AMONG THE MISSIONS
Miss Helen did not mean that they should settle down at once to work. "I think the children will learn much of history, and many other things as useful, if we see a little of this old California before we set them to work," she said to Mrs. Corner. "Moreover, we must decide upon our own abiding place before we can expect them to put their minds upon study, and besides it is not going to be easy to find just the right teacher for them."
"They are learning fast enough as it is," returned Mrs. Corner, "and we do not want to travel too rapidly. I am not imbued so deeply with the American spirit of hurry that I want to jump from place to place without getting an idea of where I am. It would be well, I think, to examine each locality carefully as we go along."
"That is exactly my idea," replied Miss Helen, returning to the book she was reading while her sister turned to gaze out upon the scene spread out before her. After a little pause Miss Helen spoke again, this time to the children who were gathered together with a story book which they were reading aloud by turns. "What do you girls say to a pilgrimage to the old missions?" asked their aunt.
"I'd love it," cried Nan.
"So should I," echoed Jack who always wanted to do whatever Nan did.
"What are old missions?" asked Jean. "Shall we see the missionaries and the heathen mothers throwing their children to the crocodiles? If we shall I don't want to go; it would make me feel too sad."
"Goosey!" cried Nan. "Of course not. This isn't India and besides people don't do nowadays as they used to when that little old hymn-book of Aunt Sarah's was made. They aren't that kind of missions, are they, Aunt Helen?"
"Not exactly, though no doubt in the early days there were customs among the Indians which would seem very dreadful to us now, and which the mission fathers had to overcome."
"Did they use to throw away their children?" asked Jean upon whose youthful mind this had made a great impression.
"Hardly, I think."
"Then what did the missionaries have to do?"
"They built churches for them and taught them all sorts of useful things. They learned to sew and to spin and weave, that is the women did, and the men were taught to be carpenters and farmers and builders."
"Were they very wicked?" asked Jack. "They were Indians, I thought, and of course they used to scalp people and tomahawk them and dash the babies against the trees to kill them; that is as bad, Jean, as throwing them into the river."
"It's worse," declared Jean.
"Oh, these were nice, kind Indians," said Nan comfortably; "I don't suppose they ever did those horrid things, did they, Aunt Helen?"
"They were gentler than most, I believe, and they responded very lovingly to the teachings of the priests. There is nothing in California more interesting, to my mind, than those old churches founded by the Spanish padres. Most of them are in ruins and the Indians, who labored so faithfully, were scattered far and wide. Their descendants have now so degenerated that there are very few to represent the industrious, gentle people watched over so carefully by Father Junipero and his followers. I must send and get a copy of 'Ramona,' for you older girls; we can read it aloud evenings, and I am sure you will soon be taking a very deep interest in these old missions."
"How many are there?" asked Nan.
"About twenty, but some of them are rather inaccessible and others are quite in a dilapidated condition so we will not visit all. We shall begin with San Diego, for here we are within six miles of the site, then we can go on to San Luis Rey and San Juan Capistrano on our way to Los Angeles, and then we can decide where we shall want to stay for the winter."
"I think it's awfully nice here," remarked Jack.
"Yes, but there might be a still nicer place," said Jean sagely, "and then we'd be sorry when we came to it that we hadn't looked further. You know we have said all along that we wanted to be near Mr. Pinckney," she reminded Jack.
"Oh, yes, that is so; we do want to do that, for then we may get boxes of candy every little while," returned Jack cheerfully.
"That's not the reason," said Nan severely. "It is because he is so nice and will make us all at home. Won't it seem queer to really settle down to live in a perfectly strange place? I wonder how in the world we shall know what to buy and what to pay for it. How shall you manage, mother?" She turned to Mrs. Corner.
"I shall not bother my head over that problem till I face it," her mother made reply. "I should judge from our experiences so far that we shall not want for what we need. It is surely a bountiful country and the marketing will be the least of our difficulties."
"What is the greatest, then?"
"Deciding where it will be best to locate. There are so many charming places described in these pamphlets that I am perfectly bewildered." She laid her hand upon a pile of circulars by her side.
"I think we'd better decide to stay where you feel the best," said Nan.
"But we don't want to stay so long in one place that we can thoroughly test it till we come to the right one, and who is to know which that is?"
"Then try one or two and if you happen to feel fine in any of them there will be no need to try further."
"Quite true, my sapient daughter, we will take your sage advice."
Nan laughed and returned to her reading. She often surprised her mother by a sudden practical suggestion, for, full of sentiment though she was, she nevertheless had a keen insight and a warm sympathy which helped her judgments in matters where her heart was concerned. She adored her mother, and, being the eldest, realized better than the others what this winter meant to her, for on account of her health Mrs. Corner had been obliged to spend the previous winter away from her family and Nan dreaded lest worse should some day come, so California meant not only a place for pleasuring but one which they hoped might bring health and happiness to them all.
The thought of what it meant was upon Nan now and she did not listen to the fairy tale which Mary Lee was taking her turn in reading. The world was full of fairy tales, Nan thought, and they were almost living in one themselves, for was not Aunt Helen the fairy godmother who had made present delights possible. She smiled up at her aunt and left the group to follow the fortunes of sweet Babette while she joined the two who sat a little apart.
"The world is a mighty nice place most anywhere, when you are happy, isn't it, Aunt Helen?" said Nan.
"So you have found that out, have you?" replied her aunt smiling. "Yes, dear, one can be miserable in the loveliest spot on earth, and can be happy in the dreariest. The kingdom of heaven is within you," she added softly.
Nan pondered over this. "I never understood it in that way before," she said after a while. "I am glad I know now."
They were sitting on the porch of their hotel at San Diego. One could not tell that summer had gone, for though there was a slight pallor upon the lower hills, and the green of the chaparral was not so bright, the grass still showed as lively a color in a few moist places and as for the rest it might have been July, save that the days were shorter and the nights cooler. The rains would probably soon commence but Miss Helen thought they might count upon little interruption to their travels, since a rainy day at home did not set aside a journey.
But several rainy days did delay their start and in the meantime Nan and Mary Lee read "Ramona" zealously, becoming more and more fired with indignation at the treatment of the Indians, and more and more interested in the work of the padres.
"I am almost ashamed of being an American," said Nan with vehemence. "I never was before in my life, but when I think of those poor Indians driven out of their homes, and of how those dear old padres worked so hard for them to have their labor for nothing, it makes my blood boil. I am just ashamed of ourselves."
"But you didn't do it," returned Mary Lee, more quiet in her judgments.
"But my country did."
"Well, you couldn't help that."
"I'd like to help it."
"But they say the Indians have become miserable, disgusting, filthy creatures, not at all like they used to be."
"So much the more pity. They might have been kept respectable, and have grown still more so if they had not been robbed of everything."
"We can't tell what they might have been," said Mary Lee, determined to have the last word.
But Nan was equally determined. "If you feel that way about it I shouldn't think you would care to visit the missions," she remarked as she made her exit from the room.
However, Mary Lee was quite as interested as the others when they started out on their pilgrimage to the mission of San Diego, which was the first to be founded by good Father Junipero Serra. The six mile drive to the spot was a pleasant one, for though November winds were wailing through the Virginia woods scattering the brown leaves over the ground, here the sun was shining warm, and the first rain of a week earlier had given place to bright pleasant weather. The dry fields were turning to a vivid green as if it were spring rather than winter which was coming and the landscape was freshening up after the rainless summer.
"It is lovely, lovely," cried Mrs. Corner. "To think there will be no cold snows to chill one to the marrow, and that we shall see fruit and flowers growing the winter long."
"Won't there be any snow at all?" asked Jack wonderingly. "Then how can we go coasting?"
"You can't," said Nan briefly.
Jack looked a little disappointed. She dearly loved a rough and tumble time in the snow.
"And won't there be any Christmas?" asked Jean eagerly.
Nan laughed. "You little goosey, you know there will. You don't suppose Christmas is like a groundhog that only stays out when it doesn't see its shadow. Christmas comes anywhere and in any weather."
This relieved Jean's mind on that score and she settled back in the carriage and began thinking what she would like Santa Claus to bring her while the others looked out upon the road leading by Old Town and thought of the changes which had taken place since Junipero Serra first came that way to plant his mission.
"Shouldn't you like to have been there then?" said Nan to her Aunt Helen. "I wish I could have seen them swinging the bells over a tree and raising the cross while the Indians all stood around looking so surprised." Nan was the first to reach the old church. "I'd salute it with three cheers and a tiger," she said, "if I didn't think Father Junipero would be scandalized."
"You talk as if he could hear you," Mary Lee returned.
"Perhaps he can," said Nan.
Not much of the original church remained, but the portion of the adobe wall and the fachada still standing, gave them an idea of what had been.
"What is the new building?" asked Mary Lee. "It looks queer beside the other, doesn't it?"
"It is a school for Indian children," Miss Helen informed her.
"Can we go in?"
"We will see."
"I hope they will let us in," said Nan to Mary Lee, "don't you? I should like to see what an Indian school looks like."
"I wonder if they know any of the old, old hymns," said Miss Helen musingly. "It would be good to hear them."
To their gratification they were permitted to enter and not only saw the working of the school but heard the children sing some of the old anthems handed down from their forefathers. "Don't allow those old chorals to sink into obscurity," said Miss Helen to the priest who did the honors of the place. "Think, Nan," she went on, as she turned to her niece, "those are the same ancient chorals which were sung in Father Junipero's day."
"I can imagine just how it used to be," whispered Nan in reply.
As they came out they turned their steps toward the old church again. "But where are the flocks and herds, the busy men and women cheerfully working under their good teachers?" said Miss Helen. "Where are the vineyards and the fields of grain?" She looked out over the quiet landscape and sighed. "It was pretty hard," she said, shaking her head.
The good priest who showed them around gave many interesting accounts to which the older members of the party listened attentively. The twins were more interested in the swift little lizards darting in and out the crevices of the church, and in prying curiously into odd corners.
The Good Priest Gave Many Interesting Accounts.
"There is an underground passage from the old well," said Nan in an undertone to her sister. "The priest says it was probably used for storing tallow, but I believe it was made for escape in case of attack. He says that is what some persons think."
"It is more likely to be the tallow," returned Mary Lee, "but of course you would want it to be the other, for it is more romantic."
As they drove away Miss Helen remarked, "The school building certainly does detract from the beauty of the picture, but who would do away with it? Who would not keep alive some of the spirit of those once prosperous days? To think, Mary," she turned to Mrs. Corner, "we cross the ocean to see the old churches and the picturesque in other lands, while at our own doors are these missions which we allow to fall into decay. I really believe that not one half of our countrymen know what is in our own land when they go to Europe. I am sure I didn't know, except in a vague way. Every American who can afford it ought to make at least one pilgrimage to these old California missions. We must see as many of them as we can. They interest me more than big trees or orange orchards. I know one of my lassies who will be always ready to go with me when the others want to stay at home," she added as she glanced at Nan whose starry eyes were fixed on the retreating picture of the old ruin, and whose lips were moving. Leaning forward Miss Helen whispered, "What are you saying, Nan?"
"I was just thanking Father Junipero," she said simply. "Where is the next mission, Aunt Helen, and when shall we go there?"
"You and I will take a little excursion to San Luis Rey if no one else wants to go, and then on our way to Los Angeles we can all stop off at San Juan Capistrano; it is close to the railway station and we needn't lose much time in going there."
The visiting of one mission was quite enough for Mary Lee and the twins, and even Mrs. Corner declared that she was too tired to undertake a like journey soon again, so it was left to Miss Helen and Nan alone to make the trip to San Luis Rey.
"It's kind of nice and cozy for us to go off skylarking by ourselves," said Nan cuddling up to her aunt. "Of course I want the others to have a good time, but they wouldn't care for what we are going to do and would rather gad the streets of San Diego. What are you going in here for?" she asked as Miss Helen stopped at one of the shops.
"To get some chocolate and biscuits. I never undertake an expedition of this kind without laying in some sort of stores, for one never knows what will happen. I don't like to be stranded in a place where there are no resources, and I don't mean that either of us shall get starved out."
"It would be nice to have some oranges, too."
"We can get them along the way. They will be heavy to carry, and we'd better not try for them till we really need them."
"It will be lots of fun," said Nan contentedly. "Oh, me, Aunt Helen, I am having such a good time. Just think what a real fairy godmother you have been. When I think of how much we missed before you came into our lives I feel so satisfied at the change."
"I don't think the lack was any detriment, dear, for, after all, it is by contrast that we enjoy. If you had always been dragged around the world sight-seeing you would be tired out by this time; now everything is fresh and new and you are capable of much more enjoyment than if you had been pampered all your life. I believe in your having new and broadening experiences, but I don't think we shall insist upon your traveling all the time; this trip to California will have to do you for a while, but we will not look ahead."
"Let's not, though it is very temptatious."
"What a word."
"It is much better for what I mean than tempting; that sounds as if you meant something to eat, but temptatious, to my thinking, refers to your mind."
"Oh, you funny Nan," laughed Miss Helen.
Having supplied themselves with chocolate and other necessary things they started by train for the mission fathered so zealously by Padre Peyri. It compelled a drive of four miles from Oceanside, but this was a pleasant part of the programme and gave an opportunity of disposing of the chocolate and the fruit they were able to get along the way.
The fine old church, even in its dilapidation, was to be admired and Miss Helen pointed out to Nan the outlines of its towers, the beauty of its proportions.
"How unlike anything of ours it is," said Nan. "It has such numbers of pillars and is such a big affair. I don't see where all the people came from to fill it."
"But you see it wasn't all church, dearie. These missions held schools and the people lived here where they were trained for all sorts of occupations; the women learned to weave and spin; the men were taught cabinet making, carpentering and such trades. The Indians came from the little villages around which were called rancherias. Can't you imagine how interesting it must have been to see the religious processions marching along those old corridors chanting their hymns?"
"What is it used for now?" asked Nan gazing at the time-worn building.
"As a college for the training of missionaries to the Indians. It is hoped that they will be able to restore it eventually; a good work, I am sure."
"How they must have hated to give it up when it was turned over to the—what do you call it?"
"To the civil authorities. It is generally called the secularization of the missions, but you needn't try to remember that long word. Yes, we can be assured that it was a great trial, and you can imagine how it must have hurt those who revered the place when it was desecrated by bull fights which took place in the plaza. They say that crowds of people gathered on the roofs to see that dreadful sport. How different from the sweet and peaceful festas of the church. What a change from solemn anthems to the shouts of a bloodthirsty throng of spectators."
"I wonder Father Peyri didn't rise in his grave."
"One might think so if he had been buried here, but it is said that after the republic became a fact and the mission passed into the hands of the secularists, he made up his mind that his thirty years' service must end with his resignation. But he felt so badly about it that he went away in the night."
"Didn't they miss him and wonder where he was?"
"They did the next morning, and rode after him to San Diego, but he was already on the ship and was just putting out to sea. Some swam out to try to reach him, but he could not, or would not, come back, and passed from their sight with extended arms, blessing them. His poor Indians must have returned with deep sadness in their hearts, for they knew they would never see him again, and after thirty years of loving service such as his was, they must have felt that he was more than a father to them. What a subject for a poem it would be."
"It is all tremendously interesting," declared Nan. "It does make one know so much more about history to be actually on the spot where things have taken place. I knew in a sort of vague way about California belonging to Spain and to Mexico, and then to us, but I never thought much about the whys and wherefores; it always seemed so mixy-up and complicated. When you tell me about the missions I can understand that it was Spain that first held it, then when Mexico became a republic they wouldn't have any more Spanish rule and snatched the missions from the Spanish priests. Then we came along and did some more snatching from the Indians. We grabbed up California and stuck a new star on our flag, after the Mexican war, so now she is ours for keeps. I'm glad of that, but I want to hide my face under the bed-covers when I think of how outrageously we have treated the Indians."
"You certainly have the situation in a nut-shell," said Miss Helen with a smile as they left the carriage and made their way to the mission to gain a view of the interior of the church, to look at the fine old mortuary chapel, the ancient pulpit and the pathetic ruins, now the abode of toads and lizards, and where weeds ran riot.
Among the ruins they sat down with the padre who met them and who told them tales of the past. He opened his heart on the matter of his hopes for the future, his dear desire to see the mission fully restored, and, as they thought of its past, both Miss Helen and Nan echoed his wish.
"It's been like walking on my great-grandmother's shoes," said Nan as they drove away. "I feel as if I had been living in her time or even in my great-great's. I feel sort of blinky and queer in my mind, as you do when you come out of a dark place into the sunlight."
Miss Helen laughed. Nan's original similes always amused her. "How I shall love to take you to Europe," she said. "You are such a satisfactory sort of somebody, Nan."
"Am I? That's awfully complimentary, Aunt Helen."
"No, as a little boy I knew would say when you charged him with flattering you, 'that isn't a compliment, it's the truth.' One would suppose that a compliment couldn't be the truth from his point of view, but it can be and is, in this case. Nan, dear, take your last look of San Luis Rey; you may never see it again."
"I don't want to think that, but I'll take the look all the same," and Nan leaned out to see the fast vanishing campanile of the old church.