Over the Mountains
Southern California Entering the Southern California ValleysWhen we left the mountains, our course was W S W Close on the right was a range of hills, out of which poured several beautiful streams watering a fertile valley extending many miles on the left. Having traveled about 18 miles, I encamped. We had nothing to eat, and knowing it would take two days to reach the settlements, I determined to help myself to one of the hundreds of fine cattle in view. To kill one, I had to use all the precautions necessary in approaching buffalo. Having succeeded, I found the animal branded and saved the skin to carry to the owner. This place I remained during the following day.
Again moving onward in two days of travel, I arrived at a farmhouse. For many days we had traveled weary, hungry, and thirsty drinking from springs that increased our thirst and looking in vain for a boundary of the interminable waste of sands.
We passed through the country, seeing a land very much contrasting with the rocky and sandy deserts through which we had so long been traveling.
We had passed many high mountains and rocky and barren. Many plains whose sands drank up the waters of the river and spring where our need was the greatest. Sometimes a solitary antelope bounded by to vex our hunger, useless sedge grew as a mockery of the surrounding sterility. But now the scene changed and seemed enchanted, whether it was its natural beauty or the contrast with what we had seen. Our path was through a fertile and well-watered valley. The herds of cattle and the bands of wild horses as they sniffed the wind and rushed wildly across our way reminded me of the plains of the buffalo east of the mountains that seemed to me as a home or of the cattle of the more distant prairies of Missouri and Illinois.
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The idea that we were approaching the abode of comparative civilization was a pleasure not entirely unmixed with dread, as we were uncertain about our reception.
About were White Brant and mallards in great numbers as it was their season.
We passed a farm on a creek where many Indians were at work. They gazed and gazed again, considering us no doubt strange objects in which they were not much in error.
When considering that they were unaccustomed to seeing white men walking with horses packed as mine were with furs, traps, saddlebags, guns, and blankets, and everything so different from anything they had ever seen, and adding to this our ragged and miserable appearance, I should not have been surprised if they had run off at first sight. I have often been treated in that manner by savages.
We were received at the farmhouses by an older Indian who spoke in Spanish. He asked if I would like to have a bullock killed. I answered that I would. Two young Indians rode away in a moment. In a short time, the Indians returned, bringing a cow as fast as she could gallop held between the two horsemen with ropes thrown over her horns and having the other end tied to the pommel of the Spanish saddle, one rode before and the other behind she was forced along without the power of resistance. It is the custom in this country, as I have since learned to keep a horse or horses constantly tied at the door, saddled and bridled, and of course, ready to mount at a moment's warning.
They were anxious that I should shoot the cow, which I did. As novel as the scenery of this country was to me, it seemed that we were still a more incredible wonder to our semi-civilized friends as they wondered how Indians could be so white, having no idea that civilized people lived in the direction from which we came. It was also a great wonder to them that we had guns and other articles and that there should be one of the people of reason, the name by which they distinguished Spaniards from Indians and readily applied to one of my men who spoke Spanish.
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The farmhouse consisted of two buildings, each about 100 feet long, 20 feet wide, and 12 feet high, placed to form two sides of a square. The walls are of unburnt brick about 2 feet thick, and at intervals of 15 feet, loopholes for the admission of light. The roofs were thatched.
At this time, I had a vague idea of the peculiarities of the country where my fortune had placed me. Therefore, I was in the dark about how I should conduct myself and determined to be guided by circumstances as they should transpire. In pursuance of this plan, when the old overseer asked me if I would not write to Father, I told him I was and immediately sat down and wrote a few lines briefly stating where I was from and the reason for my being there. An Indian mounting one of the horses, always in readiness, took my note and was off instantly.
In about an hour, the answer returned by a man who the overseer told me was the commandant but, in fact, a Corporal. He asked me how I did and congratulated me that I had escaped the Gentiles and got into a Christian country and offered me some paper cigars according to the country's common custom. When I would take one, he insisted that I should take the bunch. He then presented the note from the Father written in Latin. As I could not read his Latin or could he read my English, it seemed that we were not likely to become general correspondents.
I, however, ascertained that he wished me to ride to the Mission, so giving Mr. Rogers instructions on how to proceed during my absence, I took my interpreter and, in company with the corporal and a soldier, moved on at the gait that appears common in this country a gallop.
We were passing large fields laid out on both sides of the road and fenced with posts set in the ground with rails tied to them using pieces of rawhide. There were also thousands of cattle skulls in rows on each side of the road, conveying that we were approaching a vast slaughter yard.
I arrived in front of a building of ancient and castle-like appearance, not knowing why I was there or who I was to see the current of my thoughts run so rapidly through my mind as to deprive me of the power of coming to any conclusion so that when we passed in front of the building, and the corporal, after pointing to an older man sitting in the entrance, observing that was the Father, immediately rode off. I was left quite embarrassed, hardly knowing how to introduce myself.
Smith arrives at San Gabriel - Carl Oscar Borg painting, 1931
Observing this, I presume the Father took me by hand and quite familiarly asked me to walk in. There was bread, cheese, and some rum, which I drank to please the Father but much against my taste. I then related to him being in that country. Still, it was being to him a thing so entirely new. My interpreter, perhaps not giving a correct translation of my words, could not comprehend the subject and told me there was an American residing in the vicinity for whom he would send as he spoke good Spanish. On his arrival, we might have a good understanding.
In the meantime, he told me to make myself as contented as possible and consider myself at home. He ordered the steward to show me to a room about 20 feet square with a bed. Taking possession of it, I was left alone to reflect on my situation for about two hours.
When the bell rang for supper, a boy invited me in. The old Father invited me to pass up next to him. We were seated on a long bench with a back to it, one occupying each side of the table. On The opposite side of the table sat a Spanish gentleman, a Father from the neighboring village of the Angels, and the steward of the mission. At my side sat my interpreter. As soon as we were seated, the Father said Benediction. Most hurriedly, each one asked for the blessing of heaven - and even before the last words, the fathers were reaching for the different dishes. About a dozen Indian boys in attendance passed the various dishes to the fathers, who helped themselves and passed them to the next. Our knives and forks, according to the country's common custom, were rolled up in a napkin and laid by the side of the plates. The supper consisted principally of meats and an abundance of wine. Indian boys had already passed out cigars even before they removed the tablecloth. Excuse me for being this particular in this table scene when it is recollected that it was a long time since I had had the pleasure of sitting at a table and never before in such company.
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