1830
– A Long Journey Begins
Time.
It has no meaning here,
James mused as he rocked on the veranda.
The setting sun cast a golden glow on the two men wrapped in
brilliant-hued serapes rocking nearby. James noticed the walking
stick propped against the wall next to his father and it caused him
to realize how many years lay upon those shoulders. And of his Uncle
Jaime's as well.
The
thought of their age brought him up short. Not as heavily, but he
found the morning rising a bit more difficult with each day and his
back ached a little more as he hauled in the fishing nets. We
live by the rising and setting of the sun, the sound of the mission
bells, and the passing of sand through the hour glass. However, one
day melts into another and we think little of it.
The
man working in the garden below stood erect and called out to the
children helping him that it was time to clean up and find their
beds.
Not
just any man,
James thought, but
my son.
“Something
bothers you, my brother. Would you care to share it with me?”
James
turned to his longtime friend and smiled. “It is nothing of value,
my brother. I was but thinking of time and its passage.”
David,
the Esselen Indio
smiled indulgently. To he and his people, time had no meaning other
than a time of birth and of death with incidental events in between.
“Something we have no control over. Only The Good Lord and our dear
Jesus know what time will bring.”
No
words came to James' mind to refute the statement.
Hiding
his unease from one person was impossible.
“Tell
me what it is, husband.”
James
snuggled a bit tighter against Teresa Marta, savoring his warmth.
Unbelievable strength lay beneath her curves and always comforted
him. “I am just thinking upon the years. Those that passed and
those to come.”
“Why
waste your thoughts upon that? It we awake in the morning, we thank
The Lord and go about our business.”
James
chucked. “You are as pragmatic as your mother and father.” She
said nothing so he said, “I often think about how much of this
California of ours we have not seen. I know we have been to the north
and into the valley of the San Joaquin but not to the south. I have a
great desire to see beyond the shores and into the hills and
mountains along the King's Highway.”
“If
that is your desire, marido,
than we should do so.”
So
spake the only woman James had ever known or loved. Calmly.
Pragmatically. It was something he wished to do so they would do it.
The
timing was right. A ship lay in the harbor of Monte Rey that would
soon be sailing south and James was certain he could find passage
aboard her. When he told Teresa Marta, she simply replied, “You and
I, four of our best horses, and a pack mule.”
James
chuckled.
The
brig Maria Ester lay alongside the pier as they sailed into the bay
to deliver the presidio's share of the day's catch. While the others
unloaded, James walked to the gangplank and called out, “Permission
to come aboard?”
Captain
Davis called from the quarter deck, “Permission granted.” He came
down to the main deck to shake Jame's hand as he came aboard.
“Welcome to my ship, captain.”
James
chuckled at the honorific. Sailing a fishing boat was far different
from commanding a brig with its many masts, spars, and sails.
Before
James could say anything, Henry Virmond, the owner, came out of the
cabin and walked over to shake his hand. “How may we be of service
this day, Señor Beadle?”
That
brought James up short. The only Señor in the family was his father.
He shook it off and explained that he and his wife would like to book
passage on the ship for the voyage south. “We would like to find a
port just south of San Diego so we may visit the full length of
California. I have only seen the coastline and would like to see
more.”
The
captain and owner happily indicated how welcomed James and his wife
would be. They simply nodded when James explained he would like to
bring four of his best horses and a mule. “My wife thinks we cannot
make such a journey without being well prepared.”
Both
men being married understood just who made the decisions.
“We
will be sailing on the morning tide tomorrow. Can you be ready so
quickly?”
“I
am certain that my dear Marta Teresa already has most of the things
prepared she deems important.”
Henry
Virmond, the owner, indicated
his pleasure at their sailing with them. “We seldom have such
distinguished passengers.”
James
blushed, not considering himself any more important than anyone else.
“You
have saved more than a few by the nets filled with fish your boats
have brought in. I have also been informed that you are the first
born Californians, which indeed makes you special. I would love to
hear your memories of those early days here in the territory.”
James
tried to raise the matter of fare but it was waved away.
Shaking
hands sealed the arrangement and James quickly returned to the boat.
*****
Teresa
Marta left the selection of the horses and mule to James. The small
family herd had
the best of the best animals bred over the years. The younger
horses had all been foaled by the pinto mare that
had brought his father north with the Portolá expedition. The mule
was a sturdy beast that responded well to a lead rope.
The
saddles and bridles were those received as gifts from a saddler at
Misión
Santa Cruz
with silver embossing and intricate carvings. The two saddle blankets
came from the mission's weavers with thick wool pads for both.
Although they expected to ride the traveled roads, both saddles also
had breastplates in the event they had to ride
through brush. Knowing
that his wife would not
stint on what they would take, he took down a pack saddle and two
canastas
to hold everything she
wished to take.
Teresa
Marta was ready when he brought the canastas
into the bedroom. She smiled at their size. “I hope they are big
enough,” she cheerfully said.
Booking
passage on the Mexican brig was no problem. Captain Davis told James
they had almost emptied the holds delivering supplies on the
northward voyage and could easily accommodate their four horses. “We
even have a stateroom for you and your lovely wife.”
Everyone
examined them the next morning after breakfast. Both wore typical
vaquero
garb with flat-brimmed gaucho hats almost similar to those worn by
the friars. Theirs were black felt with a silver and turquoise band
and a single quail feather. Jame's tight tan riding breeches had an
embossed leather seam with silver roundels. He wore a bright red sash
over which an embossed pistol belt rode containing two percussion cap
pistols. He also had a sheath holding a wicked blade two hand-widths
in length.
Teresa
Marta wore a brightly colored pleated skirt with a hem showing half
of her silver-tipped riding boots, similar to James'. Her belt also
held a brace of pistols and a hunting knife in an ornate sheath. They
both wore brightly colored bandanas
to keep the dust of the roads out of their mouths and nostrils.
Everyone
followed them to the stables, two of the children hauling the heavy
canastas.
They
helped load them on the pack saddle of the black mule.
The
roan gelding and pinto mare almost pranced as their tack was put on,
sensing something special was going to happen. Both animals carried
large saddle bags and several goatskins filled with fresh water to be
on the safe side. The next items were most important; two ornate
leather holsters for the long percussion cap rifles both had received
from the captain of a visiting American trading vessel. They knew
them to be accurate far beyond anything in the Mexican arsenal and
much easier to reload.
Sergeant
Castro supervised
the
unloading of the Carlita when James and Teresa Marta rode onto the
pier where the Maria Ester was moored. “Welcome Don
Jaime and Doña
Teresa.
We have been told you are preparing to depart on a most adventuresome
journey.”
The
two had known José for many years and found him to be a most
agreeable soldier. He had suffered under the previous commander but
had always tried to be his best for the men under his command.
Captain
Davis was waiting for them and had his crew lead the horses and
mule up
the gangplank to where straps were placed under their bellies so they
could be lowered into the hold. James and Teresa Marta took the
ladder down into the hold and were pleased to find that four
stalls had been built, the floor thick with fresh straw. There were
canvas buckets for the animals
to drink from and even some fresh hay in a trough.
“Come.
I will lead you to your stateroom.”
James
hastily thanked the captain for his generous offer but said, “We
wish to bed down here with the animals. There is plenty of straw and
we have our bedrolls.” Seeing the disappointment in the captain's
eyes, James hastily added, “But, we will be most thankful for
sharing your table.”
After
removing the saddles and other gear, they ensured the animals were
secure and went up on deck for the departure. Captain Davis invited
them up onto the quarterdeck where Virmond waited.
A
seasoned sailor, James watched the ship prepare for departure with a
critical eye. He was impressed how the crew – mostly Mestizos
– went about the complicated tasks of raising the anchor, loosing
mooring lines, and setting sail. The vessel quickly picked up speed
as the morning breeze filled the sails and heeled her slightly.
“Not
quite what you are accustomed to, captain?”
James
appreciated the use of the title. “Not captain on this trip,
captain. I am going to be quite happy enjoying this at leisure with
my lady.” He took Teresa Marta's hand and moved to the aft rail
where they could get a good view of the ship and the sea around them.
James
soon learned that there would be little unused time during the
voyage. When not ensuring the animals
were okay, they found themselves answering all sorts of questions
from the owner, captain, and crew.
What
was California like in the early years?
Was
Reverend Father Serra really like everyone says?
Did
they remember Governors Portolá or Rivera?
Was
Governor Fages as difficult as they way?
Endless
questions that they had some difficulties with as they were only
children at the time. James had a small advantage as he had read as
much of his father's journals as he was allowed. In some ways, Teresa
Marta had a better memory than James and often told stories that
delighted their listeners.
Dinner
was an interesting experience for them. The ship's cook was an
ex-American slave and served up friend chicken, mashed potatoes and
gravy, along with some interesting vegetables he simply called
“greens”. The owner also provided several bottles of a sherry
wine they found quite tasty.
In
exchange for their stories, Virmond and Captain Davis told them of
their experiences with serving as an official vessel of the Mexican
government. When asked about the San
Carlos
and San
Antonio,
the ships that had supplied California during the Spanish period,
they learned both ships had fallen during the war for independence.
“They
failed to sail from San
Blas
when an independence force reach San
Blas
and they
were
torched. The new government tried to rebuild
them but the damage was too much. The unburnt wood was salvaged and
made into small fishing boats.”
“And
we hear San
Blas
is still a major port?”
“Not
as much as it once was but still very busy.”
“I
seldom am able to enjoy the sea in the evening hours.”
Teresa
Marta hugged his arm as she snuggled close. “It is beautiful, is it
not? All those stars and the silence.”
James
hugged her closer and smiled. “And a bit chilly. We should have
worn our serapes.”
When
the chill got too much, they
grabbed up a lantern and went into the hold. The horses nickered
their welcome and whipped their tails in pleasure of their humans
arriving. They shivered their hides at the feel of stiff bristles on
manes, tails, and withers.
The
big bedroll filled with capoc
provided a soft bed atop the straw
and, with the rocking of the ship, they quickly fell asleep.
*****
“Do
you recognize the shape of the shoreline, husband?”
James
shook his head. “I only know that we are well south of the tall red
wood trees. From the ship's speed, I would estimate we are somewhere
near San
Pedro.”
“That
is indeed los
Palos Verdes
and we will shortly see the harbor of San
Pedro,”
Captain Davis said.
He
was true to his word and they saw the port not yet built up to equal
Monte
Rey
but enough for trading ships to draw close enough to gather up bales
of rawhides tossed from atop the cliffs. There were, however, no
ships in the port and they continued to sail south.
“Where
do you plan on making landfall, captain?”
“I
think we will easily make landfall at the ensenada
in Baja
California.
The Preachers always have fresh water and livestock for us for our
further journey.”
The
two passengers exchanged pleased looks as that was exactly where they
wished to land.
Upon
hearing that, Captain Davis ordered more sail laid on and the ship
noticeably picked up speed, healing more to port.
Two
ships were moored in Bahia
San Miguel
and James easily identified one as an American brig and the other a
schooner out of Hawaii. He could even see, through the glass the
captain handed him, how poorly maintained the presidio
appeared to be.
They
made landfall two hours before nightfall and the animals,
minus their tack, were hoisted overboard into the sea. James and
Teresa Marta awaited them in a boat and gathered up the reins. As the
crewmen rowed, the animals readily kept up, soon wading ashore on the
beach. Loosing their reins, they let the animals fend for themselves,
laughing as they rolled in the sand and then shook the grains from
their hides.
A
figure in a black vestment with a white front, came down the trail
signing the cross. “Welcome, my children. I am Father Caballero of
Misión
San Miguel Arcángel
de la Frontera. We
seldom have visitors disembark from ships here. May I ask …?”
James
handed the priest the scroll from Prefect Sarria, introducing him and
Teresa Marta.”
The
priest smiled and welcomed them heartily. “We are honored to have
the firstborn of Alta
California
visiting us.” He then turned to welcome Virmond and Captain Davis,
indicating barrels of fresh water and several cages of chickens and
pigs, along with three steers. In return, the ship's owner pointed to
several packages that were quickly gathered up by disciples wearing
the usual white shirts and pants, with wide-brimmed sombreros.
The
priest patiently waited while the visitors bridled and saddled their
animals, hoisting the Castaños
on he back of the
mule.
“You
appear to be prepared for a long journey, my children.” He then
listened as they told him of their plans to travel from that place
all the way to the northern-most mission of San
Francisco Solano.
“You plan to go directly?”
“Oh
no, reverend father. We plan to visit ranchos
as well as the presidios
and missions. We felt it was time to view once again where were have
been as children. And our parents want to complete their journals
with comments on the changes.”
“How
are your parents?”
The
priest listened intently while they related how things were at home
and how their parents were doing. “That have indeed lived a full
life. We still hear stories about The Sailor and The Carpenter.” He
then grinned. “When you join us for evening prayers, I think we
have something you will enjoy.”
As
aboard ship, they indicated their preference to sleep in the stables
with their animals and Father Caballero indicated that would
certainly be more comfortable than the poor cots in the visitors'
cells.
The
chapel was less than half the size of the one at Misión
San Carlos
and nowhere as ornate. The stations of the cross were crudely formed
by non-expert hands and the murals had clearly been painted by those
who poured their souls but not with
great
skill. Only the altar items and the crucifix showed they came from
another place.
The
evening meal was exactly the same as back in Carmel with the same
atole,
frijoles, y tortillas.
A rich chicken soup was also served with corn and other vegetables.
And, the evening musica
was equally melodious, although many of the songs and tunes were
unfamiliar.
“The
road between here and San Diego
is
clear and you will find some places to make a rough camp, if you so
desire. A good place might be the Arroyo
Barrabas.
However, I strongly urge you to be aware of your surroundings.”
“Gentiles,
father?”
“No.
Sadly, you may encounter bandidos.
Some deserters are in the hills and have attacked small convoys in
the past. In fact, I would strongly urge you to wait here until a
large convoy escorted by soldiers comes this way. And, as you can
see, I cannot give up any members of the mission escolta
to accompany you.”
The
mission's corporal nodded, indicating they simply were unable to
leave the mission.
“I
think we will do just fine, reverend father. As you can see, we are
well-armed and both of us have experience with difficult situations.”
“And
we can sleep lightly, reverend father,” Teresa Marta added.
They
departed right after break fast and rode north at a leisurely pace,
savoring the strange countryside. Towering cacti with arms branching
out and upward could only be the saguaro
described by their parents. And the clusters of flat prickly leaves
had to be nopal,
the flesh of which they had enjoyed with the eggs served at the
morning meal at the mission. Other slim, twisting spiny plants had to
be ocotillo
and they enjoyed the bright red flowers covering them.
Long
horned cattle grazed among the prickly plants, finding sparse
grasses. While the brand was unfamiliar, the cross included showed
they belonged to the mission.
The
well-traveled road followed the coastline, sometimes switch backing
up a steep hill where rocks and cliffs forced them inland. Several
times, it went down to the beach allowing for easy passage until,
once again, it climbed up to avoid difficult terrain. The number of
small streams tumbling down out of the hills surprised them, along
with several rancherías
occupied by Gentiles. They were warmly greeted by the natives who
always invited them to partake of what little they had. Being
prepared, Teresa Marta handed out little trinkets and used sign
language to explain they had a long way to go before sunset. She also
carried delicious chicken tamales
of sweet corn they washed
down with water from the creeks and streams.
The
easily reached Arroyo
Barrabas by
early afternoon to find a rancheria
with several families living there. A decent stream came down from
the hills and there were even some gardens containing maize
and other familiar plants. A couple of donkeys and goats told of
their association with the newcomers to their lands.
“They
are Kumeyaay,” Teresa Marta said. “Not the same that attacked the
mission and killed Padre
Jaume but their more peaceful cousins.”
At
their approach, the inhabitants came out of their open-sided
huts with thatch roofs and stared. Two riders alone on the road were
most unusual, especially as one of them was a woman.
“Welcome,”
one of them wearing Euro
clothing said, numerous ornaments in his hair and paint on his face
indicating him to be a chieftain of some kind.
The
two dismounted and exchanged the salute of right hands raised in the
air to show their peaceful intent. “El
Padre
at the mission to the south said we might find a place to spread our
blankets here for the night.”
The
man beamed and named himself as Pedro, indicating he well knew the
priest in the black robes.
Two
women stepped forward to offer help in unloading the mule
and Teresa Marta thanked them, pointing to a sandy spot near the
stream where she planned on making camp.
James
removed his sombrero
and used the bandana
to remove the sweat from his brow.
An
elderly man rose from the shade of his hut and made his way to James,
leaning heavily on a stick. He stared closed and reached out to
finger James' blond hair.
James
knew better than to pull away, waiting patiently to learn what had
drawn the elders' curiosity.
He
then spoke something James could not make out, excitement in his
voice. He then used his stick to draw something in the sand.
It
took several seconds for James to realize what it was. He barely
remembered something similar and only recognized it from a picture in
his father's journal – a Morion helmet worn by Spanish dragoons. He
explained
what it was to Pedro who turned and spoke some more with the elder.
“He
says that when he was very young, a large group of soldiers came
through, their leader a man wearing a cap that shone in the sun.
There were men in gray robes and others like the soldiers who come
through here on their way to other places.”
“Cavalry
soldiers?”
Pedro
nodded.
The
old man pointed again at James and spoke more.
“He
says there was a youth with them with hair that shone in the sun like
yours. He had a brother who was one of us and two women who were
their wives.”
Teresa
Marta had joined them by then, the animals
unburdened and grazing happily on tufts of grass beside the stream.
“Can he be talking about your father and mine? And our mothers?”
“He
must be quite old,” James replied.
“He
carries eighty of your cycles of the sun. Elder Father has always
lived here.”
The
two visitors exchanged glances before Teresa Marta reached into a
pocket of her skirt and removed a string of bright beads. She handed
it to James who in turn handed it to Pedro. “Please tell Elder
Father this is a gift from the son and daughter of those who passed
through here so many years ago.”
The
old man beamed and trembled in excitement. He eagerly joined them at
their fire and ate some of the frijoles
served
him by his great granddaughters. The members of the rancheria
gathered around and listened to the old man tell stories of the long
ago visit while James and Teresa Marta ate
the food offered them, a rich fish stew with plentiful tortillas.
It
did not take long for the old man to wear himself out and two young
woman helped him to his hut where he was laid on a cot to quickly
fall asleep.
“Elder
Father still has a great memory, honored visitors. We are also
honored that the children of those long ago travelers would visit
us.”
As
was their custom, the Kumeyaay retreated to their shelters, leaving
the two visitors to sit and stare out to sea. Had their parents done
the same thing? Only wondering what lay ahead of them in an
unexplored manner?
