It was nearly six months before the Indians got into the houses. The expense was double what wooden cabins built on the spot would have been, and about four times the cost of adobes.... The houses are neither dust-proof, wind-proof, nor water-proof, and are far inferior to the despised adobes.
It was nearly six months before the Indians got into the houses. The expense was double what wooden cabins built on the spot would have been, and about four times the cost of adobes.... The houses are neither dust-proof, wind-proof, nor water-proof, and are far inferior to the despised adobes.
But the Indians made the best of them, and have gradually improved, or replaced them with something better. Then the water question arose. There was not enough for their needs. Eighteenthousand dollars was first expended, and then more was called for. At last, in May, 1913, the new irrigation system was completed, and a grand fiesta was held to celebrate the opening.
The first teacher of the Palatinguas when they were removed to Pala was Mrs. Josephine H. Babbitt, who for many years had been their trusted friend at Warner's Ranch. But in those trying early days when nerves were frayed, dispositions frazzled, and passions easily aroused, her earnest and determined efforts to secure for her wards as great a meed of justice as possible rendered herpersona non gratato some whose influence was powerful enough to secure her removal.
But it was not long before even this misfortune was made to work out for the good of the Indians. Miss Ora Salmons, who was a teacher of one of the near-by Indian schools, was appointed, and this year of our Lord, sees her close her twenty-eighth year of faithful and happy service among her dusky wards, many of which have been spent here at Pala. With heart, mind and body attuned to her work she has truthfully and poetically been termed "the little mother of the Indians." Radiating brightness, sunshine, sympathy and love for her pupils, old and young, she is strengthened in her daily task by the assurance that she is making their life easier and happier, removing some of the obstacles to their progress, and adding factors of strength and self-reliance to their characters.
In Southern California water is an essential element in nearly all agricultural and horticultural development. In their own primitive fashion the Indians irrigated the lands long prior to the coming of the Spaniards. When Padre Peyri, however, came to Pala, his far-seeing eye at once noted its possibilities, and he set about bringing water from the headwaters of the river. He laid a line for a ditch from the mountains to the mission lands so accurately and with such consummate skill that it is as much the marvel of modern irrigation engineers as is the architecture of the Missions of the modern architect.
Where necessary a ditch was built, and on the other hand where the natural course was in the proper line this was followed, to be replaced again with ditches when necessary. So long as Peyri remained the ditch was in constant use, but after he left in 1832 it began to decline, and when his successor, Zalvidea, died, in 1846, it fell into disuse and soon became choked up, ruined, and useless.
When the Palatinguas came, some work in the bringing of water was done on their behalf, but it was not adequate. While it supplied the necessary water for their lands on the south side of the river, they also needed it on the north side. Sothe Indian Department was again appealed to, the appropriation made, and, in due time, the work begun. The government engineers found that the line of old ditch could not be improved upon, so the Indians were engaged to do the major part of the work, as they had been in the days of Peyri, and on the occasion of its completion the event was deemed of such importance that the Indians decided to hold a great fiesta.
After the decline of the Mission establishments the annual fiestas of the Indians became mere pretexts for debauchery, gambling, and the performance of their ancient dances. But of late years strenuous efforts have been made to prohibit the sale of liquor to the Indians, and the government also has abolished gambling. The influence of Father Doyle and Agent Runke have been great in changing the character of the fiesta, and on this occasion the event was one of decorum, dignity, and reverent worship, as well as dancing, playing of games, and pleasure.
Not only was the securing of a permanent supply of water a cause of rejoicing. The Indians were made happy by the announcement that, at last, the government had recognized their claims to the land which they had been tilling the past ten years and granted them their patent. The announcement was made by Walter Runke, superintendent of the reservation, just after the water was turned into the new ditch.
Granting them their patent means that each Indian, whether babe, child, man or woman is given title to one and three-quarters acres of irrigated land and six acres of dry land. Much of this dry land has been put under irrigation sincethe first allotment. In addition, the head of each family is given two lots, one for his house and one for his stable. There is, however, a stipulation in the grant which forbids an Indian's deeding his newly acquired property away for the next twenty-five years.
I have explained already how bitter the Palatinguas were when removed from Warner's Ranch. They felt that, as they had had no security in the possession of their homes and lands at Warner's Ranch, so would it be at Pala. They could be moved about, they said, at the whim of Washington, without a guarantee of a final competency for themselves or their children. But now they have been rewarded for their labor and patience with land in one of the most fertile and beautiful valleys of Southern California and under the shadow of the cross their beloved padre raised one hundred years ago.
The fiesta was held in due time. Eight members of the Franciscan Order from San Luis Rey were invited to take an important part in the ceremonies.
A writer in theSan Diego Unionshows how tenaciously the Indians cling to the ceremonies of the past. He says:
The opening of the government's new irrigation ditch was preceded the night before by the same ceremony of praise and thanksgiving that the Indians used to hold before ever a padre raised a cross among them. In a rectangular enclosure made of green willows they assembled about a log fire. They seated themselves in a circle just beyond the line of fading light, their swarthy faces being discernible only as a dim streak in the dark; but before the fire, his rough and seamed face illuminated by the unsteady flames which leaped, as now and then he picked at a brand, and revealed his audience as motionlessas though chiseled out of lava, stood the aged Cecelio Chuprosa. His hands were clasped behind his back and his head bowed. At long intervals, he spoke briefly in his native tongue, his soft gutterals coming so slowly that one could count the vowels. A drawn-out low, weird monotone was the only response from that rock-like circle just beyond the light. Now and then some old woman emerged from the darkness and danced beside the burning logs while she chanted some wild incantation and was lost again in that stoic, stolid, silent circle.Finally two padres appeared on the scene. They said nothing, but the Indians soon slunk away. The padres do not approve of the rites of pagan days, and they love their padres.Still amid the weird savagery of that scene, there were many evidences of civilization. The old men and women wore cowhide boots and shoes which covered their feet with corns. Instead of the peace-pipe, the glow of the cigarette dawned and died everywhere through the stoic night. Oil-filled lanterns took the place of the starlight the Indians formerly used to find their way home by, and one old wabbling woman wheeled her grand-papoose to the meeting in the latest style of perambulator.Chuprosa is 96 years old and has not a gray hair on his head. He has worn his war paint, been on the warpath, and fought in all the tribe's battles from his youth up. He is particularly proud of the valor he displayed in the battle of Alamitos, which occurred sixty-six years ago.Now Chuprosa is a baseball fan. He roots at all the games between the teams of his and neighboring reservations. Recently he rode forty miles on horseback to Warner's Ranch to see a game and when he returned he was so stiff that he had to be lifted out of the saddle, but he rubbed his aching legs a little and laughed, for he had rooted his favorite team to victory.Among the Franciscan monks who came from San Luis Rey to attend the Pala fiesta was another old battler who had fought through two wars and won two medals for valor from his country. One of them is the far-famed and much coveted iron-cross which German royalty and the Kaiser himself salute whenever it is seen on the breast of a veteran. But Father Damian,—and that is his only name in the cloister where he has lived now for thirty-eight years,—threw thesehonors into the sea and with head bowed he appeared one day at the door of a monastery and asked that he might henceforth follow only the standard of the cross.He was given a brown robe with a cowl and a pair of sandals for his feet, and the hero of wars which Germany waged against Austria and France, lost even his name and, becoming a carpenter, gave his life in building schools and churches.Father Damian and Chuprosa met for the first time at the Pala fiesta. The monk could speak no Spanish and the Indian no German, but they soon became interested in each other when, through an interpreter, each told of the battles the other had fought. Although seventy-two years old, the father is still rugged except that he feels the effect of cholera which attacked his regiment in the war with Austria. "One morning," he said, "one hundred in my regiment alone remained on the ground when the bugle called us. They had died overnight of cholera."
The opening of the government's new irrigation ditch was preceded the night before by the same ceremony of praise and thanksgiving that the Indians used to hold before ever a padre raised a cross among them. In a rectangular enclosure made of green willows they assembled about a log fire. They seated themselves in a circle just beyond the line of fading light, their swarthy faces being discernible only as a dim streak in the dark; but before the fire, his rough and seamed face illuminated by the unsteady flames which leaped, as now and then he picked at a brand, and revealed his audience as motionlessas though chiseled out of lava, stood the aged Cecelio Chuprosa. His hands were clasped behind his back and his head bowed. At long intervals, he spoke briefly in his native tongue, his soft gutterals coming so slowly that one could count the vowels. A drawn-out low, weird monotone was the only response from that rock-like circle just beyond the light. Now and then some old woman emerged from the darkness and danced beside the burning logs while she chanted some wild incantation and was lost again in that stoic, stolid, silent circle.
Finally two padres appeared on the scene. They said nothing, but the Indians soon slunk away. The padres do not approve of the rites of pagan days, and they love their padres.
Still amid the weird savagery of that scene, there were many evidences of civilization. The old men and women wore cowhide boots and shoes which covered their feet with corns. Instead of the peace-pipe, the glow of the cigarette dawned and died everywhere through the stoic night. Oil-filled lanterns took the place of the starlight the Indians formerly used to find their way home by, and one old wabbling woman wheeled her grand-papoose to the meeting in the latest style of perambulator.
Chuprosa is 96 years old and has not a gray hair on his head. He has worn his war paint, been on the warpath, and fought in all the tribe's battles from his youth up. He is particularly proud of the valor he displayed in the battle of Alamitos, which occurred sixty-six years ago.
Now Chuprosa is a baseball fan. He roots at all the games between the teams of his and neighboring reservations. Recently he rode forty miles on horseback to Warner's Ranch to see a game and when he returned he was so stiff that he had to be lifted out of the saddle, but he rubbed his aching legs a little and laughed, for he had rooted his favorite team to victory.
Among the Franciscan monks who came from San Luis Rey to attend the Pala fiesta was another old battler who had fought through two wars and won two medals for valor from his country. One of them is the far-famed and much coveted iron-cross which German royalty and the Kaiser himself salute whenever it is seen on the breast of a veteran. But Father Damian,—and that is his only name in the cloister where he has lived now for thirty-eight years,—threw thesehonors into the sea and with head bowed he appeared one day at the door of a monastery and asked that he might henceforth follow only the standard of the cross.
He was given a brown robe with a cowl and a pair of sandals for his feet, and the hero of wars which Germany waged against Austria and France, lost even his name and, becoming a carpenter, gave his life in building schools and churches.
Father Damian and Chuprosa met for the first time at the Pala fiesta. The monk could speak no Spanish and the Indian no German, but they soon became interested in each other when, through an interpreter, each told of the battles the other had fought. Although seventy-two years old, the father is still rugged except that he feels the effect of cholera which attacked his regiment in the war with Austria. "One morning," he said, "one hundred in my regiment alone remained on the ground when the bugle called us. They had died overnight of cholera."
A Pala Indian Washing Clothes in the Creek.
A Pala Indian Washing Clothes in the Creek.
Bell Tower and Entrance to the Garden at Pala.
Bell Tower and Entrance to the Garden at Pala.
In the Pala Graveyard.
In the Pala Graveyard.
Pala Basket Makers at Work.
Pala Basket Makers at Work.
The morning of the fiesta dawned bright and clear. Every member of the tribe was there in his or her best. The ceremonies opened by a solemn high mass conducted by Father Doyle, and assisted by the Franciscan Fathers from San Luis Rey.
Then a grand parade was held, everyone marching happily to the head of the ditch. There Father Peter Wallischeck, Superior of the San Luis Rey house, blessed the water which poured itself for the first time over the Indians' lands since the old ditch crumbled away, and as he did so he stood on the very spot where Padre Peyri stood when, with his Indians, they said a prayer of thanksgiving over the successful completion of their labors, a century previously.
The rest of the day was then spent in the pleasures of the table mainly provided by an old-fashioned barbecue, a baseball game and the inevitable game of peon.
To many white people an Indian is always what they conceive all Indians ever have been—wild, uncultivated, useless savages. Never was idea more mistaken and cruelly ignorant. At Pala there is not an Indian on the free ration list. The putting of water upon their lands has transformed them from the crushed, disheartened, half-starved and almost despondent people they were thirteen years ago, after their removal from their beloved Palatingua, into an industrious, energetic, independent, self-supporting and self-respecting tribe.
The olive trees planted by Padre Peyri are tenderly cared for and are again in full bearing. As one now approaches Pala from either Oceanside or Agua Tibia he gazes upon a valley smiling in its dress of living green. Fields of alfalfa, corn, wheat, barley, beans, and chilis stretch out on every hand, relieved by fine orchards of apricots, peaches and olives.
For years the Indians did not take kindly to government farmers. Most of these men were too theoretical. For the past two years, however, Mr. A. T. Hammock, government farmer at Pala, has shown by example and sympathetic work the benefits of intensive farming. His practical lessons have brought many dollars into the pocketsnot only of the Palatinguas, but also of the other Mission Indians close to the border of the Pala reservation.
Recently the raising of late tomatoes for the Eastern market was tried with much success.
Added production enables the Indians to build better homes. Some of them have done this, as is shown in one of the illustrations, and by the time the drainage system contemplated by the government is in place many of the forlorn gift houses, erected when they first came to Pala, will be replaced by small but neat cottages.
The Palas are also successful stock raisers and have many head of cattle grazing on the wild lands of their reservation. They are also proud of their horses.
As a further evidence of progress they have now substituted for their old fiesta a modern agricultural fair.
In October, of 1915, they held their annual gathering and, after they had erected their square of ramadas, or houses of tree branches, they built one of finished lumber to contain an agricultural exhibit which consisted not only of farm products, but also preserved fruit, pastry, basketry, art lace and pottery.
Over a thousand dollars' worth of baskets and nearly a thousand dollars' worth of fine hand lace were on exhibition. Farmers from a distant county were chosen as judges and with pleased astonishment remarked that the exhibition as a whole would have taken a prize at any county fair.
Thus living with congenial administrators in a climate softer even than the city of San Diego, for the breezes of the Palomar mountains mingle withthose of the Pacific in the trees which shade their humble homes; having at the end of the principal street of the village a hedged plaza, filled with blooming flowers all the year, making a frame for the old Mission chapel, which stands restored as the best preserved of the Mission chapels, a picture place of San Diego county and their place of worship; not wealthy, but having sufficient for the necessities and some of the comforts of life; it is little wonder that the Indian of Pala pursues the even tenor of his way, happy and without a care for the future.
The art instincts of primitive people naturally were exceedingly limited in expression. Their ignorance of tools not only restricted their opportunities for the development of handicraft ability, but also deprived them of many materials they otherwise might have used. Hence whenever an outlet was discovered for their artistic tendencies they were impelled to focus upon it in a remarkable degree. With few tools, limited scope of materials, and next to no incitement to higher endeavor as the result of contact with other peoples, they yet developed several arts to a higher degree than has ever yet been attained by the white race. One of the chief of these artistic industries was the making of baskets.
Look at one of these exquisite pieces of aboriginal workmanship and you will be astonished at the perfection of its form, its marvelous symmetry, the evenness of its weave, the suitability of the material of which it is made, its remarkable adaptability to the use for which it is intended, the rare and delicate harmoniousness of its colors, and the artistic conception of its design. These qualities all presuppose pure aboriginal work, for directly the Indian begins to yield to the dictation of the superior (!) race, she proceeds to make baskets of hideousand inartistic shape, abominable combinations of color, and generally senseless designs.
Let us watch these basket-makers at work, as we find them at Pala today. The weaver must first secure the materials. For the filling of the inner coil she gathers a quantity of a wild grass, or broom corn, the stems of which perfectly fulfil the purpose. The wrapping splints are made of three or four products of the vegetable kingdom. The white splints are secured from willows which are peeled and then split and torn apart so as to make the desired size. The thinness and pliability of the splint is determined by scraping off as much as is needed of the inside. A black splint is found in the cuticle of the martynia, or cat's claw, which grows profusely on the hill-sides. Sometimes, however, the white willow splints are soaked in hot sulphur water for several days, and this blackens them. This water is secured from one of the hot springs which are found all over Southern California. The rare and delicate shades of brown in the splints used by the Pala Indians are gained from the root of the tule. These roots are dug out of the mud of marshy places and vary in shade, from the most delicate creamy-brown to the deepest chestnut. Carefully introduced into a basket they make harmonies in color that fairly thrill the senses with delight. Now and again an added note of color is found in the red of the red-bud, which, when gathered at the proper time, gives a sturdy red, not too vivid or brilliant, but that harmonizes perfectly with the white, black and brown. As a rule these are the only colors used by the older and more artistic of the Pala weavers. Now and again, a smart youngster, trained at thewhite man's school, will come back with corrupted ideas of color value, and will flippantly make gorgeously colored splints with a few packages of the aniline dyes that, to the older weavers, are simply accursed. But even the most foolish and least discerning of the white purchasers of baskets made of these degraded colors cannot fail, in time, to learn how hideous they are when compared with the natural, normal and artistic work of the more conservative of the weavers.
With her materials duly prepared the weaver is now ready to go to work. What drawing has she to represent the shape of her basket; what complicated plan of the design she intends to incorporate in it? How much thought has she given to these two important details? Where does she get them from? What art books does she consult? She cannot go down to the art or department store and purchase Design No. 48b, or 219f, and her religion, if she be agoodwoman (that is, good from the Indian, not the white man or Christian standpoint), will not allow her to copy either one of her own or another weaver's form or design. She, therefore, is left to the one resort of the true artist. She must create her work from Nature, out of her own observations and reflections. Thus patterning after Nature the shapes of her baskets are always perfect, always uncriticizable. There is nothing fantastic, wild, or crazy about them, as we often find in theoriginal creationsof the white race. They are patterned after the Master Artist's work, and therefore are beyond criticism.
But who can tell the hours of patient and careful observation, the thought, the reflection, put uponthese shapes and designs. The busy little brain behind those dark-brown eyes; the creative imagination that sees, that vizualizesin the mindand can judge of its appearance when objectified, must be developed to a high degree to permit the use of such intricate, complicated and complex designs as are often found. There are no drawings made, no pencil and paper used, not even a sketch in the sand as some guessers would have the credulous believe. Everything is seen and worked outmentally, and with nothing but the mental image before her, the artist goes to work.
Seated in as easy a posture as she can find out-of-doors or in, her splints around her in vessels of water (the water for keeping them pliant), and an adequate supply of the broom-corn, or grass-stem, filling at hand, she rapidly makes the coiled button that is the center, the starting point of her basket. Her awl is the thigh-bone of a rabbit, unless she has yielded so far to the pressure of civilization as to use a steel awl secured at the trader's store for the purpose. Stitch by stitch the coil grows, each one sewed, by making a hole with the awl through the coil already made, to that coil. When the time comes for the introduction of the colored splint, she works on as certainly, surely and deftly as before. There is no hesitation. All is mapped out, the stitches counted, long before, and though to the outsider there is no possible resemblance discernible between what she is doing with anything known in the heavens above, the earth beneath, or the waters under the earth, the aboriginal weaver goes on with perfect confidence, seeing clearly the completed and artistic product of her brain and fingers.
One of the Portable Houses bought by the U. S. Indian Department. The rear house was erected by the Indians themselves, and is the home of Senora Salvadora Valenzuela and her daughters.
One of the Portable Houses bought by the U. S. Indian Department. The rear house was erected by the Indians themselves, and is the home of Senora Salvadora Valenzuela and her daughters.
Two Pala Indian Maidens.
Two Pala Indian Maidens.
Pala Boys at Work on the Farm.
Pala Boys at Work on the Farm.
And how wonderfully those fingers handle the splints. No white woman has ever surpassed, in digital dexterity, these native Indians. Do you wonder? Watch this weaver day after day as her basket grows. A week, two, three, a month, two, three months pass by, and the basket is not yet finished. Time as well as creative skill and digital dexterity are required to make a basket, and it is no uncommon thing to find three, four and even five or six months consumed before the basket is done, and the weaver's heart is secretly rejoiced by the beauty of the work.
Is it surprising that the Indian often refuses to show, even when she knows she can make a sale, the latest product of her skill? The work is the joy of her heart; she has met the true test of the artist—she loves her work and, therefore, joys in it—how can she sell it? So when you ask her if she has a basket to sell she shakes her head, and when, days or weeks later, pressed by a real or fancied necessity, she brings it out and offers it for sale, you inwardly comment—perhaps openly—upon the untruthfulness of the Indian, when, in reality, she meant to the full her negative as to whether she had a basket tosell.
There are many skilful and accomplished basket weavers at Pala, who genuinely love their work. They are preserving for a prejudiced portion of the white race, proofs of an artistic skill possessed for centuries by this despised aboriginal race, and, at the same time, give delight, pleasure, joy and kindlier feelings to those of the white race who feel there is a fundamental truth enunciated in the doctrines of the universal Fatherhood of God, and the Brotherhood of Man.
In the preceding chapter I have presented, in a broad and casual manner, the work of the Pala basket-makers. They are not confined, however, to this as their only artistic industry. They engage in other work that is both beautiful and useful. For centuries they have been pottery makers, though, as far as I can learn, they have never learned to decorate their ware with the artistic, quaint, and symbolic designs used by the Zunis, Acomese, Hopis and other Pueblo Indians of Arizona and New Mexico, or that might have been suggested by the designs on their own basketry.
The shapes of their pottery in the main are simple and few, but, when made by skilful hands, are beautiful and pleasing. They make saucers, bowls, jars and ollas. Clay is handled practically in the same way as the materials of basketry. After the clay is well washed,puddled, and softened, it is rolled into a rope-like length. After the center is moulded by the thumbs and fingers of the potter, on a small basket base which she holds in her lap, the clay rope is coiled so as to build up the pot to the desired size. As each coil is added, it is smoothed down with the fingers and a smallspatulaof bone, pottery or dried gourd skin, the shape being made and maintained by constantmanipulation. When completed it is either dried in the sun, or baked over a fire made of dried cow or burro dung, which does not get so hot as to crack the ware, or give out a smoke to blacken it.
In the dressing of skins, and making of rabbit-skin blankets, the older Indians used to be great adepts, but modern materials have taken away the necessity for these things.
Before the Palatinguas were removed from Warner's Ranch to Pala, one of them, gifted with the white man's business sense, and with the creative or inventive faculty, started an industry which he soon made very profitable. Every traveler over the uncultivated and desert area of Southern California has been struck with the immense number of yuccas, Spanish daggers, that seemed to spring up spontaneously on every hand. This keen-brained Indian, José Juan Owlinguwush, saw these, and wiser than some of his smart white brothers, determined to put them to practical and profitable use. He had the bayonets gathered by the hundreds, the thousands. Then he had them beaten, flailed, until the fibres were all separated one from another. The outer skins were thrown away, but the inner fibres were taken and cured. Then, on one of the most primitive spinning-wheels ever designed, and worked by a smiling school-girl, who passed a strap over a square portion of a spindle, at the end of which was a hook, so as to make it revolve at a high degree of speed, the fiber was spun into rope. To the hook the yucca fibre was attached, and as the spindle revolved the hook twisted the fibre into cord. The spinner, with an apron full of the fibre, walked backwards, away from the revolvinghook, feeding out the fibre as required and seeing it was of the needed thickness. Some of the rope or cord thus made was dyed a pleasing brown color, and then was woven on a loom, as primitive as was the spinning-wheel, into doormats, which I used, with great satisfaction, for several years.
Soon after the Palatinguas were settled at Pala, the Sybil Carter Association of New York introduced to them, with the full consent of the government officials, the art of Spanish lace-making. In a recent newspaper article it is thus lauded: "Ancient craft [Basket-making] of Pala Indians Gives Place to More Artistic Handiwork." This is a very absurd statement, for wherein is the work of lace-making moreartisticthan basket-making. In the article that follows our newspaper friend tells us candidly that the creative spirit is still alive in the manufacture of basketry:
They use the natural grasses and no artificial coloring.No two baskets are alike, though the mountain, lightning flash, star, tree, oak-leaf, and snake designs are most common.
They use the natural grasses and no artificial coloring.No two baskets are alike, though the mountain, lightning flash, star, tree, oak-leaf, and snake designs are most common.
The italics are mine. Our writer then goes on to say of the lace-making:
The little ten-year old school-child and the grandmother now sit side by side weaving the intricate figures with deft hands and each receives fair compensation for the finished product. It takes sharp eyes and supple fingers to produce this lace,but no originality, for the Venetian point, Honiton, Torchon, Brussels, Cluny, Milano, Roman Cut-Work and Fillet patterns are supplied by the government teacher, Mrs. Edla Osterberg.
The little ten-year old school-child and the grandmother now sit side by side weaving the intricate figures with deft hands and each receives fair compensation for the finished product. It takes sharp eyes and supple fingers to produce this lace,but no originality, for the Venetian point, Honiton, Torchon, Brussels, Cluny, Milano, Roman Cut-Work and Fillet patterns are supplied by the government teacher, Mrs. Edla Osterberg.
The Fiesta Procession, Leaving the Chapel for the Headgate of the Irrigation Ditch.
The Fiesta Procession, Leaving the Chapel for the Headgate of the Irrigation Ditch.
Pala Indian Women Dancing at the Fiesta.
Pala Indian Women Dancing at the Fiesta.
Again the italics are mine. There is no comparison in the art work of basketry and that of lace-making, yet it is a good thing the latter has been introduced. It brings these poor peoplemoney easier and quicker than basket-making, and, as they must earn to live, it aids them in the struggle for existence.
In the lace work-room, the last time I was there, thirty-nine weavers in all, varying from bright-eyed children of seven years, to aged grandmothers, were intently engaged upon the delicate work. The bobbins were being twisted and whirled with incredible rapidity and sureness, in the cases of the most expert, and all were as interested as could possibly be.
It would require many pages of this little book even to suggest the various rites, ceremonies and ideas connected with the ancient religion of the Palas. It was a strange mixture of Nature worship, superstition, and apparently meaningless rites, all of which, however, clearly revealed the childlike worship of their minds. In the earliest days their religious leaders gained their power by fasting and solitude. Away in the desert, or on the mountain heights, resolutely abstaining from all food, they awaited the coming of their spirit guides, and then, armed with the assurance of direct supernatural control, they assumed the healing of the sick and the general direction of the affairs of the tribe.
Then, later, this simple method was changed. The neophytes sought visions by drinking a decoction made from the jimpson weed—toloache—and though the older and purer-minded men condemned this method it was gaining great hold upon them when the Franciscan Missionaries came a century or so ago.
Even now some of their ceremonies at the period of adolescence, especially of girls, are still carried on. One of these consists of digging a pit, makingit hot with burning wood coals, and then "roasting" the maiden therein, supposedly for her physical good.
I have also been present at some of their ancient dances which are still performed by the older men and women. These are petitions to the Powers that control nature to make the wild berries, seeds and roots grow that they may have an abundance of food, and many white men have seen portions of the eagle and other dances, the significance of which they had no conception of. Yet all of these dances had their origin in some simple, childlike idea such as that the eagle, flying upwards into the very eye of the sun, must dwell in or near the abode of the gods, and could therefore convey messages to them from the dwellers upon Earth. This is the secret of all the whisperings and tender words addressed to the eagle before it is either sent on its flight or slain—for in either case it soars to the empyrean. These words are messages to be delivered to the gods above, and are petitions for favors desired, blessings they long for, or punishments they wish to see bestowed upon their enemies.
But when the padres came the major part of the ancestors of the present-day Palas came under their influence. They were soon baptized into the fold of the Catholic Church. The fathers were wise in their tolerance of the old dances. Wherein there was nothing that savored of bestiality, sensuality, or direct demoralization, they raised no objection, hence the survival of these ceremonies to the present day. But, otherwise, the Indians became, as far as they were mentally and spiritually able, good sons and daughters of the church.
Of the good influence these good men had over their Indian wards there can be no question.
A true shepherd of his heathen flock was Padre Peyri. When the order of secularization reached San Luis Rey and every priest was compelled to take the oath of allegiance to the republic of Mexico, Peyri refused to obey. He was ordered out of the country. At first he paid no attention to the command, but when, finally, his superiors in Mexico authorized his obedience, he stole away during the dead of night in January, 1832, in order to save himself and his beloved though dusky wards the pain of parting. It is said that when the Indians discovered that he had left them and was on his way to San Diego in order to take ship for Spain, five hundred of them followed him with the avowed intention of trying to persuade him to return. But they reached the bay at La Playa just as his ship was spreading sail and putting out to sea. A plaintive cry rose heavenward while they stood, their arms outstretched in agonized pleading, as their beloved padre gave them a farewell blessing and his vessel faded away in the blue haze off Point Loma.
The last resident missionary at San Luis Rey was Padre Zalvidea, who died early in 1846.
From this date the decline of the Mission was very rapid. In 1826, the Indian population was 2,869 and in 1846 it scarcely numbered 400. After the death of Padre Zalvidea the poor Indians were like a flock of sheep without a shepherd. They dispersed in every direction, a prey of poverty, disease, and death.
The Pala Campanile After Rebuilding in 1916.
The Pala Campanile After Rebuilding in 1916.
A Pala Basket-Maker at Work.
A Pala Basket-Maker at Work.
The Interior of Pala Chapel After the Restoration.
The Interior of Pala Chapel After the Restoration.
The Ruins of the Pala Campanile, After Its Fall in January, 1916.
The Ruins of the Pala Campanile, After Its Fall in January, 1916.
The Pala outpost shared the fate of the mother mission, San Luis Rey. It became a prey to theelements and to vandalism. It was soon a ruin, uninhabited and unhabitable. Even the water ditch, not being kept in repair, soon became useless. Thus matters stood until the United States decided to remove the Indians living on Warner's Ranch to Pala.
Longevity used to be quite common among the Pala and other Indians. To attain the age of a hundred years was nothing uncommon, and some lived to be a hundred and fifty and even more years old. A short time ago Leona Ardilla died at Temecula, which, like Pala, used to be a part of the Mission of San Luis Rey. Leona was computed to be fully 113 years old. She well remembered Padre Peyri,—el buena padre, she called him,—and could tell definitely of his going away, of the Indians following him to San Diego, and their grief that they could not bring him back. Often have I heard her tell the story of the eviction of the Indians from San Pasqual, as described inRamona, and the struggle her people had for the necessities of life after that disastrous event.
Of gentle disposition, uncomplaining regarding the many and great wrongs done her people by the white man, she lived a simple Indian life, eating her porridge ofweewish, thebellotaof the Spanish, that is, acorn. This was for years her staple food. She ate it as she worked on her baskets, with the prayers on her lips which were taught her by Padre Peyri.
Though deaf and nearly blind for over 20 years, Leona sat daily in the open with some boughs at her back, the primitive, unroofed break-wind described as the only habitation of many of the Indians at the advent of the spiritualconquistadoresof California. There, in the shade of her kish, she sat and wove baskets. A few days before she died she tried to finish a basket which had been begun over a month before, but her death intervened and it remains unfinished.
A year hence, when the Indians hold their memorial dance of the dead, this basket will be burned, together with whatever articles of clothing she may have left.
The old basket maker's only living child was Michaela. She is 80 years of age, and was at her mother's death-bed.
After their removal to Pala the Indians were too stunned to pay much attention to anything except their own troubles, and the priest that was sent to them neither knew or understood them. But a few years ago the Reverend George D. Doyle was appointed as their pastor. He entered into the work with zeal, sympathy and love, and in a short time he had won their fullest confidence by his tender care of their best interests. He deems no sacrifice too great where his services are needed. He says, however, that beneficial service would have been rendered impossible save for the justice, tolerance and helpfulness on the part of the Indian service both at Washington and in the field.
In their school life Miss Salmons has their confidence equally with their pastor. The growing generation is bright and learns things just as quickly as white children of the same age.
The older Indians never seem to be able to count. Their difficulty in understanding figures is shown when they make purchases at the reservation store. An old Indian will buy a poundof sugar, for instance, and lay down a dollar. After he is given his change he may buy a pound of bacon and again wait for his change before he makes the next purchase. He simply cannot understand that 100 minus 5 minus 18 leaves 77.
But the younger generation will have no such trouble. They are fairly quick at figures, and a class in mental arithmetic under Miss Salmons' direction would not appear poorly in competition with any white class in any other California school.
The women spend much time in their gardens and in basket- and lace-making. Their houses, gates, and fences are covered with a wealth of roses and other flowers and vines and their little gardens are laid out and cultivated with great skill. The men have a club-house, in which is a billiard-table, where they play pool and other games. There is also a piano, and several of the Indians are able to play creditably at their community dances.
The games most popular among the Palas, in fact among all the Mission Indians, are Gome, Pelota, Peon and Monte.Gomeis a test of speed, endurance, and accuracy. As many contestants as wish enter, each barefooted and holding a small wooden ball. A course from one to five miles is designated. When the signal is given each player places his ball upon the toes of his right foot and casts it. The ball must not be touched by the hand again but scooped up by the toes and cast forward. The runner whose ball first passes the line at the end of the course is the winner. The good gome player is expert at scooping the ball whilst running at full speed and casting the samewithout losing his stride. Casts of 40 to 50 yards are not unusual.
Pelotais a mixture of old time shinny or hocky, la-crosse and foot-ball. It is played by two teams generally twelve on a side, on a field about twice the size of the regulation football gridiron, with two goal posts at each end. Each player is armed with an oak stick about three feet in length. The teams, facing each other, stand in mid-field. The referee holds a wooden ball two inches in diameter which he places in a hole in the ground between the players. He then fills the hole with sand, signals, by a call, and immediately the sticks of the players dig the ball from the sand and endeavor to force it towards and through their opponents' goal. There are no regulations as to interference. Any player may hold, throw or block his opponent. He may snap his opponent's stick from him and hurl it yards away. He may hide the ball momentarily, to pass it to one of his team-mates, always striving for a clean smash at the ball. He may not run with the ball but is allowed three steps in any direction for batting clearance—if he can get it. When one team succeeds in placing the ball between its opponents' goal-posts one point is scored. The first team to score two points wins the contest.
The Opening of the Fiesta. Father G. D. Doyle Reciting the Mass.
The Opening of the Fiesta. Father G. D. Doyle Reciting the Mass.
On the Morning of the Fiesta at Pala.
On the Morning of the Fiesta at Pala.
The Women in the Ramada at the Pala Fiesta.
The Women in the Ramada at the Pala Fiesta.
Peon, without doubt, is the favorite diversion of the Southern California Indian. It is played at night. A small fire is lighted and four players squat on one side of it and four on the other. The players of one set hold in their hand two sticks or bones, one black, the other white, connected by a thong about fourteen inches long. Two blankets, dirty or clean, it matters little, arespread, one in front of each set. Back of the players are grouped the Indian women, and when the players holding the peon sticks bend forward to grasp the blanket between their teeth the women begin a chant or song. The players, with hands hidden beneath the blanket, suddenly rise to their knees drop the blanket from their teeth and are seen to have their arms folded so closely that it is impossible to tell which hand holds the black stick and which the white one. Their bodies move from side to side, or up and down, keeping perfect time with the song, whilst one of the opponents tries to tell, by false motions or by watching the eyes across the fire, which hands hold the white stick. By a movement of the hand he calls his guess and silence follows the opening of the hand which reveals whether he has been successful in his guess. The players who have been guessed throw their peon sticks across to their opponents. For the ones not guessed a chip or short stick is laid in front of the player. The opponent must continue until he guesses all the hands, when his side goes through the same performance. There are fourteen chips and one set or side must be in possession of all of them before the game is concluded; so it may be seen that it can last many hours. Sometimes the early morning finds the singers and players weary but undaunted, as the game is unfinished, and each side is reluctant to give up without scoring.
As poker is called the American's gambling game so peon might be named the Indian's gambling game. Large sums are said to have been wagered on this game prior to February of 1915, when the Commissioner of Indian Affairs placedthe ban upon gambling of any description on the reservations. The game is now played only for a prize or small purse which is offered by the Fiesta Committee.
Monteis a card game played by the older people and is much like faro excepting that Mexican cards are used.
Taking their lives all in all they are today very much like those of their white neighbors. The warriors of the passing generation and their squaws have thrown aside buckskin for gingham and shawls of cotton and wool. The thick-soled shoe has taken the place of the sandal or soft moccassin, but the springy tread of the foot is the same as it was when it traversed a pathless wilderness. The stoicism and the majestic mien, the indifference to results, and the absolute fearlessness which are expressed in every movement, are still essential influences in the life and government of the little band.
The younger men and women, while they tolerate with filial respect the superstitions of their fathers, are eager to adjust themselves to the ways and to be taught the arts and wisdom of their pale-faced conquerors.
In January of 1916 a storm swept over the whole of the Coast Country of California from north to south, doing considerable damage on every hand. In the Pala Valley the rain fell in volumes. For twenty-four hours it never ceased, it being estimated that twelve inches fell during that time. The pouring floods swept over the valley, and soon began to undermine the adobe foundations of the tower. The base was simply a piled-up mass of adobe, covered with cobble-stones, which, however, had withstood the storms and the earthquakes of a hundred years. As soon as a few of these cobble-stones were removed by the flood, the clay beneath began to wash away with startling rapidity. Nothing, however, could be done to prevent the rushing torrent that eagerly ate away the ever-softening clay, and at three o'clock in the afternoon of January 27th, those who watched with bated breath, anxious hearts, and prayerful longings, were saddened by seeing the more solid part of the base drop apart, thus removing all support to the tower. The next moment it toppled forward and fell with a splash into the muddy water surging at its feet. As it fell it broke into several pieces, but, fortunately, the bells sank into soft mud, and were afterwards found uninjured, to the delight of pastor, Indians, and all the inhabitants of the country around about.
What now should be done? Had the Indians been alone there is little doubt but that their love for the interesting and historic tower would haveled them, unaided and alone, to reconstruct it. But in their pastor, the Rev. George D. Doyle, they had one upon whom they have long learned to rely as a real leader, in all things pertaining to their welfare. Father Doyle at once put himself in communication with friends throughout the country. In San Diego he appealed to Mr. George W. Marston and Mr. Thomas Getz, the former one of the most public spirited benefactors of that city, the latter being well known for his interest in the Missions, from his exhibit at the Panama-California Exposition and his lectures on the same subject at "Ramona's Marriage-Place," at Old San Diego. These gentlemen immediately undertook to raise at least one-fifth of the amount estimated for the Campanile's repair. Other friends responded nobly, and the work of rebuilding was immediately begun.
It was the substantial gift, however, of Mrs. George I. Kyte, of Santa Monica, Calif., that made it possible to complete the work in so short a time.
A solid and substantial concrete base twelve feet long, twelve feet deep, and five feet wide, was first erected, so that no storm of the future could undermine it. Then carefully following the plan of the old tower, using the old material as far as possible, and not neglecting a single detail, the new tower slowly arose to its completion. The old cross-timbers for the bells, were again given their sweet burden, the original cactus saved from the ruins was planted again at the foot of the cross, the cobble-stones of the base, also, were put back into place and neatly white-washed. Hence, except that it looks so new, Padre Peyri himself would not know it from the tower of his own erection