Misión
San Rafael Arcángel
1830
– The Trip Almost Complete
They
followed the creek to the King's Highway and turned north, entering
the boundaries of Rancho
de las Pulgas
belonging to the heirs of Don
José Dario Argüello, the esteemed ex-governor of California who had
passed away.
“Do
we know who oversees the rancho
now?” James asked.
“I
was told Doña
Maria
Soledad Ortega de
Argüello widow of Don
José does.”
The
buildings were not impressive, made
of thatch
and wattle. Thick brush encircled the interior courtyard with crossed
logs fencing in the corral.
A
Mestizo
greeted them, announcing he was Pedro, el
capataz.
“La
Señora
is not present. She has gone to San
Francisco
to look into family business. You are aware that his excellency, the
governor, has passed away.”
“Yes,
Pedro, we were told at Misión
Santa Clara.
He will be greatly missed as he was a man of superior standards.”
“Have
you been here very long, Pedro?”
The
foreman nodded. “I was here before Governor de
Borica
gave
the land to Don
José to graze animals and cattle for the presidio.
Now that his excellency has passed, I think the land will go to Don
Gervasio.”
“How
is that? Is not Don
Gervasio serving in Mexico as habilitado
general
for the territory?”
Pedro
shrugged. He then brought his hands up and sputtered, “The Doña
would be very angry for making you stay out in the sun like this. You
will care to water your animals. Yes?”
They
led the animals to the trough where they slurped up
water.
Pedro
explained
that Señora
Argüello had, for several years, supervised the rancho.
“Don
José was
quite busy attending to his many duties at the presidio.
He did not have time to care for the land, leaving it to his wife –
I mean widow.”
James
did not know whether Pedro had the answer but needed to pose the
question. “Do you know why they named this las
Pulgas?
Is that not the name of a place on the other side of those hills,
along the coast?”
Pedro
looked round as if worried about giving them the wrong information.
James was about to change the subject when he spoke. “As you know,
Don
José was on the great trek to explore this new land with Governor
Portolá and Reverend Father Serra. He often told us the story of
finding a vacated rancheria
and rushing to the jacals
to get out of the rain. And...”
“...they
rushed out again, finding them infested with fleas.” James said the
words with a big grin on his face.
Pedro
stepped back, eyes wide in awe. “You know the story of the great
expedition?” His surprise grew as he learned who they were and
their connection with the history of the state.
With
the animals' thirst – and theirs – quenched, they remounted and
bade the ranch foreman farewell.
Cattle
grazed in small clumps, some standing in small raised areas to graze
on lush grasses. A huge variety of wild fowl lived in the waters,
sometime lifting into the air at the approach of a fox or coyote.
Tule reeds towered above their heads and they saw several small
Gentile
family
groups living next to fresh water sources. Like other they had seen,
the Miwok had learned from the friars and tended small gardens and
cared for a variety of livestock. Chickens pecked at the ground for
seeds and insects. Almost all had one or more goats and a big old sow
with a litter of piglets was not unusual. And, instead of being
near-naked as their ancestors, they wore shirts and pants of blue
cotton, the women wearing blouses and wide pleated skirts. However,
they did eschew sandals, preferring to go about bare footed.
They
reached Misión
San Francisco de Asis, or
Misión
Dolores
as everyone but the friars called it, by early evening. The first
thing they noticed was the lack of a separate bell tower. Three bells
hung high above with a walkway conspicuous on the outside above the
large doorway. Two pillars on either side of the door appeared to be
purely for decoration.
A
disciple stepped forward and welcomed them, showing the way into the
center yard and the stables. Two others quickly brought hay and straw
and watched as the clearly distinguished visitors cared for their
animals.
“I
was advised of your arrival, my children. I am Padre
Esténaga.
And you are?”
“I
do not know what to say, reverend father. You do not recognize me?”
The
friar looked closer, dark eyes widening in recognition. “Captain
James! It is you. You must forgive me for being so old and senile.”
“You
are used to seeing me in my sailing clothes, reverend father.” Jame
quickly introduced Teresa, who bowed to kiss the friar's hand and
happily accepted his blessings.
The
friar led them to the cemetery at James' request and they stood in
front of the newly covered grave of Captain Governor Don
Luis Antonio Argüello, a soldado
de cuera
and son of a member of the original exploration of California. A
woman knelt beside the grave fingering her prayer beads. They knew
her to be Señora
Maria Soledad Ortega de
Argüello, widow of Don
Luis and daughter of Captain José Ortega, a great man who had been
present at both their births. They read the inscription on the large
head stone.
“Aqui
yacen los restos del Capitan Don Luis Antonio Argüello, Primer
Gobanador del Alta California, Bajo el Gobierno Mejicano. Nació en
San Francisco el 21 de Junio, 1774, y murió en el mismo lugar el 27
de Marzo, 1830."
“Here
lie the remains of Captain Don
Luis Antonio Argüello, first Governor of Upper California under the
Mexican Government. He was born in San Francisco on June 21, 1774,
and died in the same place on 27 March, 1830.”
“So
little to say about a man who dedicated his life to the welfare of
his soldier, his family, and this land,” James softly said.
Doña
Maria
raised her eyes to stare at the man who had spoken of her husband.
She rose to her feet and turned to Teresa. “Teresa! It is you?”
When Teresa nodded, the two women embraced, the widow breaking into
heart rending sobs.
The
bell for evening prayers rang and Teresa led Maria to the chapel
behind her husband and the friar. They took their place in the front
pew reserved for the elite of California. Padre
Esténaga,
a tall, slender man of fair complexion and light brown hair, made his
way to the sacristy, moving carefully as if in pain. James and Teresa
knew him to be in ill health, but always doing his utmost to fulfill
his duties.
James
had the opportunity to examine the chapel again. The tall ceiling's
redwood beams reminded him of Uncle Jaime's assistance in
constructing the first chapel and two of the statues against the
reredos
were created by his skilled hands. The two large side altars had been
added later, the statues brought from Spain on a supply ship.
Padre
Martinez knelt at the alcove dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe,
punishing himself for perceived sins.
No
matter how many times he saw it, James could not bring himself to
accept that any human being, no matter how devout, could whip his
bare back bloody to repent for anything – especially those sins
imagined
and not real.
Doña
Maria softly cried during the ceremony and, when it ended, rose to be
escorted by a soldier from the chapel and into a carriage. She was
taken to her hacienda
near the presidio.
They
were joined by Sergeant Romaldo Pacheco they knew to lead the
escolta,
having been appointed due to what was felt to be the importance of
the mission. “You have not been here for some time, Don
Jaime. Fortunately, your faithful crew still brings us fish on a
regular basis. It definitely improves our diet.”
James
explained the mission he and Teresa were on and the sergeant's
curiosity piqued. “You will join my family for the evening meal? We
would be most honored.”
The
mission kitchen was quite expert in the preparation of good food but
there was no way either James or Teresa could turn down the
invitation.
Pacheco’s
wife and children warmly welcomed the visitors and hung onto every
word as they briefly told of their journey.
“And
where go you next, good sir and madam?”
Teresa
responded, telling the sergeant's oldest son, “We will visit el
Presidio
and from there cross to visit Misión
San Rafael
and from there to Misión
San Francisco Solano.”
“I
will probably join you then, Don
y Doña.
I have been instructed to go to the area of Solano
in the valley the Gentiles call Napa to seek a place suitable for
constructing a presidio.”
Something
in the sergeant's manner caused James to straighten and to pay closer
attention. “Another presidio?
Why would that be?”
Sergeant
Pacheco sighed. “I must admit that our garrison here will not pass
the muster of a dedicated commandant. We only have three defensive
walls and those have been greatly eroded by rains. The same holds
true with the various structures inside the walls. The dry moat is
almost filled in and plays no role in defense.”
When
asked why manpower would be assigned to build another garrison,
Pacheco sighed. “They fear the Russians. They have established Fort
Ross north of Bodega Bay and American fur trappers have been seen
nearby.
Some have even come to the mission to trade for food.”
“It
is not for me to question the will of my superiors, Señor.
I simply must do my duty.”
As
the sun had disappeared behind the hills, James and Teresa thanked
their hosts and made their way to the mission stables, settling
comfortably into their bedroll, sharing their bodily warmth against
the growing chill of the night.
*****
“It
is as the sergeant says, mi
vida.”
Teresa
nodded as they rode over the hill to see the presidio.
“Those haciendas
are far more substantial and maintained than the garrison.”
She
referred to a gathering of buildings near the stream to the west of
the presidio.
The tile roofs reflected the sun's heat and the white walls shimmered
in the early morning light. Workers already toiled in the fields or
tended the livestock.
The
flag of Mexico hung limp on the pole in front of what appeared to be
the commandant's quarters and chickens pecked the ground in front of
the barracks and quarters for married privates, corporals, and
sergeant. They also saw the artillery emplacement further towards the
sea, not a single soldier to be seen – not even a sentry.
Closer
to them, uphill from the fort, several leatherjacket soldiers rode
inside a large herd of animals, They clearly culled their own animals
for whatever purpose they had in mind. A smaller gathering of casas
made of both wattle and adobe
were
houses
the families of the soldiers. While humble, it appeared the dwellings
were better cared for than the fort itself. Goats, chickens, geese,
and pigs wandered through the three streets.
They
announced themselves to the sentry who called for the corporal of the
guard. The corporal, in turn, told them to wait and hurried to the
guardhouse.
“James!
Teresa Marta! How good to see you. Come. Dismount.”
Alférez
Mariano Vallejo was most familiar to them as he had not only served
at el
Presidio del Monte Rey
but had attended classes conducted by Mateo Rubio. He was a son of
Don
Ignacio, a member of the original expedition. His rise from enlisted
to officer had not come about just due to his bloodline but his
efforts to learn everything he could about being a soldier. He was
also an avid reader of anything to do with the history of the
territory.
They
hitched their animals,
loosening the girths to allow them to blow, ensuring they had water.
Once their thirst was sated, they
then hung feedbags.
Mariano
listened as they gave him a brief rundown of their trip. He then
informed them that Captains Sal and de
Vega were not present in the fort, explaining both had other duties
to perform. “They leave the administration of this place to
Lieutenant Moraga – when he isn't busy chasing down raiding
Gentiles.”
The
way he spoke made it clear he wished to be doing that instead of
minding the post.
Another
ensign joined them and Mariano introduced him as Juan Pablo Castro,
the son of another pioneering family. Turning to a corporal, Mariano
said, “Castro, we are taking out honored guests to the cantina.
If the Russians attack, you can find us there.”
As
they passed the small chapel, Mariano told them the friars seldom
came to conduct rites. “Our soldiers need the spiritual guidance of
the fathers and we have complained, not only to them, but the father
prefect.”
La
Rosa de San Francisco
took up the ground floor of a most unusual two-story structure. Adobe
bricks made up the ground flood while wood had been used for the
second, shake tiles covering the roof. A man wearing a cloth apron –
unlike the leather ones worn by farriers and smithies – was
introduced to them as Jean Luis Robaire, a Frenchman who, when his
term of enlistment was over, had landed from an Argentinian sloop
and, with Captain Argüello's approval, set up the establishment.
“Sadly,
this establishment is most certainly the cause of poor Governor
Argüello's demise.”
“And
why is that?” Teresa asked.
Mariano
looked away in embarrassment for having brought up the subject.
Ensign Castro explained. “The good governor was most fond of the
elixirs available here. He spent almost every hour of its opening to
partake of the excellent wines, rums, and other spirits our good Jean
Luis provides.”
“I
thought there was another lieutenant assigned here,” James said.
“There
is,” Mariano answered. “Lieutenant José Antonio Sanchez. He is
in the north with a squad trying to determine what the Russians are
up to.”
“Ah
yes, we were told that plans are underway to establish another fort
somewhere near Misión
San Francisco Solano.”
Juan
Pablo nodded and grinned. “Word has it that my esteemed companion
here is going to be assigned to that project.”
As
if on cue, a rider appeared at the top of the hill from the direction
of the mission. There was no mistaking him as he wore the distinct
uniform of a soldado
de cuera.
“Is
that not Sergeant Pacheco?” Vallejo asked.
“He
told us that he had been selected to seek out a suitable location for
a fort near Misión
Solano,”
James said. “As we are going that way, he decided to join us.”
There was no doubt that he was preparing for a long trip as he not
only led an extra horse but a pack mule.
Reining
in before the cantina,
having recognized the two officers and the visitors he was to join,
Sergeant Pacheco raised his arm, placing his right hand to the shaft
of his long spear. “Honored sirs, I am joining Don
Timoteo
and his esteemed wife on their journey north.”
“Dismount,
sergeant. We have been told of your mission,” Mariano said.
Sergeant
Pacheco showed his embarrassment at being asked to sit at the same
table with
his superiors, even though it had not been that long before that
Vallejo had held the same rank as he. It took some urging before he
finally settled back in his chair, accepting a tall wooden goblet of
locally brewed beer.
James
proved to be the most knowledgeable about the area to the north
having been involved in transporting Padre
Gil
to establish San
Rafael
as an Asistencia
“We
explored the immediate area of the mission but never traveled further
north to where Misión
Solano is located.”
“I
understand that Miwok live in the area but the main tribes call
themselves Patwin. There are also Pomo and Wintuns.”
Having
discussed the area at length with the friars, Sergeant Pacheco
nodded. “The name comes from a village the locals called nappan.
It is heavily wooded and I am told the streams hold many colonies of
castores.”
“Ah
yes,” Vallejo responded. “The animals the English and Americans
call beavers. Their pelts are much sought after.”
“And
that means we will soon see more than Russians in the area,”
Pacheco added. “We have already heard of the rough fir traders
haunting the snowy mountains to the east and north.”
As
if by a miracle, sails appeared in the bay – most familiar sails of
the San
Carlos.
“We
have our transport to San
Rafael,”
James exclaimed, his words and demeanor light and happy.
The
figure at the helm peered at them through a telescope and returned
James' wave, motioning their destination as the mission.
James,
Teresa, and the sergeant excused themselves. Pacheco patiently waited
while James and Teresa rushed into the compound, unhitches their
animals, and tightened their girths. In short order, the three waved
farewell to the ensigns and rode back toward he mission.
*****
“Captain
boarding!”
“Belay
that, Pedro. I am here as a passenger. The ship is yours.”
Pedro,
born Pelicano,
smiled and called the crew to help stow the gear of James and Teresa.
He had another show Sergeant Pacheco to his quarters and then turned
to the task of boarding the animals. The expert sailors quickly dealt
with that, leading the animals up the gangplank and then lowering
them in slings into the hold.
Ensigns
Vallejo and Castro had followed, Mariano grinning at the familiarity
of the San
Carlos.
“Do you not feel strange at this not being the Queen or the
Carlita?”
“I
do not feel strange boarding any of the boats in our
fleet. They are all a second home to me and I know every board and
line on all.”
“I
often feel he loves these boats more than me.”
All
laughed at Teresa's remark, knowing it was said in jest.
Padre
Esténaga came to the sloop with five stretchers containing Miwok
disciples suffering from a variety of breathing maladies. They were
laid on the deck to take in the fresh air during the short voyage. He
also took back to the missions some items the San
Carlos
had brought from Carmel.
James,
Teresa, and Pacheco stood at the aft rail of the quarterdeck watching
the crew loose the lines and turn her into the bay. The light
offshore breeze was just enough to get her underway and they were
soon well out into the bay where the full force of the wind filled
the sails.
They
sailed north beyond Yerba
Buena Island,
passing Angel Island on the port side. It took but a short while to
reach the small inlet where the creek provided
water to Misión
San Rafael Arcángel.
As the water was quite shallow, they had to load the gear into the
sloop's two longboats while the animals were lowered into the water
to swim ashore. Disciples waited for the animals, along with James,
Teresa, and Sergeant Pacheco who had been rowed ashore in the
captain's gig.
While
the animals were bridled and saddled, the long boats returned to
bring the invalids ashore.
Padre
Amoros walked down the trail beside the creek leading a dozen
disciples to take their cousins to the healing house at the mission.
“It is good to see you, James,” he softly said.
He almost never raised his voice with the exception of conducting
religious rites and praising the Lord. He blessed Teresa and Pacheco,
thanking Pedro for the two barrels of salted fish he had brought.
James
and Pedro had discussed, at length, what to do after dropping them at
the mission. It was decided that the sloop would continue north into
the bay to anchor just off
Black Point, the only spot a ship the size of the San
Carlos
could safely lay to in that area.
“We
will await you there for as long as it takes, Don
Timoteo.”
James
thanked Pedro and mounted his horse, the reins of which Teresa had
held out for him.
The
mission chapel was a simple adobe
structure with a tall bell tower for a single large bell and cross.
Unlike every other mission they had visited, there was no quadrangle,
the shops and living quarters for the soldiers and single girls in a
separate building. The most impressive part were the structures made
of tall poles with thatched roofs and open sides. The stretchers were
taken to one of the healing area where women gathered around to
assist the newcomers. Having seen so many suffering the same, they
knew exactly what to do.
Padre
Amoros had the mayordomo
take them to the stables to care for their animals, Sergeant Pacheco
did not think twice about currying his animals, having done so from
the first day of signing on as a cavalry soldier. He also selected an
empty stall to bed down just as James and Teresa.
As
simple as the outside, the interior of the chapel impressed the
visitors. The reredos
was dominated by a statue of San
Rafael
above the crucifix. Hand-crafted Stations of the Cross dominated the
wall and the visitors smiled, knowing they were the product of
Jaime's skilled hands.
Afterward,
on their way to the communal dining area, they passed Padre
Gil's famous water clock. Both men stopped to try to determine how it
worked while Teresa continued on, eager to sate her hunger.
The
surrounding hills were covered by scrub, some flowering manzanita,
and lots of pine trees. They could see the towering trees of red wood
further into the hills. Massive old live oaks spread their branches
here and there on the hills and in the valley of the creek.
Night
birds sang them to sleep, along with the soft snorting of the
animals.
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