimed stridently. "I will not stay another minute here!" Fages lifted his hand and rapped a stinging slap across Eulalia's jaws. She put her hands to her face, and her mouth fell open in pain and surprise. "Now, get on that horse," said the Governor sternly. She hesitated just a second for the strong hand that was usually her mounting block, then scrambled quickly into the saddle. As they passed the sentries at the presidio gates, she covered her head and bent low. The sentries looked after them with lively curiosity. At the door of the mansion An-gustias' An-gustias' scared face met them. "Go to bed," said the Governor shortly. With a gasp of understanding An-gustias An-gustias scuttled away. Eulalia cast herself on the bed, trembling and fearful, but the Governor Gov-ernor did not even look at her. She rubbed her stinging cheek tenderly a moment, then undressed, and slipped beneath the covers. Still the Governor did not speak, nor make any move, only stood with folded arms, looking at the floor. At last, with a sigh, he stirred himself, and sank, a dejected dusty figure, before the Madonna. He reached for his rosary and began be-gan his prayers. But his thoughts wandered from his devotions. "Poor little thing. Poor little thing. I had not dreamed she hated California so. Hated me. Ave Maria Ma-ria Purisima . . . hates me! Ai, ai, ai! Who loves her so. Poor little lit-tle thing. Ave Maria . . ." He bowed his head still lower. His wife's frightened, frantic face, surrounded by her roughened tresses, her wide wet eyes, and little lit-tle sharp teeth bared by trembling lips came into his mind again. He groaned. "Poor little thing . . . like a little frightened animal caught in a snare, goaded into gnawing off a foot, rather rath-er than to be held in a trap. Ave Maria!" He beat his breast softly, despairingly. Then he slipped his hand beneath his leather jerkin and drew out the scapular made from Junipero Serra's habit. Holding it in his hands was some comfort. Timidly he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. "Poor little thing!" That was all his thoughts could form. "I understand. under-stand. I, too, if I did not love this strange California, would wish to sail away. Even with my love, I have loneliness, the' wish for companionship. com-panionship. Ave Maria! What shall I do now? God help me, holy Master Mas-ter Jesus, help me, Santa Maria, help me, holy Father Serra, intercede inter-cede for me." He had crouched so long, lost in prayer and bitterness, that when he ' raised his head, he saw it was already al-ready dawn. From the parade-ground parade-ground there came the sound of a bugle's notes, and of horses' hoofs. Sharply he remembered he had ordered or-dered a guard to accompany him to the beach to witness the departure depar-ture of the French ships. He pulled himself stiffly to his feet, and looked across at the bed. Eulalia was asleep, one hand still curved over her outraged cheek. Tenderly he bent over her a moment mo-ment then tiptoed out of the room. On the beach blazed a huge fire of driftwood. The sand was marked with the prints of many feet. There were bits of refuse and scraps left by the departing French sailors. Fages looked about him. Here the tent which was the laboratory had stood, with its strange fascinating instruments. Here were the blackened black-ened cinders of the fire where the balloon had risen. Fa"cs sighed and lifted his glasses. It was a thick morning Fog moved in so densely he could scarcely see the water. He wondered won-dered if La Perouse could see the beams of the fire he had built in iis honor. He thought of Le Pante Dngelet ... and dismissed him. once and for all. from his thoughts. He remembered what La Perouse had said, that on leaving California he must catch the Chinese monsoon into Asiatic waters. "My imagination imagina-tion must always precede my vessel ves-sel by two or three thousand lc-i-ues," he had laughed. Fages envied en-vied him with all his heart. Suddcnlv a breeze moved, and lifted the fog for a few moments from the face of the waters. : Don Pedro and the watchers on . shore .aw the spread sails and tow-1 tow-1 ering Qsts of the Boussoie and t..- Astrolabe, nearer than it had seemed they could be, putting out of the bay into the open sea. They cheered, moved by the sight of the shadowy ships. From one of them, the flag-ship, came a burst of smoke, followed by a mist-muffled salute. The soldiers of the presidio guard fired a volley in reply. Then as the fog moved down again they were lost to sight, and the fog did not lift again. It was years later that the Viceroy of Mexico learned, by dispatches sent from Europe, that the Boussoie and the Astrolabe had made the Sandwich Islands, and there deposited de-posited with the captain of a homeward-bound English ship all of the findings of the Count Jean Francois Galaup de La Perouse, concerning his expedition, and his visit to California, Cali-fornia, the fortitude of the Governor Don Pedro Fages, the kindness and piety of Pere Fermin Lasuen, and the hospitality of them both. From the Sandwich Isles, the Frenchmen had sailed away, had been seen once again by men in New Zealand, then disappeared. The Astrolabe, the Boussoie, the Count de La Perouse, Monsieur de Langle, Le Pante Dagelet, the scholars, schol-ars, scientists, sailors and lovers; the delicate instruments, the botanical botan-ical and zoological specimens which had been picked up in the French- Mr Watched Indizuela Sauntering Toward Him. men's expedition, were all lost in the Pacific. And the manner of their disaster remained for ever a mystery. mys-tery. CHAPTER XXIII "Now I will sing to my well beloved a song of my beloved touching his vineyard. My well beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill " Fray Fermin Lasuen, sitting beside be-side the Governor on the hot earth beneath a great oak on top of a hill, repeated the words of Isaiah as they watched the Indians picking the ripe grapes that burdened the gnarled and twisted vines. It was the last day of the ven-dimia. ven-dimia. . The fruit had been allowed to hang beneath the burning sun until un-til the last possible minute when rich juices would strain the purple skins to the utmost, without beginning begin-ning to dry. Only a few stragglers remained in the vineyard. The fiesta fi-esta de la vendimia was already starting as a bustle and stir in the direction of the barbecue pits, shouts and songs from the workers attested. Fray Fermin, who had come over from Carmelo to bless the vintage, watched the Indian girl, Indizuela, as she passed them, a great basket of grapes on her head. "I want to speak to you of that little one," he said. "She is no longer long-er a savage child, but a well-trained little Christian woman, fit to be a good wife to some man. It is time for her to wed. And because she is your protege, you should know 1 have it in my heart to arrange a marriage for' her with young Pio." "An Indian!" exclaimed the Governor. Gov-ernor. . Why not? He is a good Christian, Chris-tian, and since his beloved master's death he has been so bereft I feel he needs something harpy in his life. Several times, ycu know, he has run away to join his sava.ee brethren, and I am afraid we w.ii loe him entirely." Faces mused, lookine after the graceful (".sure of the girl. "I surpfse 'ou are I":Pht- Padre But he still seems a child to me. V-d I had rather thought she would marrv. when the time came, one cf the Kir.q's soldiers. Do ycu want n-e to srer.k with her? I w;.i. 1e father rose to hts feet. Then do it new. my son. I -;U d"''v' t0 f0e how the nosta is process- '"lie stretch in the tr:;M light, blinking as he faced the sun. "Ah-h-h!" he breathed. "How good is this sun, and warm air! I am happy, your Excellency. Very happy. I shall go now in a few days to Santa Barbara to begin preparations prepara-tions for founding the Mission Santa Barbara." "Yes, Father. I am happy also about that, as you can well understand. under-stand. If only Fray Junipero were here to be with us." "Ah, well, I doubt not he knows well what is going forward. It seems most fitting to be beginning these preparations during the season sea-son of the vintage. For I am planning plan-ning to plant for my beloved, my Master, another vineyard, and I pray the hill will be very fruitful, as yours is." He smiled, and Fages watched him walk away, his old face lit with exalted smiles. Then he turned and watched Indizuela Indi-zuela sauntering toward him, her basket empty. Her hands were purple-stained, and her lips, for she had filched the most luscious grapes here and there as she picked. "Her eyes are black, black as a starry night," thought Fages. As she came toward him, she smiled suddenly, and the flash of white teeth in her dark face was startling. She was dark, dark as the earth, and from her rose an aura of fruit-fulness, fruit-fulness, of ancient earth-mysteries, hidden, savage, impenetrable. Pedro Fages' blood pounded. His throat felt choked. ' A temple vein rose and pulsed suddenly. His eyes swam, and his knees felt weak. "Indizuela!" he called, but his voice broke suddenly. He cleared his throat as the girl looked at him, still smiling with a subtle understanding under-standing look in her eyes. "I ... I want to . . . speak with you . . Sit down." She sank on to the earth, and with a little gesture seemed to become a part of it. From swimming eyes she looked up at him. "Si, Senor?" she asked softly. Fages clenched his hands. "Fray Fermin has said," he blurted hastily, hasti-ly, "that he wishes to arrange a marriage for you with Pio. What do you say?" She looked at him mockingly, gravely. "That old man should think of other things than marriages. It is not decent for his thoughts to dwell on such things. So I have been taught." "Do you want to marry Pio?" the Governor asked hurriedly. "Do you love him?" "I have also been taught to tell the truth." She bent over and patted pat-ted a handful of earth into a little pile, and smoothed it as she spoke. "I do not love Pio. I do not love any of the Indian boys, nor any of the soldiers." She looked at the Governor, Gov-ernor, with head suddenly thrown back. She laughed. "You know. You have always known, as I have, that I am for you. No one shall have me but my lord, my beloved master. I am his, to gather as he does the grapes from his vineyard, and to crush, as he crushes them." Fages listened to the low voice that seemed to blend with the buzzing buzz-ing of the bees. What she said seemed natural, as though somewhere, some-where, some time, he had heard it before. As though in a spell he spoke. "Yes," he said, in a voice not his own. The girl took a deep breath. "When?" she asked simply. "Now? This is the vendimia." The man trembled. He was under un-der a spell. He must break it . . . quickly ... He looked about him in a panic. The gatherers had finished fin-ished their tasks, and now were clustered around the barbecue. Their voices seemed to come from a great distance. There was no one near. Heat shimmered from the earth, but the Governor of California Califor-nia shivered. Yes, it was the vendimia. Why not? She was his. So utterly his. And he needed her so. Not only his body, but his mind and spirit called for the fulfilment a blending with her would bring. But he fought the girl's witchcraft, and she sensed it. "I know. It is your woman. La Gobernadora. Pah!" she spat. "That white one. That cold cruel Spaniard! Listen!" She leaned forward for-ward eagerly. "I know what happened hap-pened when the Frenchmen were here! I know who brought La Gobernadora Gob-ernadora through the gates of the presidio the night before the Frenchmen sailed! We can do away with her!" She laughed triumphantly. triumphant-ly. "Look!" She slipped her hand in her bosom and brought out a little lit-tle sack of skin. It was dry and something rattled in it "Look! This is magic. I got it from a witch woman. It is strong medicine. If I will I can make her wither away and die . . . and then . . ." The Governor unconsciously put his hand beneath his leather jerkin. "Junipero Serra . . ." he muttered, feeling the scrap of sanctified cloth. He closed his lids to shut out the warm wonder of the Indian girl's eyes. "Go away," he said gutturally. "Please, Indizuela, if you love me, go away." The girl did not move. It was the Governor who rose on unsteady feet and staggered like a drunken man toward the fiesta. In spite of the priests moving mov-ing about in their somber habits, the vendimia seemed a pagan festival. festi-val. Beneath the ancient live-oaks, a crowd of merrymakers celebrated the vintage in manner traditionaL Among them Don Pedro noticed his guests from the Presidio at San Francisco and Santa Barbara, and a group of officers and sailors from the San Carlos which lay in Monterey Monte-rey Bay. Their heads were wreathed with vines, and they were drinking wine from the last vintage, singing, laughing, dancing; uttering robust jokes, circling around the barbecue pits where slaving cooks were lifting the savory roasted bull and hacking it into pieces. Near by was the great vat where the grapes were poured to be crushed. A little stream ran near it, and there, all who wished to tread the wine washed their feet, then plunged into the purple pool with jocund shouts. On a rough dais, beneath a ra-mada, ra-mada, sat La Gobernadora surrounded sur-rounded by young laughing officers, who vied with one another in composing com-posing flattering toasts to her beauty, beau-ty, her wit, her distinguished position posi-tion as Queen of the Californias. She was dressed in the Maja costume, cos-tume, in her lap a great basket of grapes, and on her head a wreath of grape leaves. At her feet a soldier sat, his head tied in a scarlet handkerchief, hand-kerchief, and across his knees a guitar. He was singing a song to her, and she smiled, as Don Pedro watched, and lifted her glass to the troubador. Don Pedro stared at Eulalia curiously, curi-ously, as though he had never seen her before. She seemed happy. This was what she loved, craved, after all; flattery, admiration, adulation. He stopped uncertainly. For a moment mo-ment he thought he would turn and go back to the brown ardent Indian girl who still waited for him beneath be-neath the quiet sheltering tree. But young Pedro, watching the carving of the bull meat, saw him. "There he is!" he shouted. "Now we can have the feast!" So the Governor was drawn unwillingly un-willingly into the festivities. (TO BE COXTIWED) |
