The Old Franciscan Missions Of California

by George Wharton James

In 1774, the separation of the Mission from the presidio was decided upon, in order to remove the neophytes from the evil influences of the soldiers. The site chosen was six miles up the valley (named Nipaguay by the Indians), and so well did all work together that by the end of the year a dwelling, a storehouse, a smithy built of adobes, and a wooden church eighteen by fifty-seven feet, and roofed with tiles, were completed. Already the work of the padres had accomplished much. Seventy-six neophytes rejoiced their religious hearts, and the herds had increased to 40 cattle, 64 sheep, 55 goats, 19 hogs, 2 jacks, 2 burros, 17 mares, 3 foals, 9 horses, 22 mules,--233 animals in all.

The presidio remained at Cosoy (now old San Diego), and four thousand adobes that had been made for the Mission buildings were turned over to the military. A rude stockade was erected, with two bronze cannon, one mounted towards the harbor, the other towards the Indian ranchería.

The experiments in grain raising at first were not successful. The seed was sown in the river bottom and the crop was destroyed by the unexpected rising of the river. The following year it was sown so far from water that it died from drought. In the fall of 1775 all seemed to be bright with hope. New buildings had been erected, a well dug, and more land made ready for sowing. The Indians were showing greater willingness to submit themselves to the priests, when a conflict occurred that revealed to the padres what they might have to contend with in their future efforts towards the Christianizing of the natives. The day before the feast of St. Francis (October 4, 1775), Padres Jayme and Fuster were made happy by being required to baptize sixty new converts. Yet a few days later they were saddened by the fact that two of these newly baptized fled from the Mission and escaped to the mountains, there to stir up enmity and revolt. For nearly a month they moved about, fanning the fires of hatred against the "long gowns," until on the night of November 4 (1775) nearly eight hundred naked savages, after dusk, stealthily advanced and surrounded the Mission, where the inmates slept unguarded, so certain were they of their security. Part of the force went on to the presidio, where, in the absence of the commander, the laxity of discipline was such that no sentinel was on guard.

An hour after midnight the whole of the Mission was surrounded. The quarters of the Christianized Indians were invaded, and they were threatened with instantaneous death if they gave the alarm. The church was broken into, and all the vestments and sacred vessels stolen. Then the buildings were fired. Not until then did the inmates know of their danger. Imagine their horror, to wake up and find the building on fire and themselves surrounded by what, in their dazed condition, seemed countless hordes of savages, all howling, yelling, brandishing war-clubs, firing their arrows,--the scene made doubly fearful by the red glare of the flames.

In the guard-house were four soldiers,--the whole of the Mission garrison; in the house the two priests, Jayme and Fuster, two little boys, and three men (a blacksmith and two carpenters). Father Fuster, the two boys, and the blacksmith sought to reach the guard-house, but the latter was slain on the way. The Indians broke into the room where the carpenters were, and one of them was so cruelly wounded that he died the next day.

Father Jayme, with the shining light of martyrdom in his eyes, and the fierce joy of fearlessness in his heart, not only refused to seek shelter, but deliberately walked towards the howling band, lifting his hands in blessing with his usual salutation: "Love God, my children!" Scarcely were the words uttered when the wild band fell upon him, shrieking and crying, tearing off his habit, thrusting him rudely along, hurting him with stones, sticks, and battle-axe, until at the edge of the creek his now naked body was bruised until life was extinct, and then the corpse filled with arrows.

Three soldiers and the carpenter, with Father Fuster and two boys loading the guns for them, fought off the invaders from a near-by kitchen, and at dawn the attacking force gathered up their dead and wounded and retired to the mountains.

No sooner were they gone than the neophytes came rushing up to see if any were left alive. Their delight at finding Father Fuster was immediately changed into sadness as others brought in the awfully mutilated and desecrated body of Father Jayme. Not until then did Father Fuster know that his companion was dead, and deep was the mourning of his inmost soul as he performed the last offices for his dear companion.

Strange to say, so careless was the garrison that not until a messenger reached it from Father Fuster did they know of the attack. They had placed no guards, posted no sentinels, and, indifferent in their foolish scorn of the prowess and courage of the Indians, had slept calmly, though they themselves might easily have been surprised, and the whole garrison murdered while asleep.

In the meantime letters were sent for aid to Rivera at Monterey, and Anza, the latter known to be approaching from the Colorado River region; and in suspense until they arrived, the little garrison and the remaining priests passed the rest of the year. The two commanders met at San Gabriel, and together marched to San Diego, where they arrived January 11, 1776. It was not long before they quarreled. Anza was for quick, decisive action; Rivera was for delay; so, when news arrived from San Gabriel that the food supply was running short, Anza left in order to carry out his original orders, which involved the founding of San Francisco. Not long after his departure Carlos, the neophyte who had been concerned in the insurrection, returned to San Diego, and, doubtless acting under the suggestion of the padres, took refuge in the temporary church at the presidio.