Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

Mistress of Monterey • Virginia Stivers Bartlett Virginia Stivers Bartlett W1TO flervlca SYNOPSIS In Spanlsh-foverned California of 1783 a conflict between Church and State la repre* tented by two friendly enemlea, frail old Pray Junlpero Serra, Franciscan mission ary, and Don Pedro Fagea, civil governor. After telling Serra ha la tending to Mexico for his wife and son, whom he hat not teen lor eight yeara, he refuaea hit aid toward founding the Santa Barbara Mission. In Mexico City, Dona Eulalia, accompanied by her duenna, Angustias, arrives at the em bassy in response to a letter from her hus band, Don Pedro. She agrees to go to Cali fornia. Don Pedro sends for Serra. telling him that two priests are on their way from Mexico with Eulalia and young Pedro and that he la leaving to meet them. Fagea en gages a young Indian girl, Indizuela, as maid for Eulalia. Eulalia sails from San Bias. It la a desolate trip. CHAPTER IV—Continued “Ha!” she said again. “So! This beautiful land sends a scourge of vermin to plague me! Very well. I shall not weep—I shall not weaken. I shall conquer this California—or I will die.” She summoned little Pedro to her, and all afternoon, to the accompani ment of a dismal sand-scattering breeze, beguiled his imagination and comforted her desolation with sto ries that beger, “When I was a lit tle girl in beautiful Barcelona—” For several days the ancient capi tal of Baja California stirred from its sun-and-sand-smitten lethargy to prepare La Gobernadora, as they al ready called Dona Eulalia, for her long journey to Monterey in Cali fornia Alta. But the troubles with stubborn Indians trying to dispose of more stubborn burros, the diffi culty in finding and buying satis factory riding and pack animals, the labor of packing and provisioning food, water and clothing for a trip that would endure for months, con cerned the lady not at all. When at last the long caravan left Loreto, Eulalia was fairly comforta ble on a white Spanish jennet. It was a strange assortment of pil- rims which rode away from Lo re . that morning at sunrise: La Gobernadora herself, hiding her trepidation beneath a demeanor carefully calm, but unusually pale; small Pedro, triumphant on a burro almost as small as himself; Angus tias, her brittle bones boring her flesh agonizingly before Loreto was a mile behind, holding Chichi, the monkey, who was as afraid of the mule as the mule was of him. At the head of the van rode one Capi- tan Canete, serious, troubled by his •responsibility, a seasoned traveler and admiring friend of Pedro Fages. There were cooks, mule teers, water-tenders, vaqueros, In dian runners and bearers, tortilla- makers, wood-cutters, soldiers and stragglers. A little to themselves, heads with drawn into the cowls of their Fran ciscan robes, two priests rode, their presence in the expedition an an swer to Junipero Serra’s prayers. In the northern reaches of Cali fornia Alta a hurrying party of horsemen followed the flying horse of the Governor of the Californias, spurred and lashed by his rider as the rider was spurred and lashed by hot impatience. CHAPTER V Leagues of Eulalia’s journey lay behind; many terrible leagues trav ersed doggedly, day and night, with heat, dust, thirst, weariness and an awful numbing fear of the unknown that robbed her of rest. When, at the end of a day’s travel, Eulalia lay on her pallet and felt sleep must come, that the blessing of complete oblivion and release from suffering would at last requite her, the blessing was denied. Al ways at the moment when she seemed slipping into unconscious ness, a rude hand gripped her weary heart and shook it cruelly, until her whole body trembled and sweat coldly. During the first nights she would cry out, and creep to little Pedro’s side for comfort, or summon An- ’gustias to her. Then she grew ashamed of her childishness, and only lay the quieter when her fear specter haunted her. Sitting before her campfire one night at the end of a trying day, she questioned herself. Why had she been persuaded to come on this Journey? She, who was bom to lux ury, soft cushions and luxurious coaches? Lifting her face she stared at the lire. ' “Queen of the Californias!” she muttered bitterly. Angustias, bustling into the circle of light, broke into her rebellious musings. “The two priests are coming to call on you. Dona Eulalia,” she an nounced. Eulalia did not move. “Yes?” she questioned dully. “Yes, and I think it’s about time. Do you know, nina, I think there is something queer about those two. I have heard—” Eulalia sniffed as her duena, with Chichi in her arms, hunched closer te the fire. “You would hear gossip on a des ert isle, and you the only soul on it,” she remarked, bending her ear, nev ertheless, closer to her companion. “I have heard,” continued Angus tias, “that there are two people on this journey who are being sent to California as a punishment for their sins, and I wondered . . .” Eulalia flung out her arms dra matically. “A punishment for their sins! And I am sent to reap a reward for my virtues! A strange country, this Cal ifornia, to which, at the same time, people are sent for punishment and reward!” Angustias nodded. “Yes, it is. I am wondering who will get what. Sh-h-h, here they come.” Into the light of the fire two brown-clad figures loomed out of the shadows. “Greetings, Fenora La Goberna dora,” said a solemn voice, “I am Fray Mariano, and this is Fray Bar- tolome, two poor brothers of the “I See. And Are You Enjoying This Journey?” mendicant order of San Francisco.” “Greetings to you, good Fathers,” replied Eulalia. “Will you not sit down by my fire?” They disposed themselves on the ground and stared fixedly at the la dy. Then they exchanged a long look and nodded. Eulalia was in her turn studying them. They were young for friars, and looked strangely alike, though one, Fray Mariano, looked slightly older. Their tonsures were quite black, and their black eyes very much alive. But Fray Mariano’s look was direct to the point of im pudence, and Fray Bartolome’s glances slid about indirectly. Both had sensual mouths, but again with a difference; the lips of one turned up in a sly grin, the other turned down the corners of his mouth with a sanctimonious sneer. They were silent, and Eulalia tried uncomforta bly to open a conversation. “You resemble each other very much,” she said. “Are you broth ers?” “Ah, no, only brothers in God,” intoned Fray Mariano. “My family name is Rubi, and Fray Bartolome’s name is Gili.” “I see. And are you enjoying this journey?” This started a long tirade from Fray Mariano. They decidedly were not. He complained of everything: the escort, the trails, the food, the tents provided for them, their mules, everything. Fray Bartolome coughed slightly, and gave his companion a nudge, which the skeptical Angustias ob served. The other stopped sudden ly. “But we are resigned,” he in toned. “Yes, we are resigned. It is God’s will we should make this pil grimage, so we do not complain. Do you think we are complaining?” he asked Eulalia anxiously. “If you do I am sure it is with good cause,” she replied. Later, after the two priests de parted and Angustias was brushing her mistress’ hair, she remarked: “I don’t know how it appears to you, but those do not seem true religious men to me.” “They are strange. I can not un derstand them, Angustias. Their eyes! And how they stare. But they are Franciscans, after all, and must be . . . but I don’t understand them. They make me feel uncom fortable, Angustias.” CHAPTER VI In the Valley of Comondu, an oa sis in the barren heart of Baja Cali fornia, La Gobernadora was enter tained at Mission San Jo r >e de Co mondu, beloved of all travelers, sol diers and priests, who made the dreary trip up and down the penin sula. For days they rested there, refreshed by the sparkling waters of an abundant stream, and by figs. pomegranates, peaches and dates beneath the clashing fronds of gi ant palms. There was a halt at Santa Rosalia de Mulege, on the Vermillion sea, where there was another old stone mission and fruitful gardens. From there the cavalcade traveled over a horrible wilderness well-named Ti- erra del Infierno, Hell country, which quaked constantly as they traversed its barrenness. By a broad flat camino, built many years before by Jesuit mis sionaries who had urged hundreds of Indian neophytes Jto the colossal task by flogging them when they lagged, they traveled to the Mission San Ignacio, which stood in a fertile arroyo that opened in a barren mesa. Leaving there with water-skins and casks bulging for the desert travel ahead, they traveled north ward, skirting the eastern edge of the Desert of Vizcaino, a treacher ous terrain. At Mission Santa Gertrudis, in a great mountain-girt amphitheater, all gave thanks that they had ar rived in safety, though their water skins were lean and dry. At Santa Gertrudis, Eulalia heard first rumors of the approach of her husband. Indians coming from the north reported fires that burned by night, and a party of horsemen who traveled swiftly by day. La Gobernadora still rode silent ly, uncomplainingly. It was only her pride that kept her from fling ing herself from her horse on to the ground, and screaming until the tension that was holding her quiver ing nerves shattered in a satisfying hysteria. At night, in her tent or by the campfire, she was subject to changing moods; sometimes gloomy, silent, brooding, sometimes bright with febrile gaiety. Angustias was watching her mis tress doubtfully, gauging her tem per, her experienced weather eye reading infallible signs that her la dy’s nerves were frayed to a break ing point, and that a hurricane was due to break. “If she can only wait until we meet Don Pedro,” she prayed. “She needs her husband at a time like this.” The hurricane arrived before the Governor. One evening, just before nightfall, the storm broke. They had been traveling for days among the lofty Calmalli mountains, that stretch along the waist, or nar rowest part of the peninsula. Eulalia, shivering as night came on, for now the nights were as cold as the days were hot, rode beside little Pedro. Behind came Angus tias, cuddling her monkey as they both dozed. At the head of the van rode the Capitan. Little Pedro leaned closer to his mother and whispered. Eulalia frowned. “On my soul, child! We can not stop now! Con trol yourself.” But the child would not be con trolled. He stopped his burro, threw the reins toward Angustias, and disappeared in the brush. Angustias, startled from her nap, made a lunge at the reins, missed them and brought her hand sharply against Chichi’s face. The terrified monkey, in turn awakened rudely from his little snoozing, leaped straight for Pedro’s burro, and the burro bolted off the trail. “Chichi!" screamed Angustias, trying to get from her clumsy side saddle. “Chichi! Baby!” But the little burro and his detest ed frightened burden went careen ing away in the dusk. Capitan Canete wheeled to Eula lia’s side, just as Angustias slipped on to the dusty trail, screaming and crying. “My Lady!” exclaimed the Capi tan. “What is the matter?” But Eulalia only pointed after her fleeing companion. “Will you help her?" she asked, struggling for control. “Will you help her to catch that fool littl* Chichi? He has eloped with Pedro’s burro!” “Oh, damn that ape, and damn that ass! Oh, pardon me, Senora— but I—are you all right, my Lady?” “Yes, yes, of course. Oh, hers she comes!” Out of the dusk came Angustias, trying to hold the monkey which struggled and clawed in furious panic. It had pulled the woman’s gray hair in tatters ever her face, and she looked like a witch emerg ing from the night. "He doesn’t know me! He is mad from fright! Oh, my little darling, my sugar-plum, you are safe in your mother’s arms. There, there!” The Capitan exploded. “By the holy bones of Saint Bar tholomew, woman! Why didn’t you get the burro? Here you,” to an In dian, “fetch back that animaL” Grinning, the Indian loped away. He hated and feared Chichi as the rest of the natives did. Angustias climbed on to her horss again, soothing her weeping treas ure. The Capitan heaved a sigh. “Well,” he said, “are we all—” But suddenly a piercing shriek came from somewhere, a long high wail that ended in, “Ma-a-a-ama!” Eulalia slipped from her jennet. “Pedro, Pedro! What is it! My God—” Before the Capitan could reach her, she had met the child and had him clasped in her arms. “Mama, look! Look, mama! Ai, ai! I am hurt! Ai, ai, ai!” “What has happened? What is it? Do no cry, speak 'o mei” He held out his hands to her. “Look, cactus! All the needles ran in me! Ouch, ai, ai, ai!” The Capitan took the child from his mother and set him on his own knee as he squatted on the traiL “Yes, yes. What happened?” “I was back there—in the bushel —a big black something came after me and I ran, and stumbled into ths cholla—ouch, ouch!” His face and arms were swelling from the hundreds of needles that had penetrated his skin, stinging him to agony as he strove to Scratch them out. Canete took firm hold of his wrists. “Don’t scratch! Dona Angustias, let down your hair!" Angustias put her hand to har scant gray locks in bewilderment. “But—why?” she stammered. “Because you must help this suf fering child. Only long hair will draw out cactus thorns. Quickly!” But young Pedro was already en veloped in a flood of black tresses as his mother’s hair tumbled about him, soothing his stings, and draw ing, by some strange attraction, the needles from his flesh. At last his cries dropped to sobs, and his sobs to whimpers. Then he sniveled softly in his mother’s arms. “Now, my brave little man, will you smile at Mother? Poor darling, poor little soldier!" “I want a drink of water," whim pered Pedro. “He wants a drink of water,” said Eulalia to Angustias. “He wants a drink of water,” said Angustias to the Capitan. “He wants a—but, by my life, there is no water!” “No water?” exploded Eulalia. “No water, Senora. But we are not far from the Spring of Santa Marita. Come. Let us get on our way before it grows darker. Come, my Lady.” Eulalia grew very still. Canete leaned over her and touched her arm to assist her to arise. “Don’t touch me,” she said dan gerously. (TO BE CONTINUED) Interior Blasting of Marble Executed Without Even the Cracking of a Window Fifty blocks of marble, too tough for the most powerful pavement breakers to dent, were broken up by small charges of explosives without so much as scratching a window pane in an unusual feat of indoor blasting in San Francisco, notes a writer in the Kansas City Star. Some red, some green, the marble blocks, left-overs from the construc tion of a San Francisco church, were purchased by a company manufac turing a marble composition mate rial. The 50 specimens of Irish Con nemara marble were moved into the company’s premises and hammers were applied to break up the stone into chips small enough to go into crusher machines. One hammer after another, each one bigger and heavier than its predecessor, was tried, but all to no avail. Explosives engineers were called in. They executed the feat of blasting the blocks to pieces, the blocks remaining the while in the factory. So skillfully was the job carried out that no damage to win dows only a few feet away resulted. From one to five holes were drilled in each block and unusually small charges of explosive gelatin were placed in the holes. Electricity was used to set off the charge. Since it was necessary to keep the two col ors of marble completely separate; first the green blocks were blasted and then, when they were finished, the red ones. The marble had to be reduced to chips between one-eighth and three-eighths of an inch in di ameter. All holes in each Mock were fired at the same time, but only one block was fired at a time. Wet sand was packed into the holes drilled for the explosive. Whistling “Devil’s Music” Arabs call whistling “devil’s mu sic." They say that, after whis tling, it takes 40 days to purify ths mouth. In the Tonga islands, in ths Pacific, whistling is “tabu,” which means that there is a superstitious veto on it; while in Iceland you wifl hardly ever hear a boy whistle be cause of the old superstition that i is a violation of Divine lav. WHO’S NEWS THIS WEEK By LEMUEL F. PARTbN ■^EW YORK.—Among his com- panions in barnstorming, Glenn L. Martin was known as “The Dude,” although his carefully tai- lored flying suits Martin tiad were always Get-Up of black, including Mortician their elaborate braid trimmings. His somewhat mortuary get-up and behavior gave an impression of great conservatism, and it is not surprising that he got backing from the bankers when other aviators failed. A few months ago, he said his Glenn L. Martin company, of Balti more, making planes, had a back log of $15,500,000. He told the house naval af fairs committee there should be a 100 per cent increase in air armaments, that foreign nations are spending ten times as much as the United States. He would build a 250,000-pound bomber, carrying 30 men and a 4,000- pound bomb load 11,000 miles. In 1912, this writer saw him put an inflated inner tube around his neck, strap a compass on his leg and take off to sea, at Avalon bay, Los Angeles, in a flying laundry wagon on which he had rigged a single wooden pontoon. He was bound for Catalina island, 20 miles away. It looked like suicide. He not only made it, but picked up again at Catalina and finished _ . the round trip, Round Trip blanking Bleriot, Sea Flight whose flight over /• Success the British chan nel was a one-way excursion. He had made the plane in an abandoned church. The flight got him world atten tion. Then he staged a plane coyote hunt, dropped a ball into a catcher’s mitt and a bouquet into the arms of a beauty contest queen. This air extravaganza did not last long. In 1913, he built and sold two model TT war planes to the army, and has been build ing fighting craft ever since, with the exception of trans-Pa- cific Clippers. He grew up in Mackburg, Iowa, built a pusher plane in his back yard and flew it in 1908. He is fifty-two. • • » WflLLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN, in his seersucker suit and his rumpled hat, frequently looked as if he had been sleeping under a bridge, especially Bryan, Jr., i n the midst of a Fastidious hard campaign. About Dress His son > William Jennings Bryan, Jr., is fussy about his dress, severe ly and fastidiously groomed, with a jaunty little moustache and a nice collection of malacca sticks, sports clothes, and varied haberdashery. He is in the news now as he be comes collector of customs at the port of Los Angeles, his first recog nition by the California Democracy, in whose vineyard he has labored for years. When his father laid down his staff and scrip at Dayton, Tenn., he picked from the legacy only two things—free silver and anti evolution. He is quite unmoved by oratory, speaking with calm, legalistic precision, with no gift for the resounding or oracular. He has made spirited forays against this or that, notably Upton Sinclair’s “Epic” Will Speak heresy of 1934, but Good Word with no such im- for Silver passioned fervor as that which in spired his father. But, when oc casion offers, he puts in a word for silver, or against evolution. After the Dayton trial and his fa ther’s death, he made a knightly vow that his lance always should be leveled against this ignoble the ory of man’s origin. But nobody seems to be bringing that up now. The argument is shifting to where man is going. He attended the University of Ne braska three years, studied law at Georgetown university, went to Ari zona on account of his wife's health, and practiced law, first in Arizona and then in Los Angeles. He is fifty years old. © Consolidated News Features. WNU Service. Origin of Word Assassin The word assassin originated in Persia in the Eleventh co.itury. It derives from hashish, the intoxicat ing Indian drug which at that time was used by notorious murderers under one Hasan-i-Sabbah to work themselves into the high state of ruthlessness required for their crimes. As a tactic in attacking vested authority assassination is as old as man. It is notably the most ubiquitous and immediate of dan gers to autocratic government, as has been proved by the violent deaths of a high percentage of dic tators from Julius Caesar to those of modern times. ' I 'HIS pink and white chintz apron with pink gingham frills should inspire anyone to make long strides towards the kitchen. It is easy to cut. The material required is 1% yards of 36-inch wide chintz or cotton print and one yard of plain material. For the skirt of the apron, cut a piece of paper or cloth 27 inches wide and 23 inches deep. Fold this lengthwise through the cen ter, as at A, then measure down from the top of the fold and in from the corners the distances in dicated in the diagram and mark the dots. Using the dots as a guide, mark the outline of the apron skirt as you see it in the diagram. The dimensions for shaping the bib are given in the diagram at B. The pocket is a 5-inch square with lower corners rounded as shown here at C. The apron ties are cut 6 inches wide and 36 inches long. The strip for the belt should be cut 2 Vi inches wide and a facing strip the same width should be cut for it. The shoulder straps are evi 4 inches wide and then creased lengthwise through the center. The strips of the plain material TIPS to (jrardeners Protecting Flowers A N EARLY season flower pest is leaf beetle, a chewing in sect whose presence is indicated by holes in the leaves. Found most often on alyssum, zinnia, mari gold and annual phlox. Remedy: Use stomach poisons in the form of sprays containing arsenicals or pyrethrum. Snapdragon, aster, petunia and verbena are the principal victims of the cutworm, a chewing insect which cuts off plants at the ground. It should be combated, says Gilbert Bentley, flower ex pert of the Ferry Seed Institute, by placing about a spoonful of poi son bran bait around the base of each plant. Aphids bother almost all the popular flowers except zinnia. They cause wilting, crumpling and discoloration of the leaves. Spray or dust with pyrethrum or nicotine sulphate. Downy mildew shows up white all over a plant and discolors to black, killing leaves and rotting stems. Remedy: Dust regularly, but lightly, with flowers of sulphur. for the ruffles are cut 6 inches wide. The ruffle material before it is gathered should be 2Vi times the length df the space it is to fill after gathering. Use the machine hemmer foot shown here at the lower left for hemming the ruffles and the machine ruffler for gath ering them. NOTE: Mrs. Spears’ latest book —Gifts and Embroidery number— is now ready. Ninety embroidery stitches are illustrated; also table settings; crochet; embroidery de signing; fabric repairing; novelty gifts and dress accessories. Forty- eight pages of step-by-step direc tions. Available to readers who will send name and address and enclose 25 cents (coin preferred). Just address Mrs. Spears, 210 So Desplaines St., Chicago. Art of Meditation The art of meditation may be exercised at all hour.'., and in all places; and men of genius, in their walks, at table, and amidst assemblies, turning the eye of the mind inward, can form an arti ficial solitude; retired amidst a crowd, calm amidst distraction and wise amidst folly.—Isaac DTsraeli. MEN LOVE GIRLS WITH PEP If you mn peppy and full of fun, men win in vite you to dancee and parties. BUT, if you are cross, lifeless and tired, men won't be interested. Men don’t like “quiet” Kiris. For three generations one woman nas told another how to go “smiling through” with Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. It helps Nature tone up the system, thus lessen ing the discomforts from the functional dis orders which women must endure. Make a note NOW to get a bottle of world- famous Pinkham’s Compound today WITH OUT FAIL from your druggist—more than a million women have written in letters re porting benefit. Why not fry LYDIA E. PINKHAM’S VEGETABLE COMPOUND! * Add Not Another Fault If you see a fault in others, think of two of your own, and do not add a third one by your hasty judgment.—Flamner. CATCH COLD EASILY? Va-tr C <£nol helps prevent many colds COLDS HANG ON AND ON ? V ICKS VAPORUBj helps qnd a cold quicker FOLLOW VICKS PLAN FOR BETTER CONTROL OF COLDS ull detail! Hi ths Plan tadi Vickt Pa Becoming Honesty What is becoming is honest, and whatever is honest must always be becoming.—Cicero. A Truth Is Obsenred Every duty we omit obscures some truth we should have known. —John Ruskin. GHEW LONG BILL NAVY TOBACCO Let’s go to town —at Hamel N O TELLING what tomorrow’* weather may be. It fool* the best fore caster. But we do want chintz for the windows. We do need a car pet sweeper, a new percolator, and a new end-table In the living-room. And we don’t want to aloah around rainy streets to hunt them. Problem: How to thwart the weather man. Simple enough! Lef s sit down by the fireplace and read the advertisements. Here it's comfortable and snug. We'll take the newspaper page by page, compare prices, qualities, brand-names. Tomorrow, rain or shine, we'll iioad for the store that has what we want, and be home again in a jiffy. e “Buying at home”—through the advertising columns—gives you wide selection, more time to decide, end sadstaction when you decide. • MAKE IT ONE OF YOUR PLEASANT HABITS!