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Mistress of Monterey
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CHAPTER XVII—Continued
—14—
When next Pedro Fages heard
Junipero Serra, he was already
ied. The days that had elapsed
from the hour that he had said an
embittered farewell to Francisco Pa-
lou, riding through the rain to the
side of his dying brother, the Gov¬
ernor had spent in a silence so
great that no one had dared disturb
it. No one knew how far, or where,
>he traveled with only his horse as
Jcompanion. But he was seen, along a
lonely figure, tragic, aloof,
the bleak crags; sometimes walk¬
ing, one hand tugging his beard, the
other clenched behind him, the
faithful horse following with bent
neck, cropping at the scant grasses;
or riding furiously with the wind.
On the night of the christening,
La Gobernadora took her to her
'bed and did not rise from it for
days, defending herself from the
Governor’s black mood and despair
with a fever that burned her hollow-
eyed. The people of the Presidio of
San Francicso trod softly during the
crises of their Governor and his
lady. The women whispered, as¬
kance, in corners, and took the part
of La Gobernadora in her attitude
toward her husband. But the men
remained silent, or cursed softly
when the lady’s name was men¬
tioned.
As though to mock Don Pedro,
when the news of the Padre Presi-
dente’s death arrived, the day was
clear, sparkling, as sometimes the
days are in the San Francisco coun¬
try, in late August and early Sep¬
tember.
When he received the message,
Don Pedro went straight to La Gob-
ernadora’s room for the first time
in days, and stood before her for¬
mally.
“He is dead," he said curtly.
Eulalia closed her eyes. Still the
Governor stood silently, awaiting
some word from his wife. After a
while she opened her eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “It
must be a relief to you to know
that it is over.” She tried to sit up¬
right. “Will you help me?” she
asked. “I think I should like to get
up today. It is the first time I have
seen the sun for such a long time.”
“I will call Angustias ...”
“No, please. You can wrap me in
a cover, and carry me outside, if
you will.” He bundled her into a
quilt, and took her in his arms with¬
out altering his expression. Light
as a child she was, as he carried
her outdoors, and into the golden
sunlight. Servants hurried with
chairs, Angustias followed with the
baby.
Then the people of the presidio
were amazed to see the Governor,
his youngest-born in his arms, sit¬
ting quietly beside his lady, taking
the air.
“She has won him over, our beau¬
tiful Gobernadora!” whispered the
women happily. “Gracias a Dios!”
But the men glowered at the do¬
mestic scene, and muttered, “She
has won, the zorra!”
Then all uncovered and knelt hast¬
ily as the bells began tolling for
the passing of Junipero Serra.
Both men and women were wrong.
A few days later a small package
and a letter were brought to the
Governor. It was the last letter
Junipero Serra had written, to be
opened after his death. And the
package . . . Pedro Fages opened
it before he opened the letter. He
found a small square of grayish-
brown cloth, coarse and worn thin,
made into a scapular. He did not
need Francisco Palou’s accompany¬
ing note to tell him what it was, but
held it in his hands a moment, then
opening the throat of his leather
jerkin, slipped the scapular around
his neck by its cord until the blessed
scrap of Junipero Serra’s robe rest¬
ed on the strong arch of his breast.
Then he picked up the letter and
read the opening words, “My be¬
loved son ...”
It was obviously the letter of a
very sick man; one at the point of
death. The thought rambled; the
sentences staggered up- and down¬
hill. He spoke of hours they had
spent together on the march, of
the hundred little black heaps, scat¬
tered the length of California which
had been camp-fires they had
shared.
‘‘If I had been a soldier, or you a
priest,” he had written at one point,
“I could have understood you bet¬
ter, Pedro my son, but I could not
have loved you more.”
During all the perusal, the Gov¬
ernor’s eyes had been filled with
tears, so that he had many times
to dry them. But at the last para¬
graph a flash of rage dried the
tears . . .
“When all else had fallen away
from me,” said the faint lines, “I
had hoped that your faithful wife
could accomplish that which was
impossible. In our talks together
she had promised that she would
intercede with you for our
ship, and for the founding of the
Mission of Santa Barbara. But
has failed, for you have made
sign. And that is not Dona
lia’s fault, for she has tried. I had
hopad you would listen to her
she told you the messages I have
sent; of my trust, and confidence in
you . . .”
The Governor read no further, but
crumpling the letter in his hand
went to seek his wife. He found her
leaning over the crude cradle, filled
inconsistently with laces and pillows
where lay his little daughter.
Roughly he pulled Eulalia away
from the infant, and stood before
the cradle.
"You have no right to touch that
child!” he said, his face working
with rage. “You a deceitful, lying
woman, lower than the low!”
Eulalia put both hands to her face
as she staggered back.
“What do you mean? What is it?
What has happened?”
Pedro Fages stretched the letter
toward her. “Itead it. read every
word ...”
She read rapidly until she reached
the words that had sent the Gover¬
nor raging to her. She let the letter
slip to the floor as she stood with
trembling lips, her hands pressed
over her heart, staring at her hus¬
band.
“You made promises to him . . .
to help him when he was desperate!
You kept me from him when he was
sick, dying! You kept me from him
when he was laid in the grave. You
drove him to that grave with your
false friendship and your empty
promises. God knows what your
plots and schemes were, but they
will never succeed, for you are a
The Governor Seized the Count’s
Hand Gratefully.
murderess!” He stopped as though
the word choked him, then putting
his hand to his throat, flung the ac¬
cusation at her again.
“Murdex*ess!”
Eulalia took a wavering step to¬
ward him 1 , her hands outstretched
as though to ward off bludgeons,
then sank at his feet.
CHAPTER XVIII
The Lady Governor, La Gober¬
nadora, returned to Monterey with
her husband in a pleased, unusual
and utterly unaccountable state of
complete subjugation.
Unaccountable, at least, to his
Excellency: If Dona Eulalia had a
confidante, and having one, confided
in her, much might have been
learned. But the Governor went his
way with a little sense of guilt after
his outburst in San Francisco, and
enjoyed the favors of his docile wife
greatly. He enjoyed watching her
nurse the child, who flourished like
a wild-flower; he enjoyed seeing her
beauty re-blossom; and watched the
airs of the Monterey peninsula give
his lady’s cheeks a clarity and glow
that had never graced them before.
The lady herself drifted for two
whole years in this state of docility.
She even grew to enjoy the simple
social pleasures of the presidio; the
clam bakes and the dances, the gos¬
sip with other women of the colony.
Sometimes in the midst of some
simple gaiety she would pause, and
her mind would grope as though to
remember something. Then she
would recall her grievance, and
withdraw into herself.
California! Here she was, after
two years! And she had vowed she
would be in Mexico City before
that! She would wring her hands
helplessly. There was nothing to do.
Nowhere to turn. Junipero Serra
. . . she shuddered. He was in his
grave. And Nicolas Soler, with his
wild dreams of the governorship,
had slowly but surely gone blind
and returned to Mexico. Surely, all
who had crossed Junipero Serra suf¬
fered.
And Indizuela . . often she
looked at the girl, lissome, brown,
mysterious, who served her master
the Governor, like a dog, and won¬
dered. Something might be done
there . . .
But days, months, years slipped
by, and nothing happened.
Nothing happened to Eulalia. She
DADE COUNTY TIMES: THURSDAY, APRIL 21, 1938
sat in front of her mirror and
scanned her black tresses for silver
threads, frowning, with a sick fear
at her heart.
But events marched, nevertheless,
around the lady. And though she
was unaware of them, their influ¬
ence reached her, penetrated her
defenses.
Eulalia Celis de Fages found the
white hair she had feared finding,
set her teeth, pulled it, then wept
on her husband’s breast in the gub¬
ernatorial bed. And the Governor
smiled, and liked it.
Pedro Fages went about long de¬
layed and heart-breaking plans for
the mission to Santa Barbara, and
still another, Mission La Purisima.
He wrote scathing diatribes on the
laziness, bestiality, gambling, prof¬
ligacy and immorality of a little
pueblo, El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora
de Porciuncula la Reina de Los An¬
geles, which the natives called Los
Angeles. (The diatribes did no
good.)
On a bright sunny day in August,
1784, about the time that Eulalia
gave birth to her California flower,
there was a great hubbub in the
harbor of New York city. All the
notables of the new nation were at
hand to greet a distinguished visi¬
tor, who, with a love for the young
country in his young heart, had
traveled across the ocean to pay a
visit of congratulation. There were
public receptions, congressional
honors. George Washington extend¬
ed the hospitality of Mount Vernon
to the guest.
From France came Marie Jean
Paul Roch Yves Guilbert Motier,
Marquis de La Fayette, general and
statesman.
Two years and a month later two
ships sailed grandly into the Bay of
Monterey, as whales frisked and
blew around them. France was won¬
dering about America . . thought¬
ful about what country lay west of
that nation visited by the Marquis
de La Fayette. Dreaming, perhaps,
that another empire might lie be¬
yond the mountains and inland seas,
the deserts and plains, west of the
mighty Father of Waters.
So His Most Christian Majesty
Louis XVI of France sent two ships
around the world, to visit Califor¬
nia, under the leadership of an ac¬
complished scientist and gallant
gentleman, the Comte Jean Fran¬
cois Galaup de La Perouse.
It happened one gray morning in
September that Don Esteban Marti¬
nez, commanding two Spanish frig¬
ates, the old San Carlos and the
Princesa, that lay in the Bay of
Monterey, saw two lofty ships loom
out of the fog for a moment, be¬
fore disappearing. Then they were
reported by a lookout on shore, and
all day watchers saw them glide
like phantom ships out of the mists.
At night they disappeared entirely.
Morning brought sunshine, and a
closer view of the ships. Don Pedro
ordered Don Esteban to send out
two pilots, and watched the little
pilot boat put out toward the drift¬
ing strangers. Through his glasses
he strove to make out the flags they
flew.
“What are they? Who are they?”
breathed Eulalia eagerly, her chin
on his shoulder.
He propped the glasses before her
eyes, holding her in his arm.
“Look and see, perhaps you can
tell better than I.”
“I see! . . . Oh! A fleur de lis! . . .
“Frenchmen! Yes, you are right!
That will be the expedition of whom
I have been advised by the Viceroy.
La ... La ... La Perouse . . .
the Conde de La Perouse.”
“A count!” shrilled Eulalia. She
snatched the glasses from him and
pointed them as though she expected
to see the French gentleman smile
at her.
“Ah!” she said after a long un¬
“From Halls of Montezuma/’ Marines’
Fighting Song, Dates to Mexican War
The United States marines have
completed an investigation into the
origin of their famous song “From
the Halls of Montezuma,” which
they have made famous in almost
every part of the world.
The results of the investigation,
reports a San Francisco, Calif.,
United Press correspondent, show
that the song had its origin at the
time of the invasion of Mexico City
in September, 1847, near the close
of the Mexican war.
Elated with victory of American
arms over the Mexicans, an officer
sat down in the Aztec club and
scribbled the first verse of the pop¬
ular sea-soldier ballad.
It is thus that the marines ac¬
count for the beginning of the
sprightly ballad which has since be¬
come a bulwark of their esprit de
corps. Later the song grew by leaps
and bounds, verse after verse be¬
ing added by some more or less in¬
spired “leatherneck.”
The investigation of the origin of
j the song also developed the foct
that the music came from an old
j French opera, “Genevieve de Bra¬
bant.”
i Eventually, however, the number
HOP° SEW
4*- Ruth Wyeth Spears
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1 BLACK T
2 RED
3 HORIZONTAL MIXED STRIPES
A-VERTICAL MIXED STRIPES
5 BLUE I
6 TAN
Hook an Old Fashioned Rag Rug
satisfying look. “We must prepare
to entertain them I suppose.” She
said it very calmly, but her heart
was aflutter. Two shiploads of
French gentlemen, and a count; to
her that meant news of the world
for which she longed, news of la
belle France, of Spain, of opera,
books, theater, coiffures, modes . . .
As she rode back to the presidio
to prepare for the entertainment of
the distinguished visitors her
mind ran over the articles of her
own wardrobe, jewels and cosmet¬
ics.
“Now,” she sang, “praise God,
something will happen!”
It was late afternoon before the
frigates, the Astrolabe and the
Boussole were safely at anchor, and
the Governor, who had not left off
watching, saw two long-boats put
out for shore, seeming to thread
their way among the whales diving
and spouting about them.
As the boats landed, strong bare¬
legged Indians assisting the sailors
who leaped into the water, Pedro
Fage stepped forward to greet a
pleasant round-faced officer, in im¬
maculate epauletted uniform and
white curled peruke, and accom¬
panied by several other gentlemen.
For an instant, even while he had
his hand stretched in welcome, he
had a moment’s panic. These were
Frenchmen, and he spoke no
French, that is no decent French.
But the Comte de La Perouse was
already greeting him in broken
friendly Spanish, and the Governor
seized the Count’s hand gratefully.
When Don Pedro invited La Pe¬
rouse and his aide, Le Pante Dage-
let, a young man who spoke no
Spanish at all, to dine with him,
saying that his wife expected them,
the stranger raised his eyebrows,
and accepted.
“His wife!” he said in French
aside to his aide. “Surely there are
no ladies here in this God-forsaken
spot!”
As they entered the adobe palacio
they saw La Gobernadora framed in
candlelight.
La Perouse snatched his three-
cornered gold-laced hat from his
faultless peruke. So did Le Pante
Dagelet. Both gentlemen bowed
from the hips, deeply, amazedly.
The lady greeted them in French,
with a slight hesitation and a tiny
accent of Castilian that the gentle¬
men found delightful.
All through the dinner, which,
though strange to their palates, they
relished, they watched La Goberna¬
dora in surprise. The deference,
their obvious curiosity told the lady
of their admiration with every look
and gesture. So, though she was
bursting with things to say—things
which must be said—she played
the part of the Lady Governor with
dignity and chaste smiles, keeping
a wifely silence while her lord and
master made speech with his
guests.
But when the Governor and his
guests pulled their chairs around
the open fire, La Perouse began
speaking.
“We have been here in your Cali¬
fornia but a few hours, Monsieur le
Gouverneur,” he said, “and have al¬
ready met many surprises. First, it
was a surprise to find the place.
What fogs! Is the weather this way
all the time? And then the whales!
Poof! I did not know they smelled
so badly, when they blow that beau¬
tiful geyser! It is a very bad per¬
fume.”
Pedro Fages laughed defensively.
“We do not smell that ashore here.”
La Gobernadora smiled.
“Very often,” she murmured soft¬
ly in French.
The Governor looked at her sharp¬
ly-
La Perouse laughed. “It is to be
hoped not,” he replied in the same
tongue.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
rVF ALL rag rugs the hooked
type is the most fascinating
and economical. A rug hook, such
as may be purchased in notion
and fancywork departments, and
burlap a little larger than your
finished rug are the essentials.
Most rug hookers also use a
frame of slats bolted together at
the corners. They stretch the bur¬
lap over the frame and tack it.
Some like a rather large station¬
ary frame. Others use a small
one and many hooked rugs are
made without any frame at all.
Here is a quaint old rug pat¬
tern that you may mark off on
your burlap with a yardstick and
pencil. The numbers indicate the
colors used for the original rug—
now more than a hundred years
old. The finished rug measures
26 by 34 inches. Allow two inches
at all edges for hems. Overcast
the edges, then mark the solid
one-inch border just inside the
hem allowance; then the large
eight-inch squares; then the small
two-inch squares; then draw the
diagonal lines across the large
squares as shown. Use wool rags
if possible and cut the strips not
wider than one-half inch. Hold
the strip against the wrong side
of the burlap and pull loops of it
through to the right side with the
hook as shown. Short strips are
as useful as long. Just pull the
ends through and clip them.
If you are planning slip covers,
Colorful Apron for
a Gift or Bazaar
Chockful of flattery, gaiety,
practicality is this apron with
its easily appliqued tulip-shaped
pocket and flowers. Outline stitch
completes the design. Pattern 1635
Pattern 1635
contains a transfer pattern of
apron, a motif 8% by 9% inches
and applique patch pieces; illus¬
trations of all stitches used; ma¬
terial requirements; color sugges¬
tions.
Send 15 cents in stamps or coins
(coins preferred) for this pattern
to The Sewing Circle, Needlecraft
Dept., 82 Eighth Ave., New York.
of verses became so long that the
corps set in for a deliberate pruning
of everything that was not in ac¬
cordance with the traditions of
the corps. As the song now stands
it consists of only three stanzas
which begin with “Halls of Monte¬
zuma,” the place of origin and end
with the assurance that the marines
will be found guarding the streets
of heaven.
The song has been the battle cry
of marines in the Civil war, the
Spanish-American war, the World
war and in the scores of other in¬
ternational operations in which the
marines have participated.
Yellowstone, Largest Park
Largest park in the United States
is Yellowstone. It exceeds in size
the state of Delaware, is mostly in
Wyoming, but extends into Montana
and Idaho. Its creation as a park,
at the suggestion of a Montana
businessman, Cornelius Hedges, in
1870, was the start of our national
parks system. Almost beyond belief
are its natural wonders, and indeed
early explorers who reported boil¬
ing springs, geysers, were called
liars.
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curtains, or doing other Spring
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SEWING, for the Home Decora¬
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Send name and address, enclosing
25 cents (coins preferred) to Mrs.
Spears, 210 S. Desplaines St., Chi¬
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How the "Well-Dressed"
Furniture Should Appear
This season—and every season
—furniture should be kept fresh
and gleaming! The home-maker
owes it to her furniture—and the
appearance of her home. Before
it leaves the shop of the furniture
dealer, before it is sold—good fur¬
niture is kept polished! The dealer
continually gives it a “polish serv¬
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who is an authority, regularly
uses a good oil polish (the best
is non-greasy, because it has a
fine, light-oil base). He knows
the importance of this—for selling
furniture is his business—and on
his shop floor, every piece of fine
wood must be kept at its lustrou9
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is to the finish, the very pores of
the wood, to frequently apply a
quality oil polish on the various
suites and fine pieces! The effect
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and cracking—and it brings to the
furniture a deep, lasting high-tona
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Elements of Friendship
There are two elements that go
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One is Truth, the other is Tender¬
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