On Sunset Highways: A Book of Motor Rambles in California

by Thos. D. Murphy

"There is seldom a day," said our guide, "that a quake is not registered and so long as they occur regularly we have little to fear, but an entire absence of tremors for several days is likely to precede a violent shock."

The great refracting telescope is the prime "object of interest" to the visitor and we were shown in minute detail how this is operated. It stands on a granite pedestal—underneath which rests the body of the donor, James Lick—in the center of the great dome which one sees for many miles from the valley and which revolves bodily on a huge platform to bring the opening to the proper point. This, at the time of its construction, was the largest telescope in the world, the great lens, the masterpiece of Alvan Clark & Sons, being thirty-six inches in diameter. It is equipped with the latest apparatus for photographing the heavens and some of the most remarkable astronomical photographs in existence have been taken by the observatory. The telescope and dome are operated by electric motors and our guide gave exhibitions of the perfect control by the operator. Besides this there is a large reflecting telescope housed in a separate building and several smaller instruments. Visitors are allowed to look through the great telescope on Saturday night only, but are shown about the observatory on any afternoon of the week. No other great observatory is so accommodating to the public in this regard; and the annual number of visitors exceeds five thousand. The official handbook states that "while the observatory has no financial gain in the coming of visitors, no pains are spared to make the time spent here interesting and profitable to them." The same book gives a list of the important achievements of the Lick Observatory, with other information concerning the institution and may be had upon application to the managing director.

James Lick, who devoted three quarters of a million dollars to found the observatory, was a California pioneer who left his whole fortune of more than three millions to public benefactions. He was born in Fredericksburg, Pa., in 1796 and died in San Francisco in 1876. He came to California in 1847 and engaged in his trade of piano-making, but his great wealth came from real estate investment. He was a silent and somewhat eccentric man—a pronounced freethinker in religious matters. The observatory is now under the control of the University of California, which supplies the greater part of the finances for its maintenance.

Returning to the city, we found there was still time to visit the mission, about fifteen miles due north on the Oakland road. This is a macadam boulevard through a level and prosperous-looking country skirting San Francisco Bay and the run was a delightful one. Mission San Jose is a tiny village of a dozen houses and a few shops, bearing little resemblance to its bustling namesake to the southward. The dilapidated monastery is all that is left of the old-time buildings and the rude timber arcade stands directly by the roadside. We found a young fellow working on the place who gladly undertook to act as guide. He proved an ardent Catholic and an enthusiast for the restoration of the mission. This work, he said, had been undertaken by the Native Sons of California and they were organizing a carnival to raise funds. The building through which he led us is a series of dungeonlike adobe cells, with earthen floors and cracked and crumbling walls; it is roofed with willows tied to the roughly hewn rafters with rawhide. The tiles from the ruined church are carefully piled away to be used in the restoration and our guide declared that a wealthy Spanish family of the vicinity had a quantity of these which they would gladly return when needed. The church was destroyed by the earthquake of 1868 and has been replaced by a modern structure. This suffered but little in the great quake of 1906, but we were shown the curious spectacle in the cemetery of several marble shafts broken squarely in two by the shock. To the rear of the church and leading up to the orphanage conducted by the Dominican sisters, is a beautiful avenue bordered by olive trees planted by the padres in mission days. This is crossed by a second avenue running at right angles and no doubt these served as a passageway for many a solemn procession in days of old.

The location is charming indeed; one can stand in the rude portico of the dilapidated building and look over as pleasant a rural scene as can be found in California. The green meadows slope toward the bay, which gleams like molten silver in the late afternoon sun. Beyond it is a dark line of forest trees, the rounded contour of the green foothills, and, last of all, the rugged outlines of the Santa Cruz Mountains shrouded in the amethyst haze of evening. To the rear, rolling hills rise above the little hamlet and southward stands the sturdy bulk of Mission Peak.

No wonder, with such beautiful, fertile surroundings, San Jose Mission prospered in its palmy days. Founded in 1797—the fruitful year of Padre Lasuen's activity—it reached its zenith in 1820, when its Indian population numbered seventeen hundred and fifty-four. Its property at secularization exceeded one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in value and it even seemed to prosper for a while under the Mexican regime. Its decline began in 1840 and five years later less than two hundred and fifty natives were to be found in its precincts. Of the wreck and rebuilding of the church we have already told; in the new structure may be seen two of the original bells, nearly a century old. The baptismal font of hammered copper is still in use. It is about three feet in diameter and is surmounted by a small iron cross.

A few miles out of San Jose on the San Francisco road, at the pretty town of Santa Clara, was formerly the mission of that name. It has totally disappeared and on its site stands the new church and the buildings of Santa Clara College, the principal Catholic university of California. We drove into the large plaza in front of the church and walked in at the open door. The interior is that of a modern Catholic church, with an unusual number of paintings and images, among the latter a gorgeously painted Santa Clara with her bare foot on a writhing snake. The paintings are of little artistic merit and the effect of the interior is rather tawdry. The slightly unfavorable impression speedily fades from mind when through an open side door one gets a glimpse into the garden around which run the college cloisters. It is a beautiful green spot, with olives planted in mission days, palms, and masses of flowers. About it are slight remains of the old cloisters; hewn beams still form the roof, and portions of the walls some three feet thick still stand.

Santa Clara College, the oldest on the coast, was founded in 1855, and is now the largest Catholic school west of the Rockies. The buildings are quite extensive and the mission style of architecture appropriately prevails. In its museum is a good collection of relics once belonging to the ancient mission; furniture, candlesticks in silver and brass, vessels in gold and silver, crucifixes, bells, the mighty key to the oaken door, embroidered vestments, and a very remarkable book. This is an old choral on heavy vellum, hand-written in brilliant red and black; the covers are heavy leather over solid wood, and the corners and back are protected with ornamental bronze. It originally came from Spain and is supposed to be five hundred years old.

Santa Clara Mission, the tenth in order, was founded in 1777, twenty years earlier than its neighbor, San Jose, and the close proximity caused heart-burnings among the padres of Santa Clara when its rival was first projected. They declared that there was no necessity for it; that it was not on the beaten route of El Camino Real, and that it encroached on Santa Clara's lands and revenues. The dispute assumed such proportions that a special survey was made in 1801 to prevent further controversy. Despite the contention of Santa Clara that there was no room for its rival, it did not lack for prosperity, since in 1827 its population numbered fourteen hundred and twenty-four—about the same as San Jose, so there seems to have been ample room for both. At secularization, in 1835, there were less than half as many and after that the decline was rapid. This is only another instance showing that the regime of the padres had begun to decay before the interference of the Mexican Government. The mission fell into ruin after the American conquest and the debris was gradually removed to make way for the college buildings.

Santa Clara is a quiet, beautiful town of about five thousand—really a suburb of San Jose, since they are separated by only a mile or two. Its streets are broad and bordered with trees and its residences have the trim neatness and beautiful semi-tropical surroundings so characteristic of the better California towns.