Life at Puget Sound: With Sketches of Travel in Washington Territory, British Columbia, Oregon and California Part 10

OCTOBER 20, 1875.

We have just returned from Santa Barbara. How buoyant the air seems, and how brisk the people, after our languid, dreamy life there! I, who went there in robust health, spent six months in bed, for no other reason, that I could understand, than the influence of the climate. Perhaps, on h.o.m.oeopathic principles, as Santa Barbara makes sick people well, it makes well people sick. A physician that I have seen since coming here tells me that he went there himself for his own health, and was so much affected by the general atmosphere of sickness, that he was obliged to return. It is a depressing sight, certainly, to see so many feeble, consumptive-looking people about, as we did there. Where we lived I think it was also malarious, from the _estero_ that winds like a snake about the lowlands near the bay. The favorite part of the city is near the foot-hills. It is probably more healthful there, but we cannot live without seeing at least one little silver line of the sea. So we took up our abode in the midst of the Spanish population, near the water.

We found it very difficult to get any one to help us in our work, although we had supposed that in the midst of poor people we should be favorably situated in that respect. We were told, however, that the true Castilian, no matter how poor, never works; that we might perhaps find some one among the Mexicans to a.s.sist us.

Our neighbors were quite interesting to watch, and we were pleased with the simplicity of their lives. They had no apparent means of support, unless it might be la.s.soing and taming some wild mustangs, which they were sometimes engaged in doing; but this seemed to be more of a recreation than a business with them. They were never hara.s.sed nor hurried about any thing. They lived mostly outside their little dark dwelling, only seeking it at noon for a _siesta_. In the morning they placed a mat under the trees, and put the babies down naked to play on it, shaking dawn the leaves for play-things. Sometimes they cut a great piece of meat into narrow strips, and hung it all over our fence to dry.

This dried meat, and melons, const.i.tuted a large part of their food. The old mother was called _Gracia_, but she could never in her youth have been more graceful than now. She was as picturesque still as she could ever have been, and perfectly erect. She wore a little black cap, like a priest's cap, on the top of her head, and her long gray hair floated out from it over her shoulders; and, with her black mantle thrown as gracefully about her as any young person could have worn it, we used to see her starting out every morning to enjoy herself abroad. She appeared one morning at our window, before we were up, with her arms full of roses covered with dew, eager to give them to us while they were so fresh.

We noticed her sometimes out in the yard, preparing some of the family food, by the aid of a curious flat stone supported on three legs, and a stone pestle or roller,--a very primitive arrangement. Kneeling down upon the ground, she placed her corn, or Chili peppers--or whatever article she wished to grind--upon the stone; and, taking the hand-stone, she rolled it vigorously back and forth over the flat surface, crus.h.i.+ng up the material, which fell off at the lower end into a dish below. We saw her making _tomales_, composed of bruised green corn,--crushed by the process just described,--mixed with chopped meat, and seasoned with Chili peppers or other pungent flavoring, and made up into slender rolls, each enveloped in green-corn leaves, tied at the ends, and baked in the ashes,--resulting in a very savory article of food.

Our only New-England acquaintances at Santa Barbara had evidently modified very much their ideas of living. We found them with bare floors; a great bunch of pampas gra.s.s, and a guitar hanging against the wall, in true Spanish fas.h.i.+on; the room being otherwise mostly empty.

We had on one side the dark Santa Ynez Mountains, and on the other the sea. The mountains are not very high but bold in their outlines; and the number of crags and ravines gives them a beautiful play of light and shadow. Very early one morning I saw a great gray eagle fly overhead, back to his home in their dark recesses. Some of the slopes are covered with grape-vines, and some with olive-trees. Far up in the hollows can be seen the little white houses of the people who keep the bee-ranches.

They live up so high because the flowers last longer there. The mountains form a semicircle on one side of the town; on the other is the beach. An immense bed of kelp, extending for miles and miles along the sh.o.r.e, forms the most beautiful figures, rising and falling as it floats on the water,--so gigantic, and at the same time so graceful. It is of every beautiful shade of pale yellow and brown. In winter the gales sometimes drive it sh.o.r.eward in such vast quant.i.ties that vessels are compelled to anchor outside of it.

There is an old mission there, built in the Moorish style, where all visitors are hospitably received by the Franciscan friars in charge.

This mission, like all those we have seen, has a choice situation, sheltered from wind, and with good soil about it. The old monks knew how to make themselves comfortable. Their cattle roamed over boundless pastures, herded by mounted _vaqueros_; their grain-fields ripened under cloudless skies; their olive-orchards, carefully watered and tended by their Indian subjects, yielded rich returns.

We made the acquaintance of a gentleman from Morocco, who says that the climate there is almost the same as that of Santa Barbara. I suppose the simoom we had there in the summer was a specimen of it. A fierce, hot wind blew from the Mojave desert. There was no possibility of comfort in the house, nor out of it. We could escape the storm of wind and dust by going in, but there was still the choking feeling of the air. The residents of the place could say nothing in defence of it,--only that did not occur often.

We are told that on the 17th of June, 1859, there was much more of a genuine simoom. So hot a blast of air swept over the town as to fill the people with terror. This burning wind raised dense clouds of fine dust.

Birds dropped dead from the trees. The people shut themselves up in their thick adobe houses. The mercury rapidly rose to 133 degrees, and continued so for three hours. Trees were blighted, and gardens ruined.

Sailors approaching the coast in a fog can recognize the Santa Barbara Channel by the smell of bitumen which floats on the water. Some of the old navigators thought their vessels were on fire when they noticed it.

It gives a luminous appearance to the water at night.

On one side of Santa Barbara is a great table-land, called the _Mesa_, where there is always a sea-breeze that blows across fields of grain and fragrant gra.s.s. That would be a beautiful place to live, but there is no water. The experiment of artesian wells is about being tried.

From the _Mesa_ we looked off to the channel islands,--Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, San Miguel, and Anacapa,--bold, rocky, and picturesque. Anacapa was formerly a great resort for the seal and otter; and the natives from Alaska came down to hunt them, and collected large quant.i.ties of their valuable skins. The island is of sandstone, all honeycombed with cavities of different sizes, sometimes making beautiful arches. There is no water on this island, and only cactus and coa.r.s.e gra.s.s grow there.

Others of the group have wood and water, and settlements of fishermen.

On some of them, interesting historical relics have been discovered,--supposed to be the remains of a temple to the sun, with idols and images. There are also beautiful fossils and corals and abalone sh.e.l.ls.

It was hard to make up our minds to leave so lovely a place; but as I looked back, the last morning, to fix the picture of it in my mind, I saw the little white clouds that come before the hot wind, rising above the mountains, and was glad that we were going. Two immense columns of smoke rose out of the canons, and stood over the place, like genii. In the dry weather it seems that the mountains are almost always on fire, which modifies what is called the natural climate of Santa Barbara, so as to make it very uncomfortable. Its admirers must come from some worse place,--probably often from the interior; no one from Puget Sound ever praises it. We met several families from that region; and they were all anxious to get back to the clear mountain atmosphere of their northern climate, which is as equable as that of Santa Barbara, though far different in character.

We saw there some Chinese quite unlike any that we have met before. We have heard that most of those who come to the Pacific Coast are of an inferior kind, chiefly Tartars. There we saw some quite handsome ones, who had more of an Arab look, and had also elegant manners,--one, especially, who had a little office near us. On the birthday of the Emperor of China, his room was ornamented with a picture of Confucius, before which he burned scented wood; and hanging over it was an air-castle, with the motto, "G.o.d is Love."

We visited one day an interesting-looking old house, near our quarter of the town, to see if we could live in it. It was one of the finest there before the place became Americanized, and belonged to an old Spanish don. It stands in the centre of s.p.a.cious and beautiful grounds, and the avenue leading to it is bordered with olive-trees, which were in bloom.

There was a curious, delicate fragrance in the air, quite new to me, which I attributed to them. It was as different from all other odors, as their color is from that of all other trees. They have a little greenish blossom, something like a daphne, and the foliage is of beautiful shades of gray-green, from an almost black to light silvery color. They seem like old Spaniards themselves, they have such an ancient, reserved look.

Two magnificent pepper-trees, with their light, graceful foliage trailing from the branches, stand near the door. The house is shut in with dark heavy porches on all sides, and covered with vines. The windows are in such deep recesses, owing to the great thickness of the walls of the house, that the rooms were but dimly lighted, although it was early in the afternoon. Some of the windows are of stained gla.s.s, and others of ground gla.s.s, to lessen the light still more. It is an adobe house; and the walls are so damp that I gave up all idea of living in it, as soon as I laid my hand on them. The Spaniards, I see, all build their houses on a plan that originated in a hot country, where the idea of comfort was all of coolness and shade. This house, and the one opposite where we lived, are covered with pa.s.sion-flowers. Near the latter are two dark evergreen-trees,--the Santa Cruz spruce,--trimmed so as to be very stiff and straight, standing like dark wardens before the door. There is a hedge of pomegranate, with its flame-like flowers, which seem to be filled with light. The pepper-tree abounds in Santa Barbara, and the eucalyptus is being planted a good deal. It has a special power to absorb malaria from the air, and makes unhealthy places wholesome.

XIII.

Our Aerie.--The Bay and the Hills.--The Little Gnome.--Earthquake.--Temporary Residents.--The Trade-Wind.--Seal-Rocks.--Farallon Islands.--Exhilarating Air.--Approach of Summer.--Centennial Procession.--Suicides.--Mission Dolores.--Father Pedro Font and his Expedition.--The Mission Indians.--Chinese Feast of the Dead.--Curious Weather.

SAN FRANCISCO, October 30, 1875.

We have found a magnificent situation. Our little house is perched on such a height, that every one wonders how we ever discovered it. The site of the city was originally a collection of immense sandhills, on the sides and tops of which the houses were built, many of them before the streets were laid out and graded. When the grades were finally determined, and the hills cut through,--as some of them were,--houses were often left perched far above, on the edge of a cliff, and almost as inaccessible as a feudal castle. I feel as if ours might be an eagle's nest, and enjoy the wildness and solitude of it. So does our Scotch shepherd dog, who has been used to lonely places. Sometimes, just as the sun is rising, we see him sitting out on the sandhills, looking about with such a contented expression that it seems as if he smiled. He opens his mouth to drink in the wind, as if it were a delicious draught to him.

The hills are covered with sage-brush, full of little twittering birds.

My bed is between two windows, and they fly across from one to the other, without minding me at all. Opposite is Alcatraz, a fortified island, but very peaceful-looking, the waves breaking softly all around it. It has still the Spanish name of the white pelicans with which it used to be covered. The commander of the fort died since we came here, and was carried across the water, with music, to Angel Island, to be buried.

Across the bay is a low line of hills, with softly rounded outlines.

They are of pale russet color, from the red earth, and thin, dried gra.s.s, that covers them. Farther to the north is Mount Tamalpias, with sharper outlines.

NOVEMBER 8, 1875.

The China boys generally refuse to come out here to live with us, saying it is "too far, too far." The unsettled appearance of this part of the city does not please them. To-day we succeeded in securing a small one.

He is a curious-looking little creature, with a high pointed head, stiff, black hair, and small, sparkling eyes. He seems like a little gnome, and might have been living in the bowels of the earth, in mines and caverns, with black coal and bright jewels about him. Before he would agree to come, he said he must go and consult the idol in the temple. He burned little fragrant sticks before him; but how he divined what his pleasure might be, I could not tell.

We hesitated about taking him, considering his very stunted appearance; but he said, "Me heap smart," and that settled it. "Heap" must be a word the Chinese have picked up at the mines. It is in constant requisition in any attempt to converse with them.

Last night we had a heavy shock of earthquake. How different it is from merely reading that the crust of the earth is thin, and that there is fire under it, to feel it tremble under your feet! I was glad to have one thing more made real to me, that before meant nothing. It was a strange, deep trembling, as if every thing were sliding away from us.

NOVEMBER 18, 1875.

It gives one a lonesome feeling to see how many people here lead unsettled lives, looking upon some other place as their home. Even the children, hearing so much talk about the East, seem to have an idea that they really belong somewhere else. One of our little neighbors said to me, "I have never been home;" although she, and all her grown-up brothers and sisters, were born and brought up here. Many of the customs of the place are adapted to a temporary way of living. In most parts of the city, it would be hard to find a street without signs of "Furnished rooms to let." Besides innumerable restaurants, a flying kitchen travels about, with every thing cooking as it goes along, and clean-looking men, with white ap.r.o.ns, to serve the food; one ringing a bell, and looking out in every direction, to see what is wanted.

The numerous windmills, for raising water, give the city a lively look.

The wind keeps them always in motion. The constant whirring of the wheels, and the general breezy look of things, distinguish this place from all others that I have seen. Sir Francis Drake, entering the bay nearly three hundred years ago, refers, with great delight, to "a franke wind," that took him "into a safe and good baye." There was, for a long time, some doubt as to which of several ports he made. I think that mention of the wind settles it. The identical wind has been blowing with undiminished vigor ever since. In summer (the time he was here), it will carry a vessel in against the strongest tide.

The city is built mostly of wood. The absence of foliage, and the neutral color of the houses, give the streets a dull gray look, here and there redeemed by the scarlet geranium, which, if not a native, is most thoroughly naturalized,--it grows so st.u.r.dily, even in the poorest yards.

APRIL 30, 1876.

We had a long ride out to the Seal-Rocks, past great wavy hills, with patches of gold, brighter than the dandelions and b.u.t.tercups are at home. This was the eschcholtzia, or California poppy. Occasionally we pa.s.sed great tracts of lupine. The lowland was a sea of blue iris.

Suddenly, as we surmounted a height, the ocean rolled in before us, line after line of breakers, on a broad beach. When we reached Point Lobos we saw the two great rocks, far out in the water, covered with brown seals that lay in the sun like flocks of sheep, and little slippery, s.h.i.+ning ones all the time crawling up out of the water, and dropping back again.

As the vessels pa.s.s out of the bay, they go near enough to hear them bark; but nothing frightens them away, nor discomposes them in the least, although they are only a few miles from the city, and have a great many visitors. They are protected by law from molestation.

We looked off to the Farallon Islands, which are one of the chief landmarks for vessels approaching the Golden Gate. There was formerly a settlement of Russians there, who hunted the seal and the otter. These islands are still a great resort for seals, also for cormorants and sea-gulls; and the large speckled eggs of the birds are gathered in quant.i.ties, and brought to the San Francisco market for sale. They were called by the Spaniards "_Farallons de los Frayles_" (Islands of the Friars), _farallon_ being a sharp-pointed island.

There is a marvellous exhilaration in the air. The enthusiastic Bayard Taylor said, that, in his first drive round the bay, he felt like Julius Caesar, Milo of Crotana, and Gen. Jackson, rolled into one. It is an acknowledged fact, that both men and animals can work harder and longer here, without apparent injury or fatigue, than anywhere on the Eastern coast. We have heard it suggested that the abundant actinic rays in the dry, cloudless atmosphere are the cause of this invigoration, and also of the unusual brilliancy of the flowers.

JUNE 1, 1876.

The only way in which we know that summer is coming is by the more chilling winds, the increased dust, the tawny color of the hills, and the general dying look of things. Every thing is bare, sunny, and sandy.

We are surrounded with great wastes of sand, which the wind drives against the house, so that it seems always like a storm. Sometimes, when I sit at work at the window, a gopher comes out of the sandhill, and sits down outside it. His company makes me feel still more remote from all civilized things.