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YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

FROM THE COLLECTION MADE BY
CHARLES SHELDON B.A. 1890
OF BOOKS ON NATURAL HISTORY
EXPLORATION • HUNTING & FISHING
GIFT OF FRANCIS P. GARVAN
B.A. 1897

CAMP AND CAMINO
IN LOWER CALIFORNIA

Scene on El Camino Real

CAMP AND CAMINO IN
LOWER CALIFORNIA

A RECORD OF THE ADVENTURES
OF THE AUTHOR WHILE EXPLORING
PENINSULAR CALIFORNIA, MEXICO

BY
ARTHUR WALBRIDGE NORTH I*,
AUTHOR OF
"THE MOTHER OF CALIFORNIA"

WITH A FOREWORD BY
ADMIRAL ROBLEY D. EVANS
U. S. N.

NEW YORK
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY
1910

COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

Published, April, 1910

THE PREMIER PRESS
NEW YORK

In memory of the loving hospitality of
that peaceful Catskill home wherein
these pages were written, I inscribe
this volume to my kinswoman, Miss
Sarah North, of Walton, and to the
memory of her sister, the late Miss
Margaret North . A.W.N.

FOREWORD
When a man is in the midst of dangers himself he has
small chance for books; but let him once be deprived of per
sonal excitement and then even to read of the adventures
of others becomes a most satisfying diversion. I have en
joyed looking over the manuscript of this work of Mr.
North's. Indeed, every man with an ounce of red blood in
his veins or any fondness for a dash of excitement or a
whiff of fresh air will obtain a whole lot of pleasure by
reading it. In following the author along El Camino Real
and about the old Spanish missions, I have had glimpses
of a fascinating life — a wholesome out-door living — that
have driven other things from my mind, while his experi
ences with maurauding Indians and in pursuit of big game
make one anxious to share the excitement with him.
But it has not been merely because of the fascination, the
humorous situations and the interesting characters that I
have enjoyed the perusal of these pages; they have deeper
interest. Years ago, on first entering Magdalena Bay, I
was impressed with the magnificence of that superb harbor;
in March, 1908, anchoring there with the fleet, I realized
more than ever its prospective importance. But I could
merely look at the grim shores from the deck of the Con
necticut and wonder, as I had done before, what might lie
7

8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
inland. In these pages, however, one learns — and it is a
knowledge worth having — of the whole territory in an inti
mate and agreeable fashion, the author having ventured
across and up and down the entire California Peninsula:
it is, therefore, a pleasure for me to link, by this introduc
tion, my Lower California associations with Mr. North's
adventures in the romantic "Land of Magdalena Bay."
R. D. Evans,
Rear Admiral U. S. N.
Lake Mohonk, New York.

AUTHOR'S PREFACE
If when writing the closing chapter of this volume I
could have looked ahead, reading in the future that a year
and a half must intervene before final revision, such pros
pective delay would have been almost incomprehensible to
me. And yet you who peruse these pages may smilingly
understand how their author might turn abruptly from con
ventional life, seeking anew the fascination of the frontier.
"Yes, they're wanting me, they're haunting me, the awful
lonely places;
They're whining and they're whispering as if each had a
soul.
And now they're all a-crying and it's no use me denying,
The spell of them is on me and I'm helpless as a child.
My heart is aching, aching, but I hear them sleeping, waking ;
It's the Lure of little Voices; it's the mandate of the Wild.
There's a whisper in the night wind, there's a star agleam to
guide us,
And the wild is calling .... let us go." — Service.
How can a wanderer withstand such pleadings!
Now that I write again the year and a half seem good.
Neither a shoulder doubly fractured in the Rockies, nor a
lesser accident in the Arizona canyons count in the summing
9

10 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
up. Life is invariably good; provided the trail to the wil
derness lies open. And if these pages can bring to their
readers — particularly to those who craving the charm of the
wilds and the thrill of adventure yet may not wander from
fireside or desk — a share in the keen delight, the rare exhila
ration of the succeeding months of out-door living therein
outlined, then to the writer this work, though delayed, was
well worth the doing.
Arthur W. North.
Salt Lake City,
March i, igio.

CONTENTS
PAGE
Foreword . .... . . .7
Author's Preface ...... 9

Part I. Terra Incognita
CHAPTER I. A Mission and Some Indians .
II. Mountain Sheep ....
III. A Parson, a Wrong Direction and More
Indians .....
IV. Uncle Sam's Lost Province .
V. Wherein I Lose My Parson and Fall in
with Sefior Dick
VI. The Petroglyph Makers and Southern
Indians .....
VII. Some Final Missionary Labors and the
Sierra Camino Real .
VIII. Wherein I Bag Mountain Sheep and Meet
the Laird ....
IX. With the Laird Along El Camino Real
X. The Lost Gulfo Camino and the Cannibal
Isle of Tiburon
XI. Into the Antelope Country
XII. Thirst  11

17
25
3i
43 57
65
75 89
101
123
135 149

12 CONTENTS
Part II. The Widening of the Trail.
XIII. San Ignacio ? The Favored .
XIV. Santa Rosalia, a French Municipality in
Mexico .....
XV. To Loreto! 
XVI. The Pearl Missions of the Jesuits .
XVII. A Long Forced March .
XVIII. La Paz and Some Other Pueblos .
XIX. The Story of Magdalena Bay.

165173189
213223237247

Part III. La Frontera Again
XX. A Frontier Ball and Again the Sierras . 259
XXI. The Top of the Peninsula . . . 267
XXII. Wherein I Witness a Combat Between
Mountain Sheep, Revisit the Catarinas
and Search for Treasure
XXIII. In and Out the Region of the Colorado
XXIV. The End of the Trail .
Appendix .....
Bibliography ....
Index .....

285297
317323 335
343

OPPOSITE PAGE

ILLUSTRATIONS
Scene on El Camino Real . . Frontispiece
OPPOSI1
Upper entrance of the Arroyo Grande ... 26
View from the north slope of San Pedro, Martir
Sierra, toward Colentura Arroyo, where Walker
led his Filibusters . . . . .28
A cavalcade of Easter worshippers ... 30
Petroglyphs ....... 66
(a) Stone glass (San Pedro Martir Sierra).
(b) Pine trees (San Pedro Martir Sierra).
(c) Arroyo Grande Petroglyphs.
(d) San Fernando Petroglyphs.
The aged Cochimi of Santa Gertrudis ... 72
The author and his party leaving the ruins of Junipero
Serra's Mission of San Fernando de Velicata . 80
The ancient Sierra Camino Real, leading to the one
time Jesuit Mission of Santa Maria . . 86
The Aqua de Youbia . . . .104
A rocky section of El Camino Real . . . 104
(Reproduced from "The Mother of California," by courtesy of the
Publishers, Paul Elder & Company
An unprepossessing Mestizo . . . .132
The Mission of Santa Gertrudis . . . .136
Santa Rosalia . . . . . . .174
13

14 ILLUSTRATIONS
Yaqui Indians at Santa Rosalia . . . .186
Ancient Jesuit Mission at Mulege ; Padre Marseliano
in foreground . . . • .196
The Mission of La Purisima .... 202
The walled-up doorway of the Mission of San Jose de
Comondu . . . . . . . 206
The carved wooden Saint of San Jose de Comondu 210
Ancient Mission Bells at Loreto ; Sea of Cortez in the
distance . . . . . . .216
The mother and child in the chapel at Loreto . .220
Mission of San Xavier, Mission de Vigge, showing

west entrance (to the left)
Burros on the march .....
The Pithaya Pulse or "Organ Pipe" Cactus and na
tive cavaliers .....
A rare stream of water ....
Porch of the ancient house of the Hidalgos at San
Antonio Real .....
At anchor off San Jose del Cabo
Magdalena Bay
Ensenada ......
The uncharted Sierra of San Pedro Martir
The Colonel .....

224230
234234242
246 252260268278

Part I
TERRA INCOGNITA

Camp and Camino in
Lower California
CHAPTER I
A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS
IT was the last day of the year 1905. With sweater,
hunting shirt, coat and slicker drawn close about me,
I bent forward before the raw wind that came shriek
ing down from the snowy peaks of San Pedro Martir
Sierra. With chattering teeth, I thrust my aching fingers
deep into my pockets. The reins hung loose over the iron
pommel of my stock saddle: my mule could keep the trail
or not, I was too cold to care.
And this was hot, barren, desert Baja or Lower Cali
fornia, land of palms and deserts and snakes, terra incog
nita where once missions flourished, the territory over whose
broiling sands I had often traveled en route to equally hot,
barren, craggy mountains where the exciting prospect of
mountain sheep ever awaited me! A territory in which I
had found the heat making night the preferable time for
travel !
Certainly there must be a mistake. But no, before me
was the ever necessary canteen tied short to the saddle pom
mel. Yet no sound of jolting water was to be heard. The
canteen contained a solid mass of ice ! Each biting gust of
the wind seemed sharper than the one preceding. I beat
my elbows against my ribs and pressed my knees close
17

1 8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
against my mule in the hope of obtaining some warmth.
And this was Lower California weather! Heavens, I
thought, what does any one know of this ancient, deserted,
next-door neighbor of California !
Two young American friends of mine were riding some
where near with Juan, a Mexican ranchero, and two pack
mules. It required no questioning to determine their state
of frigidity. Even the mules looked at me accusingly. We
were perhaps a hundred miles east of the Mexican pueblo
of Ensenada and about sixty miles southwest of the mouth
of the Colorado River. We had come through a moun
tainous region which opened into a grease-wood covered
stretch of land that strongly reminded me of the Coconino
Basin near the Grand Canon of the Colorado.
Suddenly Cabeza de Vaca stopped abruptly and looked
to the east. Cabeza is a powerful, fine-looking, buck-skin
mule; stumbling is a frailty of which his zebra-striped legs
have no knowledge. His name he acquired by gift from
me, his temporary master. It is certainly a fitting name,
for Alvarez Nunez, Cabeza de Vaca, was one of the great
est of Spanish wanderers, and this clean-limbed buck-skin
is expected to carry me over a couple of thousand miles of
rugged exploration. I followed Cabeza's glance and saw a
black horse, a bay colt and a black dog strung out in line
following an Indian along a trail that promised soon to
unite with ours. My spurs urged on my steed and we joined
the dark company. The Indian proved to be a Catarina
Yuma, an ex-chief of the tribe, as I was to learn later. He
was on his way to his home, a mile farther to the southeast.
From this information, gleaned through my poor Spanish,
I knew that we were near the old Dominican Mission of
Santa Catarina de los Yumas — and, also, near the rancheria
of the worst of the Peninsula Indians.
I studied the man. He was doubtless in his fifties, a wiry,

A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 19
pleasant-faced, copper-hued hunter. On his shoulder he
carried a muzzle-loading shot-gun, an ancient weapon. He
wore a broad-brimmed sombrero of felt, a grey serapa, or
blanket, drawn close about his shoulders, and a thread-bare
pair of faded overalls. Although raw-hide guarachas or
sandals protected the soles of his feet from thorns, his feet
and ankles were left uncovered and exposed to the cold.
He would neither speak in nor respond to English, which
fact is, however, no proof that an Indian does not under
stand that language. In response to a question in Spanish
from Juan, he stated that his father had lived at the mis
sion in the days of the Frailes, or Friars, and that the holy
men were hard taskmasters, frequently tying the Indians to
trees and giving them twenty-five lashes on the back in pun
ishment for refusal to work. A true statement, perhaps,
though I could see no trees.
Our party advanced in the wake of the Indian and his
animals. Juan, though an exceptionally well informed resi
dent of the country, could give us little information con
cerning either the mission or the Indians we were approach
ing. The former, he believed, had been the scene of much
trouble ; of course there was a rich ledge of ore somewhere
near it, for all the missions were near good mines — only
it is usually impossible to locate the ledges. A dozen years
ago, he said, at the time of his last visit to the mission, he
had found the metal handles of an ancient Spanish chest
and had seen an excavation in the mission ruins where a
lucky Sonora man, on the previous day, had found a chest
of buried treasure; all the missions had buried treasure —
only it is usually impossible to locate the hiding places. Of
the history of the mission he knew nothing; during the ex
citement over the gold placers at Alamo, near by, many
strangers had visited Santa Catarina, but even they had
seemed ignorant of mission records and traditions. The

20 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Indians? They had always been bad Indians, ladrones
(robbers), and even worse; it would not be well for us to
remain long near their rancheria.
Coming down over the brow of a hill, we entered a lonely
valley, set away in the grim mountains which rose in
rougher and higher ridges beyond and to the southeast of
us. Of ruins we could see nothing. Barking dogs, how
ever, drew our attention to several Indian shacks at the
further side of the valley and to one, more striking than
the others, crowning the crest of a small circular knoll im
mediately below us. To this latter shack our guide directed
his steps. We turned to the left; a furlong brought us to
the mission ruins, lying on a slight eminence overlooking
the valley. There was little enough to see: mere earthen
outlines rising from a foot to a yard above the surface,
tracings of what once, however, had been a considerable
adobe fort with bastions at the corners and apartments built
against the walls and opening into the central square or
patio. The anger and cupidity of predatory Indians and
the force of the elements had doubtless begun the destruc
tion and the avarice of treasure hunters had thoroughly
completed it. Disappointed, we rode down to our new
friend's shack.
Several Catarina Yumas came out to meet us: the men
armed with bows and arrows and muzzle-loading shot-guns,
the women bedaubed with red and blue paint. In spite of
this uncouth ornamentation, one of the young girls, Anita
by name, was decidedly pretty. She was the grand-daugh
ter of our friend and, with him, was about to pose before
my camera when an interfering old squaw rushed out of the
shack and protested, nor would offers of tobacco and sugar
pacify her. So bidding the Yumas good-bye, for the day
was well advanced, we rode away and made camp by a
water-hole a full league down the valley, a sufficient distance

A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 21
to satisfy Juan, who had his doubts of the Indians. From
the different shacks we saw, I should judge there were as
many as seventy or eighty of the tribe, women and children
included. That evening, before the camp-fire, my mind wandered
over such history concerning the Mission of Santa Catarina
de los Yumas as I had at various times picked up from
Lower California records and mission chronicles and in
odd corners. While old "Mad Anthony" Wayne was
thrashing the rebellious Indians out in the region that later
became the President-producing State of Ohio, Governor
Arrilliga, then Spanish ruler of Baja California, was ex
ploring this country, that is still a wilderness, in search
of a place where he could establish a mission and a presidio
to serve as a base for more extended operations. Imme
diately thereafter the Dominican Frailes, Tomas Valdellon
and Jose Llorente, founded the desired mission, giving it
the name of Santa Catarina de los Yumas. This was in
1797. At that time there were fifteen hundred Indians
about Santa Catarina ; they were never peaceful. Even the
gentle process of shipping some of the fiercer families to
the south and substituting neophytes from other missions
was of no avail. Again and again the Indians revolted
against the control of the missionaries. Finally, in about
1 840, they killed or drove away the last Fraile and set fire
to so much of the mission as would burn. Santa Catarina
was the last of the long list of clerical foundations estab
lished in Lower California.
To an American the most interesting feature of this mis
sion lies in the fact that here, in 1827, came James O.
Pattie, the first if not the only American to visit this portion
of the Peninsula and leave any record of his journey. Pat-
tie was a Kentuckian; in company with his father and sev
eral other American frontiersmen, he had trapped beaver

22 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
along the Colorado River, then wandered inland from the
head of the Gulf of California, enduring frightful hard
ships; finally, the party chanced upon Santa Catarina Mis
sion, though the discovery did not end their troubles. Close
in the wake of the Patties came the fur traders, linking
El Camino Real with the Sierra trail of the Hudson Bay
trappers. While pictures of the past unfolded before my mind, my
two friends, crowded warmly near me, slumbered deeply
and Juan, in a mass of blankets, was fast asleep under
a protecting clump of brush close by; and the fire had
burned low. The sharp night air recalled me to the pres
ent, and hastily piling wood on the coals, I plunged into
the blankets and fell asleep. But the coyote chorus had
made sleep difficult for a week past and this particular night
it seemed as though the puppies from forty kennels had
surrounded our camp with the firm intention of testing their
lungs; for coyote "yipping" resembles the whimpering of
many puppies rather than the efforts of a serious minded
dog. What with this disturbing chorus, the extreme cold,
and my vain efforts to keep a fire burning, the long hours
brought me slight repose. At midnight, I plainly heard the
rush of many hurrying feet to the neighboring water-hole,
the whinneying of horses and the half-suppressed oaths of
vaqueros. At daylight, to our consternation we found that
all our animals, save a lone riding mule tied close to camp,
were gone.
With one man guarding camp, the rest of us made search
for the strays. I was five miles to the east, trying to hold
my carbine in numb fingers, when the snow came down
blindingly. At the same time I discovered that the tracks,
which I had been following, belonged to a bunch of strange
mules. With the snow in my eyes and brush and cacti hin
dering my advance, it was no play finding camp, but when

A MISSION AND SOME INDIANS 23;
I staggered in, chilled and bleeding, I learned from my
companions that all the animals had been located, except
Cabeza. The poor creatures, fresh from the lowlands, had
kept moving throughout the night, despite their hobbles, in
frenzied effort to avoid freezing.
Late in the afternoon we secured the lost one. After
stampeding our animals in the night the Catarinas had cut
out Cabeza from the bunch, obliterated his tracks by haul
ing brush over them, led him a distance through a brook
and finally driven him, with three of their own, to a brushy
hiding place in the rear of one of their shacks, where they
carefully tied him; one of the Indians, armed with an old
.44 caliber rifle, had mounted guard while the others took
turns watching our movements. But Juan, versed in the
lore of trails, was not long deceived by these artifices, and,
following close in his wake, we took Cabeza and asked no
questions. Whether the Indians were bent on theft, or
were scheming to hold the mule until we should offer five
pesos (dollars) for their assistance in finding him, were
questions we did not try to decide. After all, there was
some sense in lugging about the mighty six-shooters which
we had strapped on after leaving Ensenada — and I am quite
sure that the old Frailes knew what they were about when
they tied the Catarinas to trees, — even if the "trees" were
thorny shrubs, — and walloped 'em. A few lusty wallops
these days would be improving.
That night we spent in the same camp, though the falling
snow had changed its appearance. The following day the
earth was well covered; Juan, who was half sick, grumbled
his Mexican dislike of the cold; one of my friends sug
gested sending to the High Sierras of Upper California for
snow skis and the other rallied me about bringing them
into tropical Lower California. The maguay plants, the
chollas, ocotillas, tunas and all the rest of the cacti family

24 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
seemed to eye us from their untropical drapery with resent
ful expressions. We broke camp in the early morning light
and took a southeasterly course. In order to keep active
our circulations, we soon found it necessary to dismount
and proceed on foot. The jack rabbits, also, considered it
advisable to keep on the move. In sixteen minutes along a
single stretch of mesa land, I counted twenty-six of these
long-eared fellows. At Alamitos (Little Cottonwoods), a
small water-hole, the ice was so thick that our thirsty mules
were at a loss as to how to obtain a drink until one of them,
a jaunty little animal, suddenly smashed in the ice before
her with quick stamps of her forefeet, a shrewd procedure
which the others promptly imitated. That evening I found
that quail which we had killed during the forenoon were
frozen stiff so that they broke apart like brittle wood. How
ever, we were far from the ladrones, and in consequence
slept peacefully, despite the cold.
Though this proved merely my introduction to the Cata
rina Yumas, intervening adventures must be narrated be
fore I relate my subsequent experiences at their rancheria.

CHAPTER II
MOUNTAIN SHEEP.*
LATE one afternoon, a week after our New Year's
Day experience with the Yumas, Juan and the
youngest of our party were high up among the
mountain peaks while Lawrence, my other compatriot, and
I were riding along the sandy floor of an immense arroyo.
In places the surface glistened in unbroken whiteness, then
again pale desert pines, thorny mesquit and verdant palo
verde rose from the sandy bed, making fair gathering places
for great flocks both of the valley quail and their dove-col
ored desert cousins. But our eyes gave small heed to these
immediate surroundings; they were raised to the lofty red
and copper colored ridges that rose sheer above either side
of the floor of the arroyo. Lawrence was mounted on
Pedro Ximenez. Cabeza de Vaca bore me along and we
gave our steeds their heads. We were desperately anxious
for the sight of mountain sheep and our attention was not
to be wasted on anything else.
Students of natural history, wise hunters, and close ob
servers of museum specimens will smile when I state that
the southern big horn or mountain sheep has no wool and
is not white. Nevertheless, I make the direct statement
for the benefit of those not coming under any of the above
classes, for I have not forgotten how, on my first hunt for
mountain sheep, I searched the surrounding cliffs for a
woolly white animal with big curling horns, and how, when
* Reproduced, in part, from the Sunset Magazine of October, 1907.
25

26 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
I finally saw a light dun-colored creature, I would have al
lowed it to escape as a deer that was in too steep a place to
bother with had not its immense curling horns suddenly
come into view. And why not? Do not all ordinary, re
spectable sheep have wool? And aren't they white?
For several hours we had ridden along with no sight of
our quarry. Once, I exclaimed at sight of what seemed
to be a man standing on a jagged peak, a half mile above
us, but the "man" shufflled uneasily, then spreading out a
pair of giant wings floated majestically away, advising our
astonished eyes that we were in the land of the mighty
condor. Other than this we had advanced with no incident
or sound save the dull steady break of the sand beneath
the small feet of our mules. Cabeza kept me in the lead,
perhaps fifty steps or more, and I, forgetting even to scan
the cliffs, was feeling compunction because my companion
had ventured hundreds of miles, at my suggestion, in the
hope of killing a big horn, and a week's hard hunting had
not even given him a sight of one.
"Look, look ! On the ridge to the left."
I looked, and slid over the right side of my saddle, haul
ing my carbine from its saddle scabbard as I went and
jerking loose Cabeza's hair picket-rope. My meditations
were ended. Silhouetted against the sky-line, a mountain
sheep was ambling peaceably along the distant ridge.
As my companion's sharp eyes had discovered the game,
I waited until his big .40-.82 had said the first word; then
I turned loose with my .30-.30. Mr. Ram paused and
gazed in questioning attitude down at us, then calmly con
tinued his business of going somewhere. As though an
gered at such uncomplimentary composure our rifles barked
sharply in unison, but our target seemed in nowise disturbed
thereat. Where were our bullets striking? I wondered,
taking a long aim and figuring the distance at something

mmm

m&

Upper entrance to Arroyo Grande

MOUNTAIN SHEEP 27
less than four hundred yards. I blazed away and heard
the .40-.82 at my left sending out its message. Again the
ram paused, gazing fixedly into the distance before him.
Such unconcern! Suddenly the outlined figure, the curling
horns, the back-line and the design of the legs — for all the
world like pen and ink strokes against the sky, struck me as
ridiculously like one of Gellett Burgess's "goups" and I
burst out laughing. Were we shooting at an animated
"goup"? At this stage Lawrence swore, I believe. Don't blame
him either, if he did, for his big rifle, sighted for five hun
dred yards, had thrown up the loose earth ten feet below
the big-horn. With the rising of the slight puff of dust,
the sky-line swallowed up our target and the whole experi
ence might have been a dream except for two neat little
piles of empty rifle cartridges, fifteen in all, for which we
were responsible.
We rode on strangely cheered and expectant — and rally
ing ourselves.
An hour later my companion's voice again aroused me;
this time it was hoarse with excitement.
"G-glor-ry," he cried, "look to the right!"
I looked, and as long as hunting blood flows in my veins
I shall not forget the thrilling sight I saw. There, on a
spur of the main ridge, assembled side by side, were three — *
four — seven big mountain sheep, their great ram heads in
clined slightly sidewise as they curiously studied us.
"On, quick, to that mesquit ahead ! Don't stop, don't let
them know that we see them," I continued, turning half in
the saddle so that my voice would carry, in an undertone,
to my companion a hundred steps back of me.
A slowly passing moment brought us to cover in the
middle of the arroyo. In an instant I was stretched on the
sand, behind the mesquit, carbine in hand. Then Lawrence

28 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
crouched by me. There was neither laughing nor swearing
now: wondering admiration, tense excitement, cold steadi
ness, too, if you please. Appreciation of the moment came
to us both : rarely is it given one to watch, face to face, the
mountain sheep in his wild home. There they stood; they
had seen us, they were disturbed, yet they remained im
movable, statuesque, seven great rams.
"Oh, Lord! Look at that giant to the right."
"Yes, and see the middle fellow," I gasped back.
"See 'em all," responded Lawrence.
I glanced down my rifle barrel. The light was failing
and I could just see the great rams over my white bead.
"The middle one is mine," I muttered, "you can take
your whopper at the right."
We stretched out at ease on the sand and with left fore
arms raised, gripped firmly our rifle barrels and looked
through their rear sights.
"I can hardly see," whispered my companion doubtfully,
"and if we miss, they'll slide over that ridge at the first shot
and be off. Suppose we camp here until morning and then
creep 'round that ridge and bag 'em?"
The light was beastly dim and there was good sense in
my phlegmatic companion's suggestion. Left to myself,
doubtless I would have blazed away and missed. Full fifteen
minutes the sheep stood motionless before us, a noble sight
for anyone, sportsman or not ; great independent creatures
limned against the shadowy sky-line, watching, doubting.
Then suddenly their leader, the big ram at the right, gave
his command and with the precision of a cavalry squadron,
all wheeled about, in their retreat showing their white
rumps and crowding together like an alarmed flock of
domestic sheep.
Seven big mountain sheep just over the ridge from us.
Seven big rams to sleep with just a ridge between them and

View from the North Slope of San Pedro, Martir Sierra,
toward Colentura Arroyo, where Walker
led his Filibusters

MOUNTAIN SHEEP 29
our rifles, and in the morning — Quietly we unsaddled and
tied our mules to a palo verde ; in great content they began
nibbling the brittle branches. Silently we each ate a piece
of hard-tack.
"Lawrence, I shall not kill over two of them. I'm no
butcher." "Two are all I want."
We stretched on the sand and pulled our saddle blank
ets over us. It was only 6:15 P.M., but there was nothing
to do.
"Say, do you know that William Walker led his filibus
ters down this arroyo on his way to Sonora in 1854?"
"Seven big rams — "
"And do you know," I continued perseveringly, "that
there are ancient hieroglyphics near here made by some
prehistoric people?"
"Seven big rams and a giant at the right — "
We found sleep, eventually. I dreamed that I was the
seventh son of a seventh son and was driving seven moun
tain rams into a corral built in the White House grounds.
Then it was the gray half light of morning and two coyotes,
sitting on their haunches a few yards distant, were quietly
surveying us. I poked Lawrence and he murmured,
sleepily, "Well, well, seven big rams and a giant — "
But search as we might we never again saw those seven
big rams. However, that evening at camp we partook of
mountain sheep. Juan and the youngest member of our
party, had had their overnight experiences, too. Said the
succesful one:
"Juan was tracking and I was admiring the world when
I saw a whole barn-yard of sheep — fifteen ! Say, I counted
them straight, too. I pulled up my rifle, forgot about my
rear sights, aimed at the whole bunch and missed 'em all —

30 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
and kept on missing about seven times. Then we turned off
in another direction and by-and-by we saw another barn
yard full and I got this ram. Juan and I cooked and ate a
piece right away. It's a cross between a juicy mutton chop
and a fine thick porterhouse steak. Have a hunk — you
fellows look blue."

A Cavalcade of Easter worshippers

CHAPTER III
A PARSON, A WRONG DIRECTION AND MORE INDIANS
ON the 22nd day of January, 1906, just a month after
our entry into Mexico, I regretfully bade my
American friends good-bye. The rounds of busi
ness in northern civilization demanded their attention; the
southern wilderness claimed mine. Accordingly, the sheep
hunt concluded, we parted at the little mining pueblo of
Alamo, ten miles west of Santa Catarina Mission.
As they spurred northward, the faithful Juan riding in
the lead, the chill of utter isolation fell upon me: there,
passing from sight, were all my companions and even the
familiar mules, excepting the smallest in the train, the
usually impassive Pedro Ximenes. Tied to a post, the poor
brute was now braying disconsolately. Lonely and depressed,
I at once turned my attention exclusively to the work before
me, the wisest course for anyone in such a frame of mind.
Obviously, pack animals and a muleteer were my first re
quirements. Accordingly, I proceeded to make general in
quiry for three burros and a man, for with burros rather
than valuable mules I trusted to escape the avaricious atten
tion of such as might not be possessed of a law-abiding ap
preciation of the rights of property. As the news spread
that the Americano was desirous of purchasing for cash
three large burros and engaging a mozo to journey with him
down the length of the Peninsula, Alamo rippled with ex
citement. Every Mexican in the pueblo at once offered me
some wonderful animal at a more wonderful figure, and
31

32 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
several expressed a willingness to receive wages from me.
Finally an array of burros and burro men assembled about
the inevitable plaza and with an American parson, an Eng
lish "remittance man," and an Italian merchant, acting as
judges at what the Englishman facetiously called my "burro
show," I picked out a fine young gray burro, shortly christ
ened Cortez, and a sharp-eyed brown wood-carrier. This
latter chap I made my bell burro and named Coronado.
My judges had pointed out the strong points of these bur
ros ; let him who would be possessed of a good burro keep
them in mind, viz. : no obvious tendencies toward balking,
backs covered by unbroken hides and thick hair, good teeth,
sturdy shoulders, stocky build, and long hoofs — for, burros
being unshod, the short-hoofed fellows soon become tender-
footed. Meantime, and in short order, I engaged successively an
Italian and three Mexicans to serve as my mozo. The
Italian and two of the Mexicans grew faint-hearted at the
prospective dangers of the trip and the third Mexican was
restrained from departing by his creditors. Then the
American parson of my "burro show," a Texan of some
thirty years of age, came to my rescue. He gave his name
as "Ben" and stated that he would be glad to enter my ser
vice for three months. By way of references he explained
that while he had passed his early life as a clergyman in
Texas, for the past seven years he had been a muleteer in
Chihuahua and Sonora. As there was no question about
his being "up" on burros, I engaged him on the spot, though
the prospect of having a parson in steady service seemed a
trifle novel. I did not pry into his reasons for leaving his
pastorate, such questions not being polite near the Border.
In fact, in the midst of my search for a man, a tall Irish
man took me aside and, in an undertone, said that he would
be glad to make the trip, provided the wages be raised

A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 33,
somewhat. "Quite easy for you, sir," he parenthesized;
and then, with a look of cunning appreciation, continued,
"It's the ridge trail that I can show you, and down that
we can slip widout maten' a sowl. Sure," and here he gave
a wink, "you've heard of Brown, the Los Angeles cashier !
Well, 'twas me that took him safely trou to the port of
Santa Rosali', where he got a ship, an' I can pull you trou
over the same route." Respectfully declining this kindly
offer, I took up with my parson. By the way in which he
hustled about and secured for me two pack-saddles with
accompanying harness and alforcas (raw-hide panniers), I
am convinced that "Ben's" parishioners must have taken
pride in his energy. To me it was a great delight after the
dilatory manner of the natives. One stout, ragged looking
Mexican whom I endeavored to engage to make a harness
for one of my pack-saddles, calmly gave his half-rolled
cigarette an added twist, leaned back against his adobe and
soberly remarked that he "didn't have the time." Un
questionably, the Mexican eight-hour law provides that
every able-bodied man shall desist from labor eight hours
in the middle of every day!
"Ben" was very anxious to be upon the trail. So was I.
At his suggestion, in place of delaying until I could secure a
third burro for him to ride, we postponed that matter until
a convenient burro ranch came in our way. Accordingly,
leaving Alamo at noon of the 22nd, we climbed into the
chemise-clad mountains at the south, being attended, through
the courtesy of the Correo or Postmaster of Alamo, by a
Mexican horseman as temporary guide. Half a league
brought us to a high ridge where the Mexican left us, after
pointing in a due southerly direction and exclaiming "Sur,
sur." The man was quite picturesque and gave his direc
tions in a dramatic manner. It had seemed to me that
southwest was more nearly the proper course for us, but

34 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the positive "Sur, sur" was convincing and southward we
turned, following the trail down a steep slope and through
a succession of small valleys where the heavy growth of
grass, the delightful red berries, the fine live-oaks, the dense
chemise, the scurrying flocks of quail and the frequent deer
tracks took my thoughts back to similar scenes in those
northern mountains made familiar to all by Stevenson's
"Silverado Squatters."
On the ensuing day, to our regret, we left a fairly good
trail bearing southwesterly, doubtless to the olive-shaded
ruins of the old Dominican Mission of Santo Tomas de
Aquina, and followed a fainter trail which led in the south
erly direction indicated by the Mexican. Our course, after
taking us into lofty mountains from which we could see the
distant ocean to the westward, led down abruptly to a deep
canyon where there was an old shack, thatched with tule
grass, and other evidences of by-gone Indian occupation.
A goodly stream of water headed near the shack, and fol
lowing along the stream for a league we made camp in an
old brush corral, shaded by a noble group of live-oaks and
sycamores. The grass was thick and the spot ideal for
camping. In addition to his ministerial experiences, "Ben"
had cooked at one time in a restaurant from which he had
been invited to sever his connections because of the amount
of fuel which he persisted in burning. Though such ex
travagant habits would have been as reprehensible on the
desert as in the restaurant, they were not objectionable in
the corral, where for many seasons the dead limbs had been
falling in undisturbed heaps. His cooking operations, in
consequence, succeeded admirably. One great bonfire threw
its reflections upon the sides of the deep canyon, while over
a smaller fire most appetizing dishes simmered and broiled
to the delight of our anxious appetites. Even when sleep
claimed us, a willow tripod arrangement of "Ben's" manu-

A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 35
facture held suspended above the coals a slow boiling pot
,of beans. Quite undisturbed by the fact that we knew not
just where we were, we slept soundly and entirely without
forebodings for the morrow.
On the 24th we continued down the arroyo, passing an
other deserted corral and arriving shortly at a junction of
two canyons below which the walls of the main canyon be
came extremely precipitous, while the stream pursued its
course over a rocky bed which dropped in places in such a
manner as to render the course impassable for our animals.
To our delight we found horse tracks leading high up to
the left. These we followed. Whoever guided that horse
must have partaken of the loco weed or have carried under
his belt a large amount of mescal, for the tracks led us
through the densest chemise and deep down the most appal
ling declivities.
For a day and a half, each time that I had looked from
the height of Pedro Ximenez, back upon my brave train
of pack burros, with Coronado's bell tinkling so cheerfully
and with Ben trudging along in the wake of the proces
sion, my heart had throbbed with all the pride of a railway
magnate watching his express trains whizzing along their
double track road-beds. Now I passed through the anxie
ties of a railway president in flood season or in time of
rebate investigation. Again and again the alforcas caught
in the brush and the burros were "hung up," to the detri
ment of Ben's anti-swearing resolutions, for that worthy,
having, on the first day, observed my swearing proclivities
were not keen, had announced his determination to return
to the pious language employed in the days of his pastorate
in southwestern Texas. Eventually, Coronado slipped and
fell, not through any fault of his, but because he was urged
over a precipice and there overbalanced by his load. Gather
ing his small feet close to his body, down he rolled, to the

36 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
bottom of the gorge, a hundred feet below, striking with a
dull thud that sent shivers through me at the thought of
broken bones and ruined impedimenta. Yet, after I had
extricated him from his tangled pack, he arose, with a grunt,
and calmly commenced cropping the sedge grass — but, for
all his calmness, I think he was rather vexed at us.
Ben and I stood on either side of the burro and looked up
at the precipices about us. We were in a box canyon where
we seemed buried and so discouraged did we feel that we
fell to and ate a good lunch, an excellent way of restoring
a man's grit and increasing his resourcefulness. In this
case we found our dismay perceptibly lessened and, by the
aid of ropes, shortly hauled Coronado up the further side
of the gorge.
On we went for three intense hours, breaking and hack
ing a course for our animals through the dense brush, avoid
ing chollas and Spanish bayonets, our eyes on the burros or
searching in the dead leaves for tracks of that horse. Rid
ing was out of the question ; I was on foot cutting and smash
ing a way for the animals and Ben was busied in widening
the passage for the packs. The scenery probably was grand
— the plain at Alamo is reputed to be 4,900 feet above the
sea level, and we had climbed to a much greater altitude, but
I had no time for scenery. Cortez took his turn at rolling,
then, in company with Coronado he was "hung up" in the
brush. A jagged limb ripped into my forearm, breaking off
by the side of an artery, where I dared not extricate it for
the moment; I jammed my knee against the thorny ex
tremity of a maguay leaf, which left a persistent throbbing
pain in the knee-cap as a consequence. Neither of us had
anything to say, but we both felt desperate, and it would
have gone hard with the Mexican who gave us directions
had he fallen in our way.
Meantime, the tracks led higher up into the sierras, the

A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 37
brush giving way to great white granite boulders. At last,
as the sun was setting and our spirits deeply depressed, we
came upon the fairest scenery : a plain well-used trail! Down
this we joyfully turned, descending toward the southwest.
Hundreds of years and thousands of feet must have passed
over that trail, for it was worn deep into the granite body of
the mountain; in one place where I experimented with a
tape, the trail was thirty-eight inches deep in the rock.
Exhilarated in spite of our thorough exhaustion, we hurried
on, noting tracks of a lion mingled with those of barefooted
Indians. Finally we again came upon our water-course,
now grown wider, and following it for a couple of miles,
made camp on the sand with heavy darkness round about.
We were both badly used up. My arms and knee ached
acutely, and Ben also was subject for my medicine case, with
its liniments and rolls of bandages. In addition, beyond
the fact that we were among the spurs of San Pedro Martir
Sierra, we did not know where we were. We had every
reason to believe, however, that we were in the neighbor
hood of some Indian rancheria, though of the possible atti
tude of its inhabitants toward us in such an unchartered
end of the world we were rather dubious.
On the morning of the 25th we were so stiff that only
our hearty constitutions enabled us to move forward. Dur
ing the night a lion had come down to inspect us, marking
up the sand with his great claws within twenty paces of
camp, for, owing to the probable proximity of Indians, we
had kept no camp fire burning. Continuing down the stream*
we shortly crossed a small irrigating ditch, and beyond,
upon a sandy bench of perhaps four acres, we came abruptly
upon an Indian village.
As there are no complete maps or reports of the interior
of Lower California, and as the reputations of the unvisited
places are in nerve-racking accord with the mystery hanging

38 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
over the entire peninsula, an exciting element of Lower Cali
fornia exploration exists in the fact that the explorer never
knows what he may find at any turn of an arroyo — and it
is a land of arroyos ! In this instance, I found myself sud
denly face to face with an Indian rancheria of half a dozen
shacks and some fifty people, and what treatment to expect
was beyond me, for I had never so much as heard of the
existence of an Indian village in this particular region.
The bucks, garbed in a doubtful assortment of tatters,
were lounging about at their ease, conversing with an Indian
traveler, who was outward bound with two pack burros,
laden with wild honey. The women were squatting on the
ground before metate stones, a few crushing corn, but the
majority reducing to powder a small black seed, the like
of which is usually to be found in the crops of wild doves.
Children were playing about in absolute nakedness, the boys
practicing with stout bows and reed arrows. The babies of
the village were in the care of the young girls, who carried
them at their sides, the youngsters clinging, with mussy
hands and straddling legs, to their comely foster mothers.
They were a healthy, husky looking race of people, not
unlike the Catarina Yumas in countenance but of heavier
physique. Their shacks, also, were larger and more sub
stantially put together than those of my ladrone acquaint
ances. As to what their treatment of us would be I was
uncertain. Ben muttered, "Look out." We proceeded to
do so.
The traveler, speaking in mongrel Spanish, informed us
that they were Pais Indians (doubtless the same as the
Pi-pis of the Salada and Colentura region at the southwest)
and that we were the first white men who had ever come
to the village. Though friendly in his address, he voiced
the evident wonder of the village by inquiring how we had
ever arrived from Alamo, coming from the direction which

A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 39
we had, and whether we were prospectors. Our arrival
certainly created the confusion supposedly incident to the
coming of first whites: the naked children were whisked
away, the girls fled, the squaws became silent and the bucks
looked at us with undisguised curiosity. A broad shoul
dered, strapping fellow, dressed in old overalls, tattered
shirt, high peaked Spanish straw sombrero, and wearing a
genial expression and waving Dundrearies, seemed to be
the head man. Of him I asked permission to photograph
the village, the traveler acting as interpreter. At first the
big fellow seemed to think that evil lay in cameras, but
when I showed him an Indian picture in a magazine he
grunted a smiling assent, and entering one of the shacks
conferred over the matter with a wizened ancient, who,
judged by his parchment wrinkles, might have been a con
frere of Cortez. The ancient proved to be the head chief
and offered no objection to picture taking.
Meantime, the girls had reappeared with fresh coats of
paint on their faces and bandanas coyly arranged upon their
heads. If picture-taking was in order, they were prepared.
To the general surprise, the ordeal consumed but an in
stant ; then, in appreciation, I presented the big fellow with
a cup of Scotch whiskey. This he passed over to the
wrinkled one, who after downing all but the dregs, smacked
his thin lips and returned the cup to his brawny understudy.
The other bucks stood by and smiled half-heartedly as they
watched the Scotch disappearing. They didn't get a taste !
Talk about regard for the aged, we civilized beings are not
in the same class with the Pi-pis.
Suddenly the head chief beckoned me to him. Already
I had ostentatiously swung my heavy six-shooter into a
prominent position and I approached him without hesita
tion. It seemed that my green riding bags, long the despair
of my friends and the delight of my heart, had aroused his

40 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
covetousness. Briefly he gave me to understand that the
weather was cold and he was thin ; that the trousers would
do him much good, while at my age they were unnecessary
— pointing, for verification, at the scantily clad young bucks
of the village with their happy smiles, knife belts and
guarachas. At this, the big fellow with the Dundrearies
nodded smiling assent: it seemed time for America to re
treat, and with hasty adieux, I left the Pais to their own
resources, grateful to escape with honors of war — and my
trousers, or with my trousers and without the honors of
war. As I put spurs to the greatly surprised Pedro Xime
nez, I turned in the saddle for a last look at the rancheria.
All that I observed was a wizened ancient, following along
the trail. He stooped pitiably, his face was parchment
wrinkles, his claw-like hands were clasping his withered
thighs and in quivering tones he called after me, "so cold,
so very cold."
These Indians gather wild honey and raise beans, corn,
grapes and melons from their fertile soil. Adjoining their
village, and further down the canyon, there were signs
which indicated that in some earlier day there had been a
large population and many irrigated fields along the river-
bottom. The Dominican Friars who established the mis
sions about the northern portions of Lower California left
few records of what they there found or did, but in one of
their fragments they set forth that the Indians of San
Vicente Mission were "unquiet, proud and fickle"; that
those of Santo Tomas and Santa Catarina were "quick
tempered, treacherous, warlike and very difficult to gov
ern"; that the Indians of Santa Catarina and Santo Tomas
belonged "to the Yuma family," and that, "in 178 1 the
Mission of San Vicente was attacked by two thousand
Yumas from the mountains who did great injury." As these
Pais are within striking distance of each of these three mis-

A PARSON AND A WRONG DIRECTION 41
sions, perhaps in those old days they were possessed of the
entire combination of bad qualities named. At the time of
my visit, however, they called their rancheria Dolores and
were preparing — men, women and children — to take a long
trip through the mountains to attend Mass at Santa Cata
rina Mission.
One primitive Indian whom we met below the village —
he wore a coat and a belt and carried his guarachas in his
hand — explained that, according to the customs of the Pais,
a buck could have as many squaws as he desired, but that
one squaw could do the requisite work and raise nine chil
dren, which was a sufficient family in these days. Talk
about race suicide ! This chap carried an ancient repeating
rifle, which, as he told us, had suffered eleven distinct breaks
in falling over a cliff and beneath a pack animal. It could
only be discharged after wiring tightly in place all its parts.
In consequence, this red man was hunting with a single cart
ridge in the barrel, and the lever and magazine wired fast
to the barrel and stock. Probably, however, that single cart
ridge sufficed for the killing of a deer — or of some wander
ing beef, for I was later informed that the Pais were sad
ladrones with a penchant for other people's cattle.
Learning from the hunter of the whereabouts of an agua
caliente or hot spring, we hastened on, passing wonderful
patches of wild clover and dense masses of pussy willow.
By nightfall we reached the spring. According to our in
formant, who with other Indians of the rancheria was a
stout Christian — and had in his shack some china marked
"I. H. S." — this agua caliente though now little used, had
been a favorite spot of the old Frailes. Certainly, some
body in olden times had protected the spring with a well-
built stone coping, fifty feet by ten, but sedges and tule grass
had overgrown all save a nice clear pool, ten feet by six,

42 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
and wild clover ran down to the edge. Such a camping
spot! While Ben exercised his culinary arts before a large fire
in the shadows of the cottonwoods, I tumbled into the wel
come spring and came forth leaving behind me pains and
stiffness, dust and cholla thorns. Reclining on the yielding
clover, before the companionable fire, a savory supper
awaiting my keen appetite, close at hand a reliable Indian
trail for the morrow, a contentment stole over me unknown
in the narrow life against which I had become an insurgent.
What cared I even though directions had been misleading
and Indians numerous!

CHAPTER IV
UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE
THERE is a pathos in the ruins of past splendor which
casts a shadow over the spirit of the traveler,
bringing a sobering sense of the transitory works
of man. Unconsciously, I gave myself completely to this
feeling as I sat in the shade of the casa of the Sefior of the
Rancho of San Vicente late one January afternoon a few
short days after my visit at the Rancheria of Dolores. I
had just come in from a stroll among the ruins of the ancient
Mission of San Vicente and was content to dream in the
mellow light of the dying day.
There was food for dreams. On the summit of the green
hill before me a Spanish fort had once frowned and thou
sands of Indians had vainly assaulted its walls. Now a
squirrel crouched low in play on the ruined bastions, soldiers
and flag were gone and the few miserable Indians in the
hovel at the foot of the hill had welcomed the centavos
which a passing traveler gave them. To the left of the fort
there was once a high walled cemetery where Castilian
officers and cowled Dominican Padres were placed at rest
with the pomp of other days. Now the walls were
broken, the graves fallen in, and garishly modern crosses,
memorials to the recent dead, crowded from sight the
neglected tombs of early dignitaries. Below the fort and to
the right of the cemetery where, amid silent ruins, the dove
now mourned and the raven cried discordantly, church and
monastery and Governor's mansion had stood — structures,
43

44 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
some of them, full one hundred paces in length. Below
these ruins, in the great moat-like ditch now dry, ob
structed, unused, shrouded by tall thickets of tuna and sugar
cane, there had flowed in those earlier days a stream, pre
cious alike for irrigation and defense.
Here was once the capital of La Frontera, the frontier
district. Here were swollen storehouses, broad fields, great
herds of cattle, sheep and horses, riches that now are gone,
like the spirits of those who controlled them, for naught re
mains save a few burros, horses and cattle, a small plot of
cultivated land, watered by a feeble stream, an atmosphere
of the past — and sombre, crumbling ruins returning, un
hindered, to the jealous bosom of mother earth from whence
they came. Down at the base of the hill, where the clover
grows, stands a sentinel group of gnarled and blackened
olive trees, ancients guarding the ruins above — yet, when
travellers thronged El Camino Real, these were sturdy
trees, thick of foliage and generous of their shade.
While my thoughts were wandering, and I yielded to the
magic languor of the land, there came to mind the chroni
cles of the scribes and the traditions of my surroundings —
and close on their heels and before my heavy eyelids,
imagination unfolded the scenes which had been enacted at
San Vicente in the romantic days removed so far from
modern life. At the touch of the wand of Fancy, the ruins
disappeared and there on the hill stood a smoke-enshrouded
fort and just below it rose the Cross, high and clear, sur
mounting a noble mission. Down there, amid spreading
tunas and young olives, I saw a cloud of red devils, be
daubed with war paint, decked with feathers and carrying
bows and arrows and spears. To the right, by the river's
curve, are more of the same ilk, for this is the year 178 1
and the Indians from the Arroyo Grande and L'Encentada,
from San Miguel and Santo Tomas, their feuds forgotten,

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 45
have gathered to sack the sturdy young Mission of San Vi
cente Ferrer.
Even as the fiendish war-whoop rings out, the scene
changes: the flag with the eagle and the snake now floats
over the fortress, the mission granaries have grown and the
fields are more extensive, for nigh half a century has passed.
There, at a stout table in the refectory, sits a strange figure,
a bronzed young man, long and lean of frame, with high
cheek-bones and aquiline nose, with thin lips and square jaw;
he is dressed in frayed buckskins and his worn leggins and
moccasins have lost many of their beads. Seated facing
him are two Friars, dark robed and rotund. The elder of
the Friars is speaking: "Be of good cheer, Senor Pattie,"
he says, with a fatherly smile, "this detention is but a for
mality of the Commandante ; he is a strange man with his
regulations : he even desires us to take the oath of allegiance
to his new Government." The young man half rises, ex
claiming, "But this formality that he imposes upon us passes
strangeness. Ah, had not the Colorado with its devilish
tidal current wet our powder — aye, or that treacherous dog
at Santa Catarina not deceived us — there'd be many in
Purgatory waiting your prayers ere we'd been prisoners."
The younger Friar waves a soothing hand. "Prisoners and
perhaps heretics, also, you are, but our friends, my seiior,"
says he, bringing forth a dusty wine skin, "and now over
this bottle which is of the best port which our good brothers
at Santa Rosalia de Mulege prepare, we will drink to Ken
tucky and you will tell us of those amigos of yours, Sefiors
Bowie and David Crockett."
The face of the frontiersman relaxes from its harassed
look and he cries, "Aye, that I will, for as yet you are my
friends, but first I will offer a bumper: May the Mexicans
at San Vicente pay with their blood for the indignity which
they have put upon us men of Kentucky."

46 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
As the half-protesting Friars clink their glasses, the scene
shifts: the Mission is unroofed, the fields are choked with
weeds. Now the air is cleft by a wild, thrilling cheer that
ends in a barking yell and a double line of tall warriors
rushes up towards the fort, with bayonets fixed; from the
port-holes there comes a murderous blaze of fire and many
of the tall warriors crumple up like stalks of barley before
a reaper: the line hesitates, and instantly the leader, a small,
wiry man, bared rapier in hand, turns savagely upon them.
"Oh, d — n you, d — n you, d — n, you all," he shrieks in thin
high-pitched tones, "do you mind being killed! Dare you
stop, dare you survive and return to Marysville, to Sacra
mento, to San Francisco — and admit that Greasers licked
you? Do you want it said that mothers in Tennessee and
Kentucky whelp white livers, mud-sills, Yanks?" He rasps
out the last word with a bitter scream. "Yanks," that is
what stiffens up the line. Again that wild barking yell, and
the little man and his tall followers sweep up the hill and
over the walls, carrying their two-starred flag into the fort
ress where a quarter of a century earlier Pattie of Kentucky
was imprisoned, for this is February, 1854, and William
Walker and his filibusters are planning the slave state of
Lower Caliornia and Sonora.
From these realms of other days, I rouse myself with a
start, for the Senor of San Vicente is standing before me
and I feel that I have been dreaming. "Ten thousand In
dians gathered from the mountains once to assault the mis
sion over yonder" ; he has seen me staring at the ruins and
he waves his hand toward them, "and now on the whole
Peninsula there is not a quarter that number." I now as
sent, and he continues : "Once your people fought my people
here, but your country did not approve." I assented and he
adds, "And once Mexicans fought Mexicans near the fort,
but I do not know what it was about." I nod a third time :

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 47
how truly his closing statement would apply to most wars ?
and then, for conversation's sake, remark, "I'm going to
ride my mule the length of the peninsula even to San Jose
del Cabo."
"St!" he exclaims in surprise, "Baja California por
tierra." My Latin comes to the aid of my faulty Spanish and I
mutter to myself, "Lower California Overland," aloud I
say, "Si, senor, Baja California por tierra," and shaking
his head he murmurs, "Very far, senor, very far." Then
he amazes me, by adding, "I have lived at beautiful San
Jose del Cabo. There, too, you will find a site called San
Vicente and there, as here, your people fought my people,
only there your people were nearly overcome. But that
battle was in a regular war."
"Yes?" I answered, my curiosity all agog, for then I knew
not how Uncle Sam twice lost the Peninsula of Lower Cali
fornia. Historians have an unfortunate faculty of omitting many
interesting passages from their chronicles. Thus, in their
accounts of the war between Mexico and the United States,
they make no record of the Spartan-like defense of Chapul
tepec by the cadets of the Mexican Military Academy —
they gave their blood, every boy of them, in heroic sacrifice
to their country. Neither do the chroniclers mention the
fierce engagements in Lower California between the United
States Marines and the New York Volunteers on the one
side and the native Californians and their Yaqui allies on
the other, and yet the unfortunate conflict furnished no
finer evidence of bravery. At Chapultepec there is a
monument to the cadets, and grim war records attest the
frightful losses suffered by the American regiments which
finally swept over the bodies of the young heroes ; but tradi
tion and half-forgotten archives alone bear testimony to

48 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the stirring events in Lower California — for the chapter
ends with Uncle Sam's surrender of Lower California !
The messages and private journal of President Polk
throw a white light on the Mexican War; personal
memoirs of the volunteers supplement these writings. The
truth about the episode is that the occupation of the Penin
sula by the United States forces, dating from the beginning
of the struggle, was premeditated and in pursuance of a
carefully arranged plan for its permanent retention. A
treaty making slip set awry the arrangements. So Uncle
Sam, our close-fisted Uncle, lost a province. Later, he lost
the same land again, but the second time he was in the
wrong even before it was won and offered to him. Before
relating the incidents of the second fiasco, however, I must
digress so far as to submit my first sources of information
concerning the personality of that romantic but misguided
character, William Walker, the "Gray Eyed Man of Des
tiny," one-time conqueror of Lower California.
As a child, I lived in the early California mining town of
Marysville, whither my father, in company with many an
other young fortune-seeker, had journeyed in the exciting
days immediately following the discovery of gold. In the
evenings of my childhood, he was ever generous in satisfy
ing my craving for adventure with his reminiscences of the
golden days along the Yuba River. These reminiscences
have never grown dim in my memory: there was the story
of how Alcalde Field rose to be a Justice of the United
States Supreme Court, of the heroism of the women of the
Donner Party, of Lord "Charlie" Fairfax who preferred
being a Speaker of the California Legislature to holding his
English title; there were stern tales of the way the Union
ists ended dueling in California by grimly naming double-
barreled shotguns with buckshot loads at six paces as terms
of combat with any southern challenger; and last but not

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 49
lightly to be related, was the history of "Filibuster Walker,"
that man greater than a pirate or an Indian, who had even
asked my father to go a-filibustering with him, first in
Mexico and then in Nicaragua. And in those childish
days I could not comprehend why such an invitation had
been declined, for being a filibuster seemed greater than be
coming president, or even being a pirate. In later years,
while a law student, I saw much of one Barney Wolfe, an
early Marysville friend of my father. "Handsome Bar
ney" he had been called in the '50's when he was by
Walker's side in Nicaragua.
Thus possessed of the American side of Walker's history,
I found a peculiar interest in entering Lower California and
listening to the old Indians and Mexicans who had seen and
known him there, and it seems appropriate here to record
the Mexican course of the "Last of the Filibusters." In
1850, at the age of twenty-six, Walker had made his appear
ance in San Francisco as a journalist. Prior to that date,
he had trained himself for medicine, law and journalism,
having studied successively at his native city of Nashville,
and in Philadelphia, Paris, Gottingen, Heidelberg and New
Orleans. In 1851, he came before the California public in
consequence of an article in his paper, the San Francisco
Herald, reflecting upon a certain Judge Parsons; because
of this article he was fined five hundred dollars and, in de
fault of payment thereof, sent to jail. A popular demon
stration in Walker's behalf ensued and he was released on
a writ of habeas corpus. Later, he went before the Cali
fornia Legislature and endeavored to secure the impeach
ment of Judge Parsons — judicial impeachments being a
California epidemic at that time. In 1852, Walker ap
peared in Marysville as an attorney and as leader of the
pro-slavery faction. In the same year he visited Guaymas
for the purpose of discovering what the French filibusters,

50 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Pindray and Count Raousset de Boulbon, were doing in
Sonora. Impressed with the possibility of forming a pro-
slavery state out of Sonora, the young firebrand hastened
back to California where he found a hearty support await
ing him at the hands of the southern leaders, the "Chiv"
element, who, imbued not only with devotion to the slave
cause but also with a firm belief in the doctrine of "mani
fest destiny," were watching the French filibusters with
hostile eyes. Heartily encouraged, therefore, and accom
panied by his friend, Henry P. Watkins, Walker revisited
Guaymas in June, 1853, only to be ordered away by the
alarmed authorities. But before his departure many of
the affrighted inhabitants besought him to return with fight
ing men and protect them from the warlike Yaquis who
even to this day terrorize portions of Sonora.
Once again in the United States Walker opened a re
cruiting office at San Francisco and issued to ready pur
chasers bonds of the prospective "Republic of Sonora and
Lower California." California was filled with venture
some spirits and many of them at once gathered about Wal
ker's standard. For the major part these recruits were
young Kentuckians and Tennesseans, imbued with southern
ideas and "spoiling for a scrap." On October the 15th,
1853, Walker, with forty-six men and abundant supplies,
slipped out of the Golden Gate, bound on a filibustering ex
pedition against a friendly nation. No attempt was made
to stop his warlike brig, the "Caroline," for the very defi
nite reason that, for preventing Walker's departure two
weeks earlier in the "Arrow," General Hitchcock had been
removed from his command of the government forces at
San Francisco ! In the '50's Jefferson Davis and his south
ern clique of Senators were anxious to make the way easy
for an adventurer who might bring a new Texas into the

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 5 1
Union and add new slave votes to their column in the
United States Senate.
In due time the "Caroline" arrived at Las Paz, where
Walker landed his men, took the city, issued a proclama
tion promising general protection, religious toleration and
establishing the Louisiana Code, a simple method of intro
ducing slavery. A flag, with two stars representing Lower
California and Sonora and with two red stripes enclosing a
white one, was immediately hoisted and a republic was pro
claimed with Walker as President, Frederic Emory as Sec
retary of State, John M. Jernagin as Secretary of War,
Howard H. Snow as Secretary of the Navy, Charles H.
Gilman as Captain of Battalion, and Wm. P. Mann as Ad
miral of the Navy. These proceedings the natives viewed
with complacency. Such opposition as they offered was speed
ily overcome by the invaders, who shortly departed taking
with them the public documents — or such of them as they
had not already shot away as cartridge covers — and Seiior
Robelledo, the Political Chief of the district. After
touching successively at San Jose del Cabo and Magdalena
Bay, the filibusters disembarked, a hundred miles south of
San Diego, at Todos Santos Bay, where Walker established
himself in headquarters, which he termed Fort McKibben,
from whence he easily repulsed the attacking Mexicans.
Meantime, rumor and the press announced throughout
the United States the accurate news that Walker was in con
trol of Lower California, and throughout the South and
West many were anxious to join his standard. One eve
ning, early in December, 1853, the great double doors of
an improvised barrack were thrown open in San Francisco
and out upon the streets poured a body of well-armed re
cruits for "President Walker." Undisturbed, except by
the clamor of many who desired to join them, they marched
down to the water front and, two hundred and thirty strong,

52 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
sailed at midnight in the "Anita" for Todos Santos Bay.
These men were mainly Kentuckians and Tennesseans, with
a sprinkling of Irish and Germans whom Walker considered
the bravest of all foreigners and the only equals of his irre
sistible American warriors. In physique these filibusters
rivalled the giant guardsmen of the Emperor Frederick;
among them a man under six feet in height was a rarity.
Reinforced by these adventurers, Walker seized Santo
Tomas and fought the battles of La Grulla and San Vicente,
both victories for his flag. In referring to these contests
the old Mexicans and Indians, to a man, characterize Wal
ker in the same words : he was small, boyish appearing and
very brave (muy valiente). Moreover, he seemed pos
sessed of Berserker rage in battle. In describing this at
tribute an old Indian at San Vicente related to me how
Walker rushed always ahead of his men when fighting and
at such times seemed a devil. The general impression re
tained of the filibusters is that Walker feared nothing and
was a wonderful Captain ; that he was youthful looking and
wished the people to be free from ill usage; that his men
were sharpshooting giants seeking to ravage the land, but
"all soldiers and officials did that in those days" according
to one of my informants. At Ensenada, an old Indian
woman gave me her recollections of the filibusters : she had
been a mere girl, living at San Isidro where there were many
young women, when "Guillermo" Walker and his Ameri
canos marched by: he was a small, preoccupied Capitan,
but his men were very tall and they waved handkerchiefs at
her and her friends. I inquired what response was made :
"Oh, we waved our hands to them, beckoning," she replied,
with a crackling grin.
Walker was always restlessly busy. Besides fighting
these small battles, he issued five more proclamations, or
ganized a government and drilled his followers — and so

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 53
incessantly that a body of them endeavored to desert, an
unfortunate step on their part, however, for not only were
they unsuccessful in their effort but two of their number
were shot and many of the others flogged. Immediately
after these proceedings, the filibuster leader gathered his
men about him and offered them all their choice of con
tinuing on or of returning to the United States. Only fifty
turned northward. With the balance Walker went into
quarters at San Vicente.
At this point Uncle Sam again might have acquired
Lower California. He had allowed Walker to recruit and
outfit in his territory and to sail, unhindered, through the
Golden Gate; six months had passed and now the Penin
sula lay in the filibuster's palm, ready for annexation. But
Uncle made no move. The opportunity was lost.
There is no lack of interest in the further adventures of
the filibusters even though they have had no chronicler.
On the 20th of March, 1854, Walker sent a portion of his
forces to San Quintin Bay and Rosario under instructions
to hold the country. With the balance he marched into the
mountains to the east of San Vicente and history has had
no record of his doings thereafter until he appeared a month
later, on the west bank of the Colorado River, intent on
reaching Sonora and subjecting it to his rule. His every
step, however, is recalled by the old Indians. According
to their accounts he entered the Pais country, along the Col
entura Arroyo, directed by a small band of Indian allies,
and there some of his men met their death — just how or by
whom the Indians do not relate. From this arroyo he
swung around the northwest shoulder of the mighty sierra
of San Pedro Martir and entered the Valle Trinidad, the
scattered inhabitants fleeing before him. Here he added to
his stock of beef cattle and preempted an unbroken "calico"
or pinto stallion which the departing Mexicans, with malice

54 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
aforethought, had left behind. It was a beautiful animal,
and possessed of so wild and vicious a spirit that no vaquero
had been able to stay astride its back. When the boyish
Capitan, therefore, in the presence of his men and of nume
rous Indians, not only mounted the stallion but subdued it,
the Indians, delighted by such horsemanship — and the evi
dent abundance of provisions — immediately allied them
selves to the cause of the filibusters and showed them their
ancient trail into the secret depths of the Arroyo Grande
and thence across the desert, around the Sierra del Pintos,
and down the Hardy River to the Colorado. By this time,
Pais, Kaliwa, Catarina Yuma and Cocupa Indians were
following the Americanos and joyously sharing their di
minishing provisions.
Crossing the Colorado River proved a disastrous feat.
Cattle and supplies were swept away, lives lost and the rank
and file discouraged. Famine and a general break-up en
sued, some of the filibusters traveling northward and sur
rendering to the American forces at Yuma, while Walker
himself with the balance, recrossed the river and began his
return march. Provisions gone, the Americanos quickly
lost their Indian allies and soon found them, as pitiless
enemies, co-operating with a company of Mexican troops
under Melendrez, a most resourceful officer. Eventually,
the remnant of the filibusters, their reputation for fearless
bravery in no way tarnished, reached the American Line
just south of San Diego, and surrendered, on the American
side, to Captain Burton, of the United States Army.
Just before Walker and his men crossed the Line, the
leader of the pursuing Mexican forces advised Captain
Burton that he wished to capture the filibusters. "Good,"
responded Burton, "that will relieve us of trouble. You
are five to one, go ahead." Thereupon the Mexican troops
advanced cautiously upon their crippled foe, but Walker, in

UNCLE SAM'S LOST PROVINCE 55,
place of escaping across the Line, faced his young warriors
about and led them, wildly cheering, against the foe. The
latter fled, incontinently, whereupon Walker marched his
men into United States territory and surrendered. The
filibusters whom Walker had sent southward from San
Vicente overran the country while their ammunition lasted,
then they died by the garrote and the dagger. For his
action against a friendly country, Walker was tried in the
United States Court at San Francisco — and acquitted!
When one recalls that in 1847-8 Uncle Sam fought for
Lower California, obtained possession of the land, con
ciliated the people — and then gave up the country; that in
1853-4 he permitted Walker to outfit and recruit in San
Francisco and acquitted him of the crime of so doing —
and yet did not accept Lower California when the filibuster
had it in hand early in 1854; when one reads that in 1859,
our same Uncle, through President Buchanan and his Minis
ter to Mexico, McClane, endeavored to take advantage of
Benito Juarez's extremity and purchase Lower California;
and twenty-two years later, if rumor runs truly, only the
death of President Garfield interfered with an official sound
ing of Mexico as to her willingness to sell the California
Peninsula : When one considers this succession of incon
sistent actions, but a single explanation presents itself: as
suredly, they all chanced at times when our Uncle Sam was
off fishing and Miss Columbia was running the government
and enjoying, to the limit, her feminine prerogative of be
ing whimsical.
Persistently, however, the question arises, Will the United
States acquire Lower California ? And it is no unsafe pre
diction to reply that the Peninsula will not come under the
Stars and Stripes by any filibustering doorway. The ill-
advised persons, who buried stands of arms in the sands
near San Quintin not a quarter of a century since, might well

56 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
have known that, in endeavoring to emulate Walker, they
were pursuing a plan not in accord with an age of Hague
Peace Tribunals.

CHAPTER V
WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON AND FALL IN WITH SENOR DICK
DECEMBER and January had passed and February
was opening with a burst of rain that made the pos
session of a slicker a distinct blessing. San Vicente,
with its romantic associations, was many leagues behind me,
but my course still trended southward along El Camino
Real. On the fifth of February I rode into San Quintin, a small
village of perhaps a hundred two-legged inhabitants and
a hundred million fleas. It is situated on the edge of the
Pacific, just above the thirtieth parallel of north latitude,
and hard by five strange hills which, in the halcyon days of
its buccaneering and smuggling trade, gave the port its
early name of the Bay of Five Hills. Briefly, San Quintin
has a harbor which needs dredging, wonderful salt beds
from which, for some unknown reason, no salt is extracted,
a flour mill which is enjoying a long vacation, and a lobster
factory which does nothing to interfere with the numerous
lobsters thriving along the coast. Also, there is a twenty-
mile railroad — relic of colonization efforts — over which a
locomotive once traveled carrying as its freight a bale of
hay; being put to work, later, at running the flour mill!
Finally, gulls and other sea fowl march and counter march
in squadrons along the shore line, while the duck and goose
shooting to he had at San Quintin is not to be excelled on
the American continent. 57

58 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
In consequence of a "scene" with my erstwise Texas par
son, I arrived at San Quintin in a most irritable mood. The
trouble had arisen from the man's devotional methods. Of
course an earnest desire for prayer at eventide — though as
suredly most unusual along the Border — merits respect,
but Ben's proceedings along this line early aroused my sus
picions concerning his sincerity; for not only did he shout
his supplications in good old southern Methodist fashion,
but he shortly developed a vexatious habit of confessing his
sins dolefully in my immediate presence at such times as I
was tired and especially in need of sleep. The second night
of these revival experiences had brought forth the fact that
the fellow was in Mexico because of an anxious Grand Jury
in Texas : admitting his crime and expressing his penitence,
he called loudly upon his Creator for forgiveness, announc
ing his desire to return and receive the full punishment
awaiting him at the hands of the law. My sympathy
aroused — though my slumbers were disturbed — I advised
him the following morning that upon the completion of our
trip I would present his case, in its most favorable aspect,
to the prosecuting attorney of his home county and arrange
for a light sentence, the arrangement between us being con
ditioned upon his return to Texas and submission to the au
thorities. Texas prisons, however, are, it seems, places in
which one has no leisure for continuous prayer, but much
time for heavy manual labor ; therefore my suggestion was
not well received. Finally, the morning before our arrival
at San Quintin, the wayward Ben petulantly disclosed his
cowardice, declaring himself averse to facing the prospec
tive dangers of the middle portion of the Peninsula and ad
vising me to give up the idea of proceeding into such an arid
'region. To this I made bitter reply, stating that I intended
to proceed, even though I had to travel alone, and as for
him, if he planned to desert, he had best do so at the first

WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 59
town, for if he endeavored to leave me in the wilderness
farther south, I would shoot him down like a dog.
Under such a happy condition of affairs, enhanced by the
dampness of a driving rain storm, I made my entry into San
Quintin. Almost immediately, however, matters became
more cheerful, for a courteous and well informed Mexican,
Sr. Gabriel Victoria, greeted me kindly and made me ac
quainted with the Englishman, Seiior Dick. The balance
of his name is immaterial. The "remittance man" of my
Alamo burro show had first mentioned him to me. Some
time a first mate in the English merchant marine and since
the early '8o's engaged continuously in Peninsular mining
enterprises, no more romantic figure is to be found in Lower
California than this sturdy, blonde, good-looking English
man, Sefior Dick. The more material part of his qualifi
cations is, that you cannot find a better traveling companion
for El Camino Real than he, or one more widely informed.
On the evening of my arrival at San Quintin, "Charlie,"
an extremely wise and enthusiastic Chinaman whose ac
quaintance I had just made, came to my tent with word that
I was wanted in the hotel dining-room. On entering the
room, five minutes later, I found that it was deserted save
for two lone men who were seated at either end of a long
table. One was Senor Dick, the other I recognized as the
native mail carrier of the district. As the substantial distance
between the two men was bridged by an alarming array of
bottles, I accepted Seiior Dick's invitation to be seated, with
a mental thanksgiving for an extensive capacity that comes
through a strain of Dutch blood. No sooner was I in my
allotted place than the prompt opening of bottles assured
me of the accuracy of what I already surmised : I was in for
a serious and not-to-be-slighted ordeal, a frontier drinking-
bout. And here let me parenthesize that San Quentin is
pronounced San Canteen, a pronunciation which no visitor

60 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
is apt to forget, for assuredly the canteen is patron saint of
this flea-bitten pueblo. As assistance in securing a new
muleteer might depend on the manner in which I passed the
drinking test, I committed myself to it with due deliberation.
Fortunately, by taking port in place of the more fiery mes
cal chosen by my companions and by devoting considerable
time to the consumption of crackers and apples, I was en
abled to hold my own, acquitting myself to the evident satis
faction of my examiners.
Early in the game Charlie dropped in, inquiring whether
I was acquainted with two of my compatriots who had
passed through some months before. "Him catchee klyote,"
he exclaimed, disdainfully, "no good carne. Him catchee
lats and mice, belly good, muy bueno," he added, musingly,
at the same time indicating, with thumb and forefinger, the
way in which he transferred similar choice morsels into his
mouth. Subsequently I ascertained that the Americans had
been engaged in securing specimens for the National Mu
seum at Washington. The festive Oriental, however, had
come to his own conclusions. Presently, inspired by the
clinking glasses and the mellow light of dim lamp and
flickering candle, Seiior Dick and the Mexican grew remin
iscent, recounting, in turn, a succession of weirdly fascinat
ing tales of mines and lost prospectors, of buried treasure
and haunted ruins, of game and poisonous serpents, of the
camino and of thirst. Finally, when the bottles were nearly
empty, the jovial Chino showed that he had sportive as well
as epicurean tastes, for he gravely produced from within
the liberal folds of his blouse a ragged pack of cards and
innocently suggested a "little gama poka." This risk — the
mail carrier averred that Charlie always had "full houses"
— I avoided by coolly suggesting, as a substitute, that each
man turn a card, "low" man to win, our watches the stakes
and only to be produced after the "show down." But to

WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 6 1
this game Charlie objected as naively as he had urged
"poka." The reason for his reluctance and my indiffer
ence was explained later when, being curious concerning the
hour, we drew out our timepieces : his was a valuable gold
repeater; mine had cost a dollar and was already out of
order. Astounded by the oblique position of the hour hand, we
hunted our blankets, upturned glasses, drained bottles,
empty lamp and guttered candle silently attesting the end
of the "conference." And yet such were its auspicious re
sults that before morning was far advanced Sefior Dick and
I were in the saddle, with pack animals swinging along be
fore us. A capable well-mannered Mexican boy, duly in
dentured to me for three months, had taken my parson's
place as muleteer, San Quintin was miles behind us, and my
worries were forgotten. I had paid off Ben before leaving
the village; so thenceforth there was prospect of my slum
bers being undisturbed. The little I know concerning the
unfortunate fellow's subsequent movements was related to
me months later. Retracing his steps northward he had
stopped by the wayside, evidendy to enjoy the hospitality
of a party of miners, when one of the latter suddenly de
manded my whereabouts. Being somewhat slow in his re
sponse, the dazed Ben found himself unexpectedly face to
face with that inflexible, though unwritten, law of the fron
tier, which declares that where two men enter the wilder
ness together and one returns, alone, that one must account
satisfactorily for the absence of his fellow or suffer the con
sequences. That evening the unfortunate fellow slipped
out of camp; he appeared later in Ensenada, but I never
saw him again.
And now what a different and interesting companion I
had! For three days our course trended southward, and
except at Rosario, not a man crossed our trail. The sierras

62 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
blocked the eastern horizon, the booming Pacific was down
at our right and all about us were cacti, cacti and more cacti.
"Seiior Dick, where are the Indians?" I inquired as we
rode along. "In the States, Lower California and Indians
are practically synonymous."
The Sefior shifted his stubby pipe and answered shortly,
"In the States and in the Old Country, people don't know
anything about Lower California." Presently, however,
he considered the Indian proposition. "They are dead,
stone dead, the whole blooming outfit — except a few strays.
Down along the Colorado and the Hardy there's said to be
a fair handful of Cocupas. I take it that you've made the
acquaintance of the Catarina Yumas and Pi-pis, and, by and
bye, over there on San Pedro Martir, you'll find the Kali-
was. But the southern tribes, the thousands of Pericues,
Guiacuras and Cochimis — you'll have a hard time finding
even a trace of them." I urged my mule forward. It is
strangely difficult to catch the words of a man riding ahead
of one.
"Weren't they hardy?" I asked.
"Rather." Then his blue eyes twinkled and he con
tinued, "Did you ever hear of the Indian who ran from
Santa Rosalia to San Francisco?"
"No, tell me," I urged.
"It is a true yarn," began my companion, and with this
introduction narrated the following tale: A few years ago
there lived on the Peninsula an ancient hunter, an Indian by
the name of Juan. He was a great wanderer, spending
part of his time at Loreto, part at Santa Rosalia and the
balance in the "waist" of the Peninsula. On one of his peri
odic visits to Santa Rosalia, he found a snorting, clanging
iron affair, running on metallic rails reaching from the Provi
dencia Copper Mines to the milling plant at Santa Rosalia.
The Rothschilds and other big French capitalists, having

WHEREIN I LOSE MY PARSON 63
purchased the mines, had built a short railroad to connect
them with Santa Rosalia, half a league distant, but this ex
planation was not vouchsafed to Juan nor would it have
conveyed aught to him. However, for years he had watched
with silent interest the steamers plying up and down the
Gulf of California, or the Mar de Cortez as he called it,
and upon being informed that the new creature was related
to the "Vapors" he quietly slipped into the frame station
at Providencia and asked for a ride. This request curtly
refused, Juan forthwith fell into a bitter passion of anger
from which he was aroused to action by the sneering whistle
of the departing engine. Casting one disdainful glance
over station, employees, engine and track, the lithe Indian
swung away at full speed down the Camino and shortly
loped into Santa Rosalia, somewhat in advance of the
screaming engine.
Emboldened by this success, a month later Juan entered
the steamship office at Santa Rosalia and begged for passage
to San Francisco. A second time he met with a refusal.
Again angered, the old hunter sought out his English and
American friends and they, in a spirit of mischief, promptly
backed him to vanquish the steamer Curacao in its forth
coming run to San Francisco, a six hundred league trip for
the steamer, four hundred leagues for the pedestrian. With
a final shriek of escaping steam, the Curacao nosed out
of the harbor. With a twist of his breech-cloth Juan took
to the cactus. Two weeks later the steamer entered the
slip at San Francisco and there sat old Juan on a barnacled
pile, calmly smoking a cigarette. He wore a trifle more
clothes than on leaving Santa Rosalia and was a shade thin
ner, but otherwise the same old Indian. "Vds. muy tarde"
he solemnly remarked to the Captain, between cigarette
whiffs, the which, freely translated, means "You fellows are
mighty slow."

64 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
"Whether or not Juan's backers wired their friends in
San Diego to help the Indian's legs with a passage on the
Northern Express from that city to San Francisco," added
Seiior Dick, with a broad grin, "is no part of the story. I
merely offer it as seasoning. The point is, that Juan made
good and his backers gathered in their wagers."
"It's a mighty fine story," said I, rather emphasizing the
last word, "but how did Juan carry his commissary while on
the camino?"
The Sefior disregarded this query, apparently, his eyes
the meantime resting abstractedly on our mozos, now well
in the lead with the pack animals. Presently, however, he
broke the silence. "What is your Mexican boy doing there,
off the camino?" he asked. I looked up and observed that
the boy seemed to be enjoying himself greatly. "Why, he
is extracting something edible from the flower of the aloe
or maguay."
"Exactly! And that something is a dew as sweet as
honey — and nourishing. Do you know what that green
club is, which my mozo has so carefully bound back of his
saddle?" I shook my head.
"Well, to-night you will see him roast that in the coals
and enjoy it as much as you would a sweet potato. It is the
young stalk of the flowering maguay. And within that viz-
naga there, you may find a juice sufficient to lessen thirst."
Thus, as we traveled on I learned from the kindly Eng
lishman the natural lore of the country, knowledge which
in time was to save my life. About the fifth day out we
approached the old Mission of San Fernando. Here our
ways were to part, and here he advised me to look out for
a high cliff marked with prehistoric hieroglyphs.

CHAPTER VI
THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS AND SOUTHERN INDIANS.*
IN the opening pages of his scholarly work on California,
Padre Francisco Javier Clavijero, the eighteenth cen
tury Jesuit chronicler, dealt extensively with the native
races of the southern portion of the Peninsula, and in his
paragraphs concerning prehistoric peoples offered material
calculated to excite the curiosity of any traveler in Lower
California. Indeed, according to Clavijero these first set
tlers were of heroic size and given to hieroglyphic writing,
In line with his statements is the following, which is said
to have been written in 1790:
" 'Throughout civilized California, from south to north,
and especially in the caves and smooth rocks, there remain
various rude paintings, . . . The colors are of four kinds
— yellow, green, black and a reddish color. The greater
part of them are painted in high places, and from this it is
inferred by some that the old tradition is true, that there
were giants among the ancient Californians. . . . One in
scription resembles Gothic letters interspersed with Hebrew
and Chaldean characters. ... It is evident that the paint
ings and drawings of the Californians are significant sym
bols and landmarks by which they intended to leave to pos
terity the memory of their establishment in this country.
. . . These pictures are not like those of Mexico but
might have the same purpose.' "
Bancroft, in his "Native Races," discusses the paragraph
last cited, locating the writings on a cliff near the old Jesuit
* Republished, in part, from The American Anthropologist, for April-
June, 1908. 65

66 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Misson of Santiago, some leagues below La Paz, and con
cludes with this statement, "The only accounts of antiquities
(on the Peninsula) relate to cave and cliff paintings and in
scriptions which have never been copied and concerning
which, consequently, not much can be said."
These various passages concerning the prehistoric Cali
fornians had whetted my curiosity even before I entered
Mexico and quite naturally, therefore, throughout my ex
plorations, and especially in the cliff regions, I kept a sharp
lookout for any evidence of the handiwork of these forgot
ten people. To my great delight I was fortunate to dis
cover three new groups of cliff writings*which I will here
present in succinct order.
I. The Arroyo Grande Petroglyphs.
In January, while hunting big-horn, I made camp in the
Arroyo Grande. This Grand Canyon is an awe-inspiring
chasm through which a dry river-bed takes its course, head
ing in the sierras southeast of Alamo and finally debouching
into the desert immediately southwest of the mouth of the
Colorado River. The product of volcanic action, the en
tire region is dry and barren. Dull red cliffs, honey-combed
with caves, rise sheer above the white sand of the arroyo
bed to dizzy heights where condor and big-horn make their
homes. There are no known springs of water in the vicin
ity, but in one of the many deep and rocky gorges which
intersect the Arroyo Grande from the northwest there are
eight or nine tinajas, or natural cisterns, where rain water —
when there is rain — collects. The petroglyphs are pecked
shallowly into the face of a dark granite boulder set above
the largest of the tinajas. In the lower right hand corner
of the cliff there appears a figure which may have been in
tended to represent a human being. Aside from this it
would seem as though the writer intended to make an in-

Petroglyphs

(a) Stone glass (San Pedro M&rtir Sierra).
(b) Pine trees (San Pedro Mdrtir Sierra).

(c) Arroyo Grande Petroglyphs.
(d) San Fernando Petroglyphs.

THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 67
scription rather than to delineate any figures. The design
that at once catches the eye, however, is the rain sign of the
Mokis, the cloud from which drops are falling. Two other
characters of interest are the M and the $ which stand out
from the center of the group. Here, moreover, as in the
San Fernando group which I will presently describe, are
designs so far resembling the Phoenecian characters repre
sentative of Bh and N as to explain the eighteenth century
chronicler's classification of the California petroglyphs as
( writings of the Chaldeans and other ancient peoples.
These Arroyo Grande petroglyphs, though barely ex
ceeding in any instance a height of eighteen inches, stand
out plain and distinct.
For untold generations the Arroyo Grande was an Indian
highway to the desert and the Colorado River, and from
its mouth, traversing the lava formation of the eastern por
tion of the desert, scar-like trails are still visible, although
cacti, which require, the Indians say, two centuries for ma
turing, long ago overgrew these forgotten caminos and
stretched their dead bodies athwart them. Until late in
the last century the Arroyo Grande was a hiding-place for
outlaws, the tinajas being unknown to the Mexican authori
ties. Even now they are visited but infrequently.
2. The San Pedro Martir Petroglyphs.
As the crow flies, the distance from these Arroyo Grande
tinajas to the base of San Pedro Martir Sierra, is not over
twelve leagues, but to the being not blessed with wings, the
rugged sierras about the Arroyo Grande and the sweltering
sands of the San Felipe Desert make the distance seem inter
minable. This desert has a gruesome reputation, for
though but few people have entered upon its stretches, of
those few, several have not returned. Mexicans and In
dians, alike, speak of it with a shudder and there is no rec-

68 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
ord of any man having explored all of its recesses and
bounds. Out upon this dreary waste open the forbidding
mouths of San Mattias, Esperancia, Copal and Diablo,
grim arroyos slashed deep into the vitals of San Pedro
Martir Sierra. Before these openings worn boulders and
scarred logs, borne down from the heights above by wild
storm torrents, lie half buried in the sand, most inviting
eminences for lion and coyote when hunger and the restless
ness of night call them from their lairs. Even the Kaliwas,
the Indians of the great Sierra, know little of these re
treats: there is sufficient heat upon the desert, where some
air stirs, they say, with a shrug of dark shoulders ; why ap
proach the mountainside, where there is no breeze from the
Gulf, and enter a heat infernal, challenging death itself?
These arroyos open out from the northern side of the
sierra. In one of them, a short distance from its mouth
and to the west, there are three successive sets of petro
glyphs, all of them facing the east. The Indians are un
aware of their existence. I saw them, however, in August,
1906. The first set is on a boulder not over fifty paces from the
bed of the arroyo. The design of this petroglyph is that
of a conventional human heart enclosing characters. The
other sets are near one another and about one hundred
paces up-stream from the first. They appear on bold
granite cliffs, high above the bed of the arroyo. One of
these last named sets represents several persons approach
ing two pine trees. As the only pines in the neighborhood
are on the crest of the sierra in the direction taken by the
figures, this petroglyph may be taken as a guide post of the
ancient people.
Clavijero, in recounting the San Joaquin discovery, men
tions that in one of the caves paintings were found repre
senting "men and women with garments similar to those of

THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 69
the Mexicans, but they were entirely barefoot. The men
had their arms open and somewhat elevated, and one of the
women had her hair hanging loose down her back and a
tuft of feathers on her head." Oddly enough, the figures
of this group are not those of nude Indians of the Penin
sula, but of people "with garments."
On a cliff, just above the pine-tree cliff, there are two
figures either of persons with broad head-coverings or of a
quadruped with human head and shoulders. Beyond this
set there is a panel of figures on a broad and wide cliff and,
at the farther side thereof, a sharp design much like an
hour-glass. All of these last three sets of petroglyphs are
over four feet in height, cut in outline on the granite rock
and the peckings smeared over with an unfading yellowish
paint. Distance plays strange pranks with them, for at
first glance they seem plain and accessible, but after one has
worked his way upward to a certain proximity their inac
cessibility becomes disappointingly apparent. Indeed, the
people who marked these cliffs either had an abundance of
rope ladders at their disposal or else lower buttresses of
the crag have crumbled away.
5. The San Fernando Petroglyphs.
It was in February, that as related in the preceding chap
ter, Seiior Dick and I arrived at the ruins of the Franciscan
Mission of San Fernando, founded by Junipero Serra in
May, 1769, immediately prior to his departure for Upper
California and his notable career in that favored region.
San Fernando lies on the thirtieth parallel of north latitude.
A short half-mile northwest of the mission ruins there are
several high cliffs facing the east and on these I found the
petroglyphs of which the sefior had advised me. Accord
ing to the native legend these jeroglyficos were made by a
race of great stature who inhabited the country long before

70 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the coming of the Indians. The design or character, which
appears by itself at the right hand of the group and resem
bles a Roman numeral, is identical with one of the characters
in the Santiago group, which was located in the eighteenth
century. At the very top of the cliff I deciphered certain
letters, perhaps intended either for the Spanish Cruz, or the
Latin Crux, a cross : anyway, it is said that these were add'
ed by the padres to destroy the spell of evil inherent in the
jeroglyficos below!
4. Other Evidence of the Petroglyph Makers.
In addition to these various cliff writings, there are other
signs in Lower California which bear testimony of the so
journ of this prehistoric race. Thus, a hundred miles and
more south of San Fernando, there rises a barren range of
lofty sierras, and while exploring certain of its higher ridges
a prospector recently found remnants of an ancient road cut
in the rock. Before he had followed the road any great
distance the prospector's canteen failed him, so that he was
compelled to retreat without having ascertained the objec
tive of the camino. It would be interesting to explore this
range — and with relays of Indians to pack water, explora
tion would be possible — for its course might disclose fur
ther traces of the Petroglyph Makers.
A hundred miles southwest of these sierras lies the little
mining pueblo of Calmalli. But a few leagues to the west
of the pueblo may be heard the booming breakers of the
Pacific. On the cliffs of an arroyo down near the ocean
appears the work of some bygone Petroglyph Maker who
certainly possessed marvelous skill, for the human figures
and designs which he here drew were extremely well exe
cuted and enduringly decorated with coloring matter.
Southeast of Calmalli and just off the twenty-seventh par
allel of north latitude lies San Joaquin, a rancho where,

THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 71
according to Clavijero, one Padre Robea, a Jesuit priest,
found gigantic remains and a cave with "painted figures of
men and women, decently clad." Near San Joaquin is the
old mission town of San Ignacio, the junction of numerous
caminos dating back to the days of the padres. Some of
these highways are said to antedate the Spanish conquest
and to be relics of the skill of the Petroglyph Makers. Cer
tainly, a combination of many laborers with a remarkable
knowledge of the art of road-building must have been essen
tial for their construction.
To sum up: Of a character differing in many respects
from those in the United States and on the mainland of
Mexico, the cliff writings in Lower California form a chain
extending down the Peninsula; furthermore, there is evi
dence in the sierras which indicates the existence of roads
antedating the earliest Spanish settlements in the country.
In connection with the Petroglyph Makers, it is quite
worth while gathering together such data as there is con
cerning the people who immediately succeeded them, the
Indians of the southern portion of the California Peninsula.
A crisp, modern description of these natives might, with
slight exaggeration, be phrased in a brief sentence, viz.:
There aren't any. However, their passing is of such re
cent date that an accurate knowledge of them has been
preserved by book and by tradition even though they made
no petroglyphs and left no monuments. When the first
Europeans landed on the Peninsula in 1533, they found,
near the present site of La Paz, a wideawake party of In
dians who not only impolitely objected to being robbed by
the punctilious Spaniards, but even ruthlessly proceeded to
kill Ximenes, a pilot from one of the ships of Cortez. In
this, the natives showed a fine though unconscious sense of
justice, for Ximenes had, a short time before, mutinied and
killed Becerra, his captain. During the period of slightly

72 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
more than a century and half succeeding this episode, vari
ous Conquistadores and buccaneers visited the southern por
tion of the Peninsula and reported it as thickly peopled with
Indians, brave in combat, skillful in diving, unaccustomed to
the wearing of clothing, habitually possessing an abnormal
hunger and always delighted by the receipt of any sweet
meat. Then the seventeenth century came to a close and the
Society of Jesus, through its missionaries, undertook the
development of California and the Christianization of the
"Gentiles" or Indians. These Padres found two principal
native tribes inhabiting the southern portion of the Penin
sula: the Pericues, reaching from Cape San Lucas to the
Mission of Santiago and some leagues beyond, and the
Guiacu»as, disputing the northern territory of the Pericues
and extending northward to Loreto, the early Mission capi
tal of the Californias. The Cochimis, occupying the region
from Loreto to the high mountains at the northern end of
Lower California, occasionally reached over into the south
ern grounds. In the aggregate these three tribes numbered
twenty thousand members. Each of the three main tribal
divisions was broken into many lesser tribes, with individual
dialects and varied idioms. Although they were a healthy
people at the time of the coming of the Padres, the Indians
did not remain so long, for measles, smallpox and the loath
some diseases of tainted civilization, introduced among them
by the garrisons, spread with frightful virulence. In sev-
*enty years the southern Indians were reduced to a scant five
thousand. By 1794 it is recorded that there were no In
dians surviving about some of the southern missions, and
thirty years later report says that not a single pure Indian
was to be found below Loreto. Those who escaped disease,
however, lived to extreme old age. So indeed, do the
Mexicans upon the Peninsula to-day, and one may meet

The aged Cochimi of Santa Gertrudis

THE PETROGLYPH MAKERS 73
even yet centenarians at Loreto and learn from them con
cerning the closing days of the Spanish sway when the sol
diers branded with a red-hot iron each new herd of Indians
brought into the Presidio !
The Pericues and Guiacuras are now practically extinct.
It is not surprising. Of the thousands of Cochimis, per
haps a hundred still survive about the missions of San
Xavier, Santa Gertrudis and San Borja. Those at San
Xavier, however, I am inclined to believe should be classed
as Guiacuras. The Cochimis are a good-natured, easy
going people, far more formally religious and far more fond
of hunting than the neighboring Mexicans; they are more
reliable workers than their neighbors, but they dress just
as raggedly. A few years more and they will have disap
peared entirely. A family of this tribe watch over San
Borja Mission, down in the "waist" of the Peninsula. Rita,
the head of the family, faithfully rang the mission bells the
Sunday I spent at San Borja.
When I was at Santa Gertrudis, I slept by the mission
and was awakened early in the morning by an ancient Co
chimi who was croning over her beads before the mission
altar. Later, as she sat on the steps, enjoying a cigarette
and sunning her frail body, she told me that she was over a
hundred years old. Had she said one hundred and fifty I
should not have been skeptical, for she seemed well along
in the mummy class. Crouched on the worn stone steps,
she seemed the very epitome of the mission system, a poor,
faithful old dame, the sole worshiper in the wilderness,
dreaming of the last Padres, for whose return a half cen
tury of prayers had been vain, and peopling, doubtless, the
deserted plaza with the figures of those now resting in the
neglected graves hard by.

CHAPTER VII
SOME FINAL MISSIONARY LABORS AND THE SIERRA CAMINO
REAL.
FOR three days Senor Dick and I rested at San Fer
nando, waiting for a cessation of the downpour
which met us there. San Fernando is conducive to
waiting. Moreover, from both a geographical and an
historical standpoint, it is a spot for consideration. But to
appreciate San Fernando or any portion of the California
Peninsula, for that matter, an insight, at least, into the mis
sion history of the land is essential. Lacking such knowl
edge every step of Peninsula travel is deprived of the wealth
of color with which it is illumined in the rich traditional
and recorded history of the land. In the State of Cali
fornia the old missions are of romantic interest as land
marks of an earlier day. Yet so vast is the area over which
they are scattered and so marvelous has been the growth
of the country since their construction that a traveler might
pass the length of the State without seeing so much as a
single mission. In the Mexican Peninsula of Baja Cali
fornia, on the other hand, so completely were the garden
spots searched out and preempted by the zealous mission
builders that the chain of missions eventually included the
vital watering places of the country. Reaching north,
south and west from Loreto, the Mother Mission, and
weaving in and out among the various missions, were three
great highways, the Gulfo, the Sierra, and the Pacifico,
75

7 6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Caminos Reales. So closely did these caminos follow the
most feasible lines of travel and so slight has been the
material development of the territory since the days of the
padres that even now, in the twentieth century, the ancient
mission chain is not an incident but the most prominent and
essential feature of Peninsula travel.
It was in the closing years of the seventeenth century,
over a hundred and sixty years subsequent to the time that
Cortez first set foot in the land, that the Jesuits began their
monumental series of mission construction in California.
Later, after the Society of Jesus had dominated for seventy
years, came the San Fernandines, adding, during their brief
stay, one mission to the twenty-five erected by their prede
cessors. The Dominicans quickly superseded the San Fer
nandines and, with nine missions to their credit, concluded
the chain begun by the Society of Jesus. Thus, although
the missions seen in the State of California were constructed
by the San Fernandines, alone, the more numerous missions
in Baja California represent the labor of three Brother
hoods. Furthermore, mission building in Baja California
was practically completed ere it began in what is now the
State of California.
A glimpse into early chronicles shows the Mission of
San Fernando in the light of an historic link between the
two Californias. In the spring of the year 1769, the
worthy Padre Junipero Serra, head of the Franciscan
Friars, then new arrivals in California, accompanied by
Captain Gaspar de Portola, Governor of the Peninsula,
and guarded by a strong body of soldiers and In
dians, made camp at a spot twenty leagues northwest of
Santa Maria, the last mission of the Jesuits. Here, in a
fertile, well-watered valley, surrounded by mountains rich
in copper and iron ore, many Indians lived and an advance
guard of the new Brotherhood had already erected a few

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 77
adobes. To good Padre Serra and the gallant captain the
site seemed favorable for a mission and therefore they
halted, laying, one morning in May, 1769, the foundations
of the Mission of San Fernando de Velicata. But the name
of Junipero Serra was to become historic in another Cali
fornia. After a few days in this pleasant spot the Padre,
with Portola, and a portion of the escort, hurried forward
and in July, ninety-six days out from Loreto, he founded a
mission at San Diego and thereby began his illustrious
career in Alta California, for the San Diego foundation
was the first of the many missions erected in Upper Cali
fornia. San Fernando de Velicata, in latitude 30 degrees north,
longitude 115 degrees 5 minutes west, and lying thirty
leagues southwesterly from the Mexican port of San Quin
tin on the Pacific coast, was the only mission of the Fran
ciscan Brotherhood in Lower California. For in the year
J773. pursuant to a compact entered into with the Domini
can Brotherhood, the San Fernandines left the Peninsula
and moved northward into Upper California. At the close
of the eighteenth century the mission produced abundant
crops, including a small amount of cotton, and the flocks of
sheep and cattle increased largely. In 1770 there were
five hundred and thirty converts registered at San Fernando ;
sixty years later there were but nineteen souls all told; in
1849, "^e only inhabitants" were "three old Indians," and
by 1867 the mission was "in ruins and deserted."
So much for the recorded history of the Last Mission of
the Franciscan Brotherhood in Lower California. To
day, approaching from the southwest, the traveler comes
to a great, thick stone wall and passing through a break he
notices to his left an ancient stone-lined irrigating ditch.
Almost immediately thereafter, the arroyo, down which
the trail leads, opens into a wide valley containing several

78 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
hundred acres of land running east and west. At the far
ther, or eastern end, rise the ruins of the old mission, guard
ed, seemingly, by a dozen adobe residences. The trail
leads toward the mission across the old fields of the padres,
now overgrown with willows, save, only, for a few acres
planted with corn. The line of the irrigating ditch is plain,
as one rides on, and finally terminates in a deep, square cis
tern where the padres utilized the native stone and cement.
The tradition is, that Padre Serra, before he rode north
ward, gave instructions concerning the "blasting" of rock
by heating it with fire and then cracking the heated substance
with a dash of cold water and that thus aqueduct and cis
tern were made possible.
The mission is now entirely in ruins, a mere fraction of
the walls remaining upright. The iglesia was approxi
mately thirty paces by ten, surface measurement, with a
small ell to the east in which there are several old graves.
To the west there were other adobe structures and a patio
approximately seventy-five paces by thirty, surface area.
The iglesia faced the southwest. At this time it is extreme
ly difficult to trace even the outlines. To obtain a level
space for the buildings an excavation was evidently made
into the hill. The structures of San Fernando were of
adobe and, in default of vestiges of broken tiling, I should
say that the roofing was of thatch.
About eight families, all, Mexican and Indian alike, seem
ingly in poor circumstances, live about the ruins in adobe
dwellings. One small Mexican family merits notice for
uniformity of fine features. The young husband is hand
some, the baby pretty, the seventeen-year-old Senora an un
conscious beauty. In her delicately chiseled features the
student of heredity would trace ancestry of high degree.
Ignorant of the great outer world, however, this queenly

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 79
child cares for her home, content with an improvident hus
band, her dimpling baby and a tiny flower garden.
With the breaking of the rainstorm, I bade Seiior Dick
"adios" and at the head of my caravan and with Timoteo
and Jesus (pronounced Hey-soiis), my native mozos, duti
fully bringing up the rear, I rode slowly out from the pre
cincts of San Fernando. It was late in the afternoon of the
13th of February, 1906, though to dates I gave small heed.
Had I not been spendthrift of time and eager for adven
ture I should have turned to the southwest with Sefior Dick
and ridden along the road bearing around via Catarina
(not to be confounded with the mission of that name) . As
it was, I headed eastward having determined to trace out
the old Sierra Camino Real and enjoy that freedom which
only exists where there are no settlements and where a man
must rely entirely upon himself in whatever adventures may
befall him, a freedom which abounds in that narrow, rugged
and almost unknown section of Baja California — the
"waist" of the California Peninsula. Let him who would
plunge into that delightfully mysterious region be slow in
leaving San Fernando, however, unless he be well supplied
with provisions, ammunition and fire-arms, with generous-
sized canteens and with mules — or, still better, with stal
wart, long-hoofed burros. And let him never take the
plunge, if he be unfortunately lacking a bump of locality
and an appreciation of the wildest haunts of Dame Nature.
On St. Valentine's Day, we crossed the Plains of Buenos
Ayres, south of the mountain peaks of Matomi and San
Juan de Dios, which were first visited by Padre Link, in the
year 1760. They are almost as near the end of the world
now as they were then. Some adventurous British hunter,
having exhausted the fields of India and Africa and being
desirous of new wilds, occasionally turns to these sierras
for lion and mountain sheep; otherwise, they are rarely dis-

80 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
turbed by foreigners. On the Plains of Buenos Ayres, we
came to the pozo (well) of San Augustine, near which we
found a deserted cabin and several splendid slabs of most
beautiful onyx, which had evidently been brought from the
onyx quarries a few leagues distant, quarries not worked
at present.
At San Augustine we left the camino leading to the quarry
and turned southward, traveling for some distance with no
trail at all. Then we found traces of the old Sierra Camino
Real. It was a strange country through which we passed,
no vegetation save cacti, a wilderness of stones and on all
sides sierras and buttes, resting against the sky with flat,
leveled surfaces, mere truncated cones, their peaks snapped
off by volcanic explosions of some by-gone age. Eventually
we arrived at an arroyo in which a few tall, slender palms
raised high their tufted heads. We made camp here, be
ing no more than a furlong from a large pool of fresh water
known as Agua Dulce (Sweet Water), and noted by the
old chroniclers as a welcome spring beside which Fr. Juni
pero Serro and Gaspar de Portola with their little retinue
made camp in May, 1769, while en route to Upper Cali
fornia. Night was already upon us and while Timoteo
and Jesus drove the stock down the arroyo for better food,
I began building a fire.
Suddenly, a voice from the darkness called out: "Buenas
tar des, Senor" (Good afternoon, sir). Turning about,
startled, my hand on my revolver, I saw looming out of the
obscurity, a young Mexican, with red serapa, white som
brero, tattered trousers and worn guaraches. He was de
cidedly handsome, but thin and distressingly bright-eyed.
He asked if he might buy some flour. At this stage of the
conversation, my men appeared on the scene and it shortly
developed that the young Mexican, in company with his
girl-wife and his father and mother had made camp at

The author and his party leaving the ruins of Junipero
Serra's Mission of San Fernando de Velicata

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 8 1
Agua Dulce, where they had just arrived after four days'
wandering in the sierras with nothing to eat except the pulp
of the viznaga cactus. He soon disappeared with provi«
sions, prayerfully exclaiming that we had saved four lives.
Later on his parents appeared. Both of them were in a
pitiable condition and both seemed to be above the peon
class. With pathetically listless voices, the old couple told
their story. They had lived on the mainland, it seemed,
where, for years, the father had been a school teacher.
Their only son having eloped with a girl, the old people
accompanied the runaway couple across the Mar de Cortez
and thence up the Peninsula. In the course of their wan
derings, the mother had been taken ill, in fact she looked so
hollow-eyed that I doubt whether the poor creature sur
vived many more trials. Finally, while lost in the bewil
dering sierras, they had been overtaken by a fierce rainstorm
and their provisions had given out. After one look at the
snub-nosed girl in the case, the cause of their disasters, I
pitied the old couple, anew, and thought the young fellow a
fool. The following day as we passed Agua Dulce, I saw
the wanderers camping in company with a party of Indians
who had dropped upon the scene from I know not where.
They were so picturesque a group that I longed to train my
camera upon them, but I had not the heart to offend such
half-starved people by attempting to record their forlorn
condition. From Agua Dulce we continued onward through a wild
country. At times there would be no trail at all. Fre
quently the boulders would be piled high on the mesa in
strange designs. Although I occasionally saw heads and
skeletons of mountain sheep along the way, we fell in with
no human beings and observed no. signs of their recent pres
ence. We had our difficulties. First I suffered from diz
ziness and nausea; shortly thereafter, Coronado, my bell

82 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
burro, lurched against a cholla and had to be thrown and
"hog-tied" before the thorns could be extracted; then Jesus,
in riding up a steep incline, struck his jaw against a sharp
cliff, laying open his lips and drenching his face with blood.
Timoteo, however, came scathless through all. Finally,
we saw the waters of the Gulf, the famed Mar de Cortez,
glistening down below us, and swinging away to the right,
we came upon the brink of an immense rocky gorge.
Into this gorge we descended the following morning.
Years ago the trail had been washed open and torn away
and, according to Timoteo, even before that happening, this
portion of the Sierra Camino Real had been neglected and
out of use, travelers taking a less rocky course over near
the Pacific coast. Down went the burros, however, jump
ing from rock to rock like so many goats, for it is in accord
ance with his deserts that throughout the "waist" of the
Peninsula the burro is termed the King of the Camino.
Sliding, swaying, poising for a spring, jumping to the ac
companiment of rolling stones and vivid Mexican ^exclama
tions, down they went, pack and saddle animals, bringing up
with a sudden lurch at a spot where the gorge makes a bend
and where nature has gently waved her wand of beauty.
In nearly parallel lines the mountain sides rise upward,
seemingly a scarce fifty feet apart, their white boulders re
flecting in the large clear pools of a meandering stream.
Tall sedge grass covered the floor of the gorge and en
croached upon the course of the stream, while the profusion
of lofty fan-palms was such that we found ourselves, unex
pectedly, in an enchanting tropical forest. High above were
the fluttering green boughs of the palms, high and higher
yet the boundless granite sides of the gorge. A half mile
of this grassy course brought us into a broader arroyo,
dotted with palms. After following this arroyo for a mile,
the ancient Camino turned sharply to the right and, passing

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 83
between white boulders, we arrived unexpectedly before
two roofless adobes, the ruins of the ancient Jesuit Mission
of Santa Maria. The great palm ridge-pole of one of the
buildings was still in place, the palms growing beyond show
ing between the earthen walls and the pole. Roofs, doors
and windows were missing. Otherwise the iglesia, or
church, and parochial house have fared well at the hand of
Time and man. A yard from the level of the ground and
exactly in line with and beneath the ridge-pole of the paro
chial house, I noted a slight excavation.
There are not more than two acres of level ground about
the mission, even including that upon which the buildings
stand, and they require scant space. The patio, so usual in
Baja California, seems here to have been omitted, though
the two buildings were so erected as to obtain the wonted
ell. The main building faces east and its ground measure
ment is thirty paces by ten. A pace distant from its north
west corner stands the other adobe, occupying a space four
teen paces by seven. The walls of the two buildings are
composed of adobe with much straw and many shells and
stones intermingled. Though the rains have beaten against
these ruined walls and heaped much fine sand at their base,
they still measure nigh a yard in thickness and seem to have
been between seven and eight feet in height at the eaves.
From ground to ridge-pole the main building, certainly an
iglesia from the ruins of an altar at the western end, must
have been over twenty feet in height. Three doorways
pierced the walls, one at the east, one at the north and one
by the altar, and in the south wall there were three windows,
the apertures for which now measure thirty-six by thirty-
three inches. In front of this building, the ground is level
with the earthen floor within, the natural slope having been
overcome by an artificial stone foundation. This bench
merely extends a few paces out from the doorway. On

84 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
looking through the windows in the ruined walls the visitor
sees near by a wealth of date and fan palms, a spring and a
ruined aqueduct.
The lesser building was evidently used as quarters for the
padre. It contains two small rooms, narrow quarters for
men of such rank in life as the brilliant Jesuits who came to
California. In the bottom of the excavation made at the
west end of this adobe, there are two hollows which, judg
ing from their form, may long have been the resting place
of two bowls or rounded jars.
Unquestionably this excavation was opened within recent
years, and concerning it I had already heard this story: In
1893, an American, from San Francisco, visited Santa
Maria. Upon his arrival he went directly to the west end
of the parochial house, noting, with undisguised satisfaction,
that it stood intact. Then he examined a writing while his
Mexican guide, in obedience to instructions, ascended to the
ridge-pole and dropped a plummet to the ground after
which the American made a mark under the line of the
plummet cord against the west wall, a measured yard from
the level of the ground. The ensuing morning, without
prospecting or even looking for game, the American an
nounced his intention of returning immediately to Alta Cali
fornia. In the midst of preparations incidental to break
ing camp the Mexican managed to examine, secretly, the
adobe wall. Where the mark had been made there gaped
the excavation which any traveller may now see — only then
rust was in the hollows.
What had been stored therein? Consider the history
and traditions of Santa Maria, then hazard a guess.
The tradition is — and even the mines on the California Pe
ninsula have been found through tradition — that a charita
ble woman of high degree lay on her death bed in her splen
did mansion in crowded Europe. Family and servants,

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 85
padre and chirurgeon stood anxiously by, awaiting the end.
Suddenly the good woman rallied temporarily. When
Death called, an hour later, her testament was written,
signed, sealed and solemnly attested, and by the terms there
of a fortune was given to the founding of missions in the
three most inaccessible retreats in the world. Tradition
continues: the mission sites that filled the requirements of
this strange testament were found all to be in California,
and the Missions of San Borja, Calamyget and Santa Maria
owed their existence to the beneficence of this testatrix.
History here steps in: "Again, in 1747, Dona Maria de
Borja, Duchess of Gandia, left the Missions some 62,000
pesos," and, "there was money from the Duchess of Gan-
dia's bequest for a new mission in the north and . . . site
was found at the spot called Calagnujuet," and, finally,
"New buildings were erected some fifty miles above Calag
nujuet, and under the name of Santa Maria."
Should the actions of Dona Maria's trustees come before
a court and the few foreigners who have visited the bleak
sites of the Missions of San Borja, Calamyget and, most
particularly Santa Maria, be allowed to testify, there would
be abundant and unconflicting evidence in the record that
the trustees made their selections in exact accord with the
traditional behest of the grand dame, for assuredly no three
more "inaccessible retreats" could have been found in the
wide world.
In the fall of the year 1767, Padre Victoriano Arnes,
who had suffered in his mission efforts at Calamyget where,
between bad water and treacherous Indians, he had lost his
crop, his improvements and almost his life, went northward
into the mountains where a little stream with the big name
of Carbujakaamang ran its brief course. Here there lived
over three hundred Indians, and with their aid the Padre
erected an adobe church and an adobe residence — and then,

86 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
one spring morning in 1768, a Spanish messenger of King
Charles III. arrived, bearing royal directions that every
member of the Society of Jesus must leave his mission with
out an hour's delay, and depart forthwith from Spanish
territory. Furthermore, no Padre should take with him
any treasure or any possessions, save his habit, breviary and
two books, one on theology, the other on science. At this
time Padre Arnes was thirty years of age and a man of high
attainments. In substance this short paragraph embodies
all — except that the succeeding Brotherhoods did not oc
cupy Santa Maria — that history has to record of the last
Jesuit Mission in California, yes, doubtless of the last foun
dation of the Society in New Spain.
Before his departure did Padre Arnes store his small
treasure in buried jars? Did he vainly wait for a revoca
tion of the decree, expelling his Society, and on his death
bed confide the secret location to some fellow-padre ? Was
the secret handed down for nigh a century and a half until
it came into the possession of the San Franciscan? These
are questions that appeal with pathetic and romantic inter
est as one thinks of the brilliant young priest who long ago
fought so hard endeavoring to establish missions in two of
the most inaccessible spots in the world. Where did he
turn his steps, after being driven from his rugged California
sierras? Where were his later years spent? History
gives no answer. Tradition says that his Indians missed
him ; that after his departure death fell upon them and into
the gorge of the Carbujakaamang came a strange lion, a
lion which neither spear nor arrow could destroy, and that
the Indians fled before it.
And now for a century no Indians, no people have lived
about the Mission of Santa Maria. When the Franciscan
Brotherhood succeeded the Society of Jesus, the newcomers
cast a single glance at the Last Mission of the Jesuits and

The ancient Sierra Camino Real, leading to the one-time
Jesuit Mission of Santa Maria

THE SIERRA CAMINO REAL 87
then cautiously hastened onward. To-day no Mexican wil
lingly stays any time in the mission precincts. When the
shadows of night creep around the looming adobe walls and
echoing down from the rocky cliffs comes the weird scream
of a lion and the ghostly palms shiver and moan in the lone
ly night, then Senor Mejicano crosses himself and nervously
curses the luck that brought him to the spot, piles wood
on his fire and lies down to broken slumber, naked machete
close at hand and apprejos in stockade about him.

CHAPTER VIII
WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP AND MEET THE LAIRD
FOR six days we camped near the old mission, resting
our animals and ourselves. To distract my mozos,
who were in continual dread of lions, I had them
build a shady remada (arbor), cutting ocotilla shoots for
the corner supports and ridge-poles and thatching the whole
with broad palm boughs. To their delight, manifested by
many a "Viva la Mejico," I tied a small Mexican flag to
one of the supports, then flung out the Stars and Stripes
above my tent. At a near-by spring, Jesus discovered a
flight of bees and, with Timoteo's assistance, gathered in
an abundance of clear, sweet, wild honey which made a
most acceptable combination with an excellent kind of bread
which Timoteo provided by baking the loaf in the ashes and
which he termed "pan Italiano." To make complete the
enjoyment of comfort and shade, good eating and fine air,
one should be a trifle weary. It is possible to become de
lightfully weary on the steep ascents above the Mission of
Santa Maria, so every morning I clambered to a new height,
ever enjoying the wild grandeur of each newly unfolded
view. Moreover, on one of these lofty rambles, I bagged
a noble supply of big game.
The shooting came about in this fashion: Accompanied
by Timoteo, I had reached a rocky bench at an elevation of
nigh five thousand feet. Full two thousand feet sheer
above us rose a high, black truncated cone, swathed close
in forbidding cliffs; for a league it stretched away with a
89

90 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
width half that distance. Doubtfully, we looked upward.
"Sefior, there must be a great mesa above; but no man
has ever climbed thither."
I could not help smiling at the gravity with which my
man thus expressed himself in the vernacular, for, perhaps
in consequence of the rarity of venturesome native hunters,
virgin hunting grounds are not at all uncommon on the
Peninsula. I answered him gravely, however. "Then we
are going to be the first to ascend, Timoteo, for in these re
gions the old padres saw wild goats, and if wild goats are
above, thither we must go." As the worthy fellow looked
impressed, I proceeded to explain that in the eighteenth
century Padre Hernando Consag wrote of seeing wild goats
near the thirtieth parallel of north latitude, which, as I re
membered, was but a few leagues distant. Timoteo now
smiled, showing his white even teeth. Mexican mozos
seldom wash their hands and have no idea of the properties
of a tooth-brush, and yet their teeth are pearls. I had used
the word chivos; and among Mexicans the goat is an animal
without character and his name ever calls forth a smile.
Later, in studying first editions of the old Spanish chroni
cles I found that the Jesuits mentioned seeing gamuzas dur
ing their California travels, and from their descriptions of
these animals and their habits I am satisfied that the rendi
tion of gamuza into chiva or goat, has been incorrect — ber-
renda or antelope would be more accurate.
"Others than the padres have seen goats, hereabouts,
sefior. Within the year past Sefior Villavacensio's boy saw
a large wild goat running with a flock of mountain sheep."
"Bueno," I responded, "we must climb to that mesa and
find that goat."
With that I handed Timoteo my heavy six-shooter — for
he was unarmed and, like most Mexicans, deathly afraid of
the larger variety of native lions — and started him off to

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 91
the right of the sierra while I followed a sheep trail to the
left, each of us in search of some break in the cliffs where
an ascent might be made. An old Kaliwa Indian once ex
plained to me the reason for the puzzling numbers of broad,
well worn sheep trails in Lower California by saying that in
his father's day the mountain sheep roamed in great droves
over the sierras until of a sudden a terrible pestilence came
among them, nearly exterminating the rams and killing the
ewes by the thousands.
A quarter of an hour brought me to a point where the
trail had been completely blocked by a landslide from a shal
low arroyo above. I clambered over the boulders and
loose shale and sauntered along. Within reach of my right
hand rose the high cliffs, to my left yawned a vast moun
tain abyss, a full league across, and beyond rose great vol
canic cones and mesas. There was grandeur enough in
the view to turn one's head, so I promptly sat down to con
sider my surroundings ; my glance at the same time chanced
to wander upward just at the right moment to see a fine ram
walk out upon a projecting crag, beyond and far above me,
and proceed to scan the abyss. He was too far away for a
shot and my efforts to locate him in the finder of my camera
were vain. It was good just to watch him, however. He
was careless of his dizzy position and, though plainly aware
of my existence, he seemed unable either to place me or to
decide what kind of a creature I was. Eventually he con
cluded that there was nothing to worry over, and turning
about face, most deliberately walked out of sight. As he
disappeared the morning sunlight brought out his glistening
white sides and across my mind flashed the thought: — far
above on that untrodden mesa, there is a wild goat! and
then: — that wild goat you must shoot.
Beyond me there was no prospect of ascent. I turned
back to the pile of shale and looked up. The outlook was

92 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
bad. There was no help for it, however, and I began
swarming up among the broken cliffs following the course of
the landslide. A friend of mine, a Scotch big game hunter,
once said that no man placing too high a valuation on his
neck should never hunt big-horn in Mexico, and that only
bachelors, or men with wives well adapted to widow's weeds
should follow such venturesome creatures at all. There's
sense in his statement. It was a bad climb; looking down
was out of the question. From childhood I've roamed the
mountains — thank God for the free exhilaration of their
heights — but this climb was about the worst I have ever
undertaken. After having rebelliously concluded that my
neck was forfeit and the goat lost, I gratefully surprised
myself by attaining the crest of the cliffs, where I recovered
my breath, pressed a cartridge into the chamber of my car
bine — it's foolish to tackle bad climbs with a cartridge in
the chamber — and looked around. Before me stretched a
long narrow mesa, covered with volcanic rock through which
sheep trails criss-crossed to the right and left. Stray blades
of grass and two or three scrubby bushes were in sight. A
small dry arroyo marked the bottom of a single swale in
the mesa. No goat or sheep was in evidence. Seemingly
I was on the roof of the world — and it was a deserted world.
I went slowly forward, drawing in great breaths of the
air and looking carefully for game. Sheep love to sun
themselves beside a boulder or to meditate in some shallow
cave. Soon I reached the place where the goat or sheep
had been. It was as dizzy a spot as the overhanging rock off
Glacier Point above the Yosemite Valley. A foot or two
outward advance satisfied my curiosity and then, as I peered
over, a rolling stone — the bane of many a poor buck and
sheep — caught my attention and I looked up to see, not a
goat, but a lordly ram three hundred yards distant making
for the swale. I was crouching on the crag. Up came

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 93
my left knee, down upon it dropped my left elbow, the palm
of my left hand closed upon the carbine barrel and the sport
began. As the first shot rang out two more sheep suddenly ap
peared and rushed away in the wake of the leader. If you
are fond of Nature, kindly reader, imagine yourself on a
projecting crag with a mighty abyss below and range on
range of wild, barren sierras beyond; a golden sun tinting
the world and warming your blood and Dame Nature in her
grandest, most majestic mood pausing beside you. If your
life is dear to you imagine yourself filled with vigor, draw
ing in deep breaths of mountain air, your muscles swelling
out like great steel bands and that life which ten minutes
earlier seemed about to be forfeited, thrilling you with wild
abandon. If you enjoy shooting imagine yourself on the
edge of a mesa with nigh a league of fair view before you
and three mountain sheep, the noblest of all creatures of the
wilderness, bounding away from you, their great horns
held proudly aloft, while your sharp-voiced rifle calls to
them to halt. The three conditions were mine; the sug
gested possibilities were facts ; moreover, fifty miles distant
there was a mining camp where men and women and chil
dren were half starving for meat.
Such moments are worth living. I remember regretting
that there was no one to share the excitement with me and
feeling certain that I should bag all three sheep, even though
they had not faltered an instant in their flight. The sec
ond in the procession, a cream colored ewe, got in the line
of my sight about the fifth shot and I let drive at her. The
seventh shot was directed at the third sheep, a yearling ram.
At the sixth report the leader, already near the edge of the
swale, sank in his tracks; thereupon the other two, appar
ently imagining that the attack came from the front, turned
about face and trotted laboriously toward me. My right

94 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
arm always trembles when I am "shelling" big game, and
at this unexpected happening it wobbled disgracefully. For
tunately an empty magazine created a temporary diversion.
As I pressed in fresh cartridges I noticed that the barrel
was decidedly hot.
After another shot I put down the carbine and took a
camera snap at the mesa and the sheep; then the carbine
resumed its sharp play, snarling quickly like an enraged
hound. The cream colored sheep dropped suddenly all in
a heap and the young ram at once rushed diagonally across
the mesa, his right side plainly exposed to me. As I again
reloaded the magazine, the heat of the barrel blistered my
thumb and first finger. At the same time I heard the sharp,
discordant notes of two ravens. "Sangre, sangre" (blood,
blood), as the Mexican hunters interpret the cry, and on
hearing it in the sierras they will aver success with all the
surety of a gillie hearing the same sound in the stalking sea
son on the Scotch heather. Certainly the Mexican raven
has a remarkable faculty of being on hand at the killing and
when he deserts you, rest assured there are no sheep in the
vicinity. The young ram, after drawing eight bullets in his direc
tion, disappeared from sight over the farther side of the
mesa; thereupon I climbed off my crag and proceeded to
examine my game, Perhaps two or three minutes had
been occupied by my shooting ; it had seemed an immeasura
ble time. The cream colored ewe I found stone dead,
pierced by three bullets. Although doomed by two fatal
wounds the blood of which besmirshed the white blotches
on his tawny sides, the big ram was endeavoring to rise when
I approached him. His majestic head and massive curling
horns held defiantly aloft and his greenish eyes scintillating
with rage made me involuntarily feel for him the respect
that bravery and noble mien ever command. While elation

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 95
is naturally the first sensation of every sheep hunter upon
killing his game, it must give way to pity and regret as the
grand, independent creature sinks limp and lifeless before
him. What hunter of the high sierras can help having a
feeling of comradeship for the ram that shares with him
the solitary fastnesses and puts up so brave a race for life !
Silent, and even ashamed, I turned away and the mighty
ram sank down, gasped shortly and was dead.
A trail of blood led across the mesa to the yearling; he
had reached the farther edge with seven bullets through
him ! A .30-.30 is no weapon for an animal of such tremen
dous vitality as the big-horn.
Eventually Timoteo, wild-eyed over my rapid-fire bom
bardment, arrived, having found a fairly passable ascent
from his side of the sierra. There are three ways of carry
ing a sheep : one is to sling him to your side and give up
after a few rods ; another, is to carry him on your shoulders,
the left legs and the right legs being tied before your left
and right shoulders, respectively; the third way is to have
some one else do the carrying. I adopted the second method,
but for comfort I would recommend the third. By the time
we had carried and dragged the sheep down to our pack
mule the afternoon was far advanced, our shoulders ached
cruelly, and we were exhausted. And how the mule ever
scrambled down in the darkness among rocks and boulders
is beyond me.
Finally, after traveling for hours, lighting our way by
firing dead maguay stalks and dried fan-palm boughs, we
piled the meat upon a rock for the night, turned loose the
mule and followed him to camp, carrying the sheep-heads
suspended over our shoulders. It was a weird ending of an
exciting day : at regular intervals, high up among the rugged
cliffs, smouldered the maguay plants, winking eyes in the
cloaking darkness ; in the trough of the arroyo down which

96 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
we picked our way tall ghostly palms raised high their
shadowy heads, their flaming boughs lighting up the somber
depths of the arroyo and bringing out in sharp outline our
slowly moving figures.
And thus, with an abundance of supplies, with great pans
of wild honey, with wild mutton hanging to cool in the old
Mission, with my few selected books, with my mozos antici
pating my every wish, with the atmosphere of romance and
early history about me, I spent six delightful days, so verit
able a king that I made note in my journal that there was
nothing particularly farther that I desired, unless it be that
I might continue forever in this retired spot in the rugged
wilderness. With a sigh and many a regret, I left my kingdom of
Santa Maria on the morning of the 22nd of February. By
the vilest pretense of a trail and through the rockiest coun
try that I had ever experienced, we climbed out from the
arroyo and passed over a sierra ridge to the southeast. It
is small wonder that horses are never used with any advan
tage in this region. Coming down to a plain, we traveled
for ten leagues over a most rocky and barren stretch where
there was virtually no trail, unless the line of graves along
the way be considered a camino. Graves of men who died
gasping for water, graves, not merely of foreigners but of
Mexicans as well, and even one of an Indian, for these were
the dread Llanos de Santa Maria (Plains of St. Mary)
which have exacted a frightful toll from those who have
ventured out upon their arid stretches. San Franciscito, or
"Little San Francisco," lying on the southern edge of these
plains, proved, though located on the map, to be nothing
but a few old arastras, a small mining shaft and a water-
hole from which we were driven in disgust by the presence
of a dead coyote. A few miles beyond San Franciscito, we
found a deserted miner's shack and a well, and out from this

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 97
place there was a road leading toward the gulf coast. Sev
eral ragged trails led off from this highway.
For a time we were at a loss concerning what course to
pursue, fearing lest unwittingly we might pass the mining
camp of Calamajuet,* which I was desirous of visiting.
Finally, leaving my Mexicans with my outfit, I rode on a
few miles, alone, and passing through a gap in the hills,
came unexpectedly upon Calamajuet. Yes, there was the
house of the proprietor, my friend Sefior Dick, with its thick
stone walls and palm thatched roof ; off to the right stood a
mining engineer's tent and over near the arroyo a shack
made of ocotilla stakes and thatch, and in this shack Mexi
can women and their Indian helpers were serving a hearty
lunch to the men. Seiior Dick, it seemed, was absent at his
other home near the playa, or roadstead, where he was
awaiting the arrival of a cargo of provisions and machinery
from Guaymas. His head man, who greeted me, knew
little English; my Spanish was not extensive, and as I had
taken him from lunch, his temper was rather uncertain. In
consequence our interview was growing stormy when a tall
blond chap, in corduroys, hobbled out from the shack which
served as a dining room, and accosted me in English.
With his thick, gold-rimmed eye-glasses, carefully parted
curly hair, his neatly cropped beard and eminently
respectable moustache, with his well-tied necktie and gen
eral aspect of the proprieties, I knew in an instant that this
new-comer was one of those wanderers who go forth from
the British Isles to the "uttermost parts of the earth" in
pursuit of big game. His opportune appearance cleared the
atmosphere and I soon had my outfit at Calamajuet. In
the two or three days which I spent at the camp, awaiting
Senor Dick's arrival, I became acquainted with the young
Britisher and learned that he was from the north of Scot
land, had served in the Boer war, smashed a shoulder in
* Pronounced Calamawhay. — A. W. N.

98 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
polo, had had African fever, and, for the time being, was
most decidedly under the weather, thanks to cactus thorns
and a diet restricted, for several weeks past, to meat and
hardtack. We soon made up a compact, agreeing to travel
southward together, for he was anxious to see more of the
Waist of the Peninsula. Moreover, his purse having mys
teriously disappeared early in the month, he had a most
natural desire to reach Guaymas and get in touch with his
bank account. Later, finding that he wore well on the trail
(than which I can think of no higher compliment), I ex
pressed my appreciation by giving him a nick-name, sinking
his very proper Scotch name beneath that of the "Laird."
The afternoon of the 26th, Senor Dick arrived on the
scene and shortly thereafter two American miners, "Senor
Santiago" and "Charley" Howard, put in an appearance.
Santiago, an agreeable, widely-traveled man of thirty, was
in high spirits, having just made a good "strike," which had
instantly filled his mind with visons of gaieties in New York,
Paris and Vienna. To the Simon Pure prospector, gold is
made simply for "blowing in" purposes. Howard, for years
a resident of the Peninsula, had come to Calamajuet to over
see the installation of the expected mining machinery. Santi
ago's spirits were infectious, and during the evening he and
Seiior Dick, the Laird, Howard, Sanchez (a young Mexican
mining engineer), and I chatted, told stories and related
hunting experiences until long past midnight.
Santiago began the yarning by telling me, in all serious
ness and doubtless with a foundation of truth, how he awoke
one morning in the sierras, half-starved and miles from
everywhere, to find a welcome supply of rice in the folds of
his blankets where it had been stored during the night by
an industrious pair of pack-rats, and how, later, it developed
that a Mexican, sleeping ten miles distant, that very night
had mysteriously lost an equal amount of rice.

WHEREIN I BAG MOUNTAIN SHEEP 99
I countered at once by relating the story of the credulous
Indian which I had obtained from an eighteenth century
Peninsula chronicle. Here it is : A Padre, having obtained
some particularly good bread, dispatched an Indian courier
bearing a loaf and a note to the Padre of a neighboring mis
sion. On the way the courier sat down to rest beside a
water-hole ; the bread and note he placed upon a large stone.
Suddenly the pangs of hunger assailed the Indian and he
devoured the bread to the last crumb. The note, however,
was faithfully delivered. Upon its perusal the Padre natu
rally inquired for the bread. At this the Indian was dumb
founded, but, as he recovered his self-possession, he denied
all knowledge of any bread. A week later the first Padre
dispatched the same courier with another note and another
loaf. Again the Indian stopped beside the water-hole, again
hunger came upon him and once more the Padre at the
neighboring mission received only a note. This time the
worthy man was angered and accordingly berated the un
trustworthy courier severely, whereupon the Indian, in be
wilderment rather than shame, spoke out, "I confess,
Padre," said he, "that the first letter told the truth for
it did see me eat the bread, but this last one is a story
teller, affirming what it did not see. Padre, before eating
this last loaf, I carefully hid the letter under a large stone,
where it could not, by any means, have seen me eating of
the bread."
Santiago laughed. "Give me a whole new hand," he
said, "perhaps, then, I'll recover."
"Did you really find that in a book, an old book?" asked
Seiior Dick, in all seriousness.
"Certainly," I replied, "in a book dated about 1789."
"I expect it is a true story, then," said he, "for an old
Indian at San Ignacio once repeated it to me as having come
from his grandfather when he was a child."

IOO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
"That is the way of it," remarked "Charley" Howard,
"all the old Indians confess to Seiior Dick. They think him
equal to any Padre. You know the paisanos (natives) think
that a medico is the whole show, so after I had cut a rattle
snake bitten hand from a man, using for the operation a
meat saw and a razor, I quite plumed myself on my stand
ing in a community where licensed physicians are unknown.
Then I came here into the Waist of the Peninsula and found
that my name had no weight beside Senor Dick's. 'He would
have saved the arm,' said the paisanos on hearing of my
famous exploit, and then they related some of his surgical
operations. I'll give just one instance. A man was bitten
by a salamankaser, a venomous kind of lizard. His friends
howled mournfully their sorrow, carried the man some dis
tance away and left him, supplied with food and water, to
meet his horrible death. Along came Sefior Dick. At once
he noted the tainted air. 'What dead animal are you leav
ing about?' he inquired. They told him of the man and
that he was not dead. 'Huh,' said Sefior Dick, 'you are
children.' Then he visited the cave. The bite had been
on the arm and the discolored, decaying flesh was already
falling away in chunks before the ravages of the poison.
'Get me water, earth mold, clay and boards,' roared the
Sefior, in quick anger. The paisanos obeyed and, after
scraping, cutting and cleaning the arm, Sefior Dick plastered
it with wet clay and mold and then tied the boards about
arm and plaster. The man is at work to-day with that
arm — it's wizened, of course — and Seiior Dick is the Grand
Padre of the Waist of the Peninsula."
The good natured Englishman joined in the laugh that
went around as Howard sprung this new name on him.
"You are jollying me," he chuckled, "but I do love to
carve."

CHAPTER IX
WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL
FILLED with eager anticipations of adventures in the
wilderness, the Laird and I bade farewell to the
mining camp of Calamajuet and turned southward,
together. Two subsidized fellow travelers, Sefior Rita
Otero and his genial spouse, Cochimi Indians homeward
bound, accompanied us. With my boy Jesus, four pack
burros and a colt trailing along with us, our aggregate of
man and beast formed a caravan of no mean length. By
the presence of the Senora a new element, the softening
feminine atmosphere, was added to our rugged life. I
casually remarked on this to the Laird. He showed no
enthusiasm, however. A fluttering bandana covered her
head; an expansive smile wreathed her kindly face; a light
red "mother Hubbard" draped her figure; teguas, or native
shoes, completed the costume. She occupied the right side
of her burro, a manner of riding entirely new to us. Her
novel seat in the saddle she maintained by resting her right
foot in the right stirrup and swinging her left knee over the
pommel. Despite the shortcomings of her training and
apparel — the Laird, in his extreme modesty, blushingly
meditated upon presenting her with a pair of socks — the
good Senora was kindly and eminently matronly.
We entered El Camino Real a short mile from the min
ing camp. Americans are wont to think of this Royal
Camino as a broad roadway. It is not. It is historic, it
IOI

102 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
is romantically interesting, it is deeply worn, it extends
countless leagues, but it is a trail, a bridle path a scant yard
in width. In mission days sections of this Way assuredly
were roads of generous breadth, and yet he who now would
truly describe El Camino Real must picture a deeply worn,
ancient way, historic and fascinating, but narrow — a long,
long narrow trail.
Continuing steadily southward we passed to the right of
the ruins of Calamyget Mission, some three leagues and a
half from Sefior Dick's camp, and made camp for the first
night (February the 27th) at an old stone corral two
leagues farther on. In this latitude the old padres located
on their maps a spot styled "San Francisco." Doubtless
we were in San Francisco — only we didn't know it! A
warm spring of arsenic water was near at hand. This wa
ter the Oteros declined to drink, advising us that their
people had always deemed it possessed of dangerous prop
erties. After ascertaining the presence of the arsenic, I
laughed at their fears and astounded them by saying that
American girls not infrequently enhanced the whiteness of
their complexion by drinking from such springs. Later
Jesus tasted the water, whereupon the Senora promptly
accused him of endeavoring to change his color.
That our conversation might not be understood by our
people who had heard enough English to misconstrue what
we might be saying, the Laird and I lapsed into French — •
and such French! His had been picked up in Cambridge
days on sundry trips to the Latin Quarter in Paris, and
mine was commensurate with the reading, a dozen years
earlier, of "Le Roi de Montagne." It served its purpose,
however. The Laird was pleasant company, a thoroughly
alert explorer and a most delightful woman-hater. To my
intense amusement, he remarked most simply, while speak
ing of life in English country houses: "It's just eating, danc-

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 103
ing, piano-playing, dressing, ladies, flirting, and all such
damned nonsense."
Although the country through which we passed was
barren and rugged, the mountains frequently rising to five
and six thousand feet, the frequency of arroyos and the long
stretches of mesa enabled us to make fair headway. The
surface of the country was a pedregal, or mosaic of stones.
Every form of plant or tree life bristled with thorns. The
visnaga, or barrel-shaped cactus, green fluted, devoid of
leaves and armed with orderly arranged ranks of fishhook
like thorns, dotted the mesas and stood sentinel along the
arroyos. Giant cardones, or tree cacti, gracefully erect or
misshaped and fantastic, cast the only shade found along
the camino. The trunk of this cactus is from one to three
meters in circumference and sends forth and upward from
two or three to twelve or fifteen gigantic columnar branches.
These branches are leafless and of a greenish-brown color;
like the visnaga, they are fluted and thorny. Here and
there prostrate cardones revealed, in death, their interior
structure: white rods, gathered together like a bunch of
faggots, and surrounded by and surrounding the dead pith.
Overtowering the cardones were frequent groves of the
slender cirio or milapa, an inviting and most strange cactus,
indigenous to the Waist of the Peninsula. This peculiar and
graceful tree grows to a height of sixty or seventy feet
without a single branch. Its bark is not unlike that of the
aspen; its inner pith frequently decays, making magnificent
retreats for birds, snakes or hiving bees. Again and again
we would bow low in our saddles or slash quickly with ready
machetes as the thorny bough of some ocotilla swayed
across the camino. This cactus sends upward from its
tentacle roots a circle of greenish, thorny stalks that sway
in the breeze like so many sinuous snakes. In the course of
many years these stalks attain lengths of from five to ten

104 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
metres; in the spring time they blossom out with scarlet
tassels. Encroaching close upon the camino the black,
snake-like limbs of the tart pithaya or tajua, armed with
needle-like thorns, were a constant warning for us not to
stray from the trail, while its close ally, the cholla, most pro
voking of the whole cactus tribe, again and again dropped
its bristling sections in the way of the fetlocks of our ani
mals. The branches of the cholla are composed of various
subdivisions, each two or three inches in length, an inch in
diameter and covered with innumerable thorns, both large
and small. As these sections not only break away and
cling to the man or beast that touches them but in seasons
drop of their own accord, littering the caminos, they are an
ever present menace to the traveler. To the birds, how
ever, the cholla evidently is a blessing, for again and again
we observed their nests built beyond the reach of predatory
snakes in the midst of protecting cholla branches.
But even though frequent and unmistakable signs of
mountain sheep were to be seen along our way, water was
as scarce as cacti were abundant. In the thirty leagues
southward from the mining camp we passed but one good
watering place, the Agua de Youbai, a well several rods to
the left of the camino and with nothing to indicate its pres
ence. On the high mountain summits above this water,
according to Otero, the padres had trees felled and used the
timber for doorways and casements of the Missions of San
Borja and Calamyget. During the day time our people,
fearful of thirst, were all activity, urging on the burros to
surprising speed for such animals. Their energies were
spasmodic, however.
The second evening, after unpacking, Otero sat restfully
on his heels and watched his wife, sitting restfully on her
heels and watching him. The Laird and I at once pitched
our tent and Jesus gathered wood, all of which seemed to

The Aqua de Youbia

A rocky section of El Camino Real
(Reproduced from " The Mother of California," by courtesy of the publishers,
Paul Elder & Company)

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 05
please our couple; to their further evident approval, we
next made a fire. Then the Lairds' Scotch burst forth. But
although he verbally trampled all over Otero for being so
confoundedly slow and dull, the Indian merely smiled and
failed to understand. The "Madam" — as we had named
his spouse — for her part, smiled, also, and added several
spoonfuls of lard to the tortillas — a favorite, detestable
trick of hers. Things grew lively and the festive Otero
flashed sharp glances at my companion. At this I ostenta
tiously opened up and dusted my ferocious six-shooter and,
intoning, padre-fashion, recited liberally from the "Beatus
ille" oi Horace. Wide-eyed, and sure that I was some sort
of a Padre — a heavily armed one, too — the devout Indians
crossed themselves. The tension of the situation relaxed,
the Laird retired to the tent.
After he had made himself comfortable within its narrow
limits, I entered, closing the flaps securely. Scraping aside
a few stones, I threw down four mountain sheep hides and
over them spread out my blankets and serapa. Quickly
undressing I snuggled into the simple bed, for the night was
cold. Already my companion had tied a lighted candle to
a maguay leaf and jammed the thorn end into the earth
between our shoulders. Although I could see that he was
admiring his candlestick, I purposely failed to notice it.
He shortly sought to arouse me.
"Such an uncivilized American savage, traveling without
a sleeping-bag," he announced.
"Such a pampered Scot, overladen with a forty-pound
sleeping bag," I retorted. "Why doesn't he carry a feather
bed? Will he use his half-pint share of water for his morn
ing tub ?"
He pondered deeply. "Have a smoke?" he ventured
finally. "No, but I'd like your Kipling."

106 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
"And I your Balzac."
For a moment there was much fumbling in the pockets of
his sleeping bag and among the compartments of my saddle
bags. Then the books, being produced, were read with
every satisfaction until sounds of slumber without and sput
tering candle within announced proper time for sleep.
"Good night," I muttered. "Your gun handy?"
We traveled early and we traveled late, for where there
is no water one dares not linger. In the evenings Otero and
I usually dismounted and stretched ourselves by leading the
advance at a jog-trot. South of Youbai we crossed the taper
ing ends of two level valleys extending down towards the
Gulf and containing several thousand acres with grass and
brush. According to Otero a few antelope ranged in this
section. The Laird considered these valleys similar to the
veldts of South Africa. Like the Llanos de Buenos Ayres
and the Llanos de Santa Maria, which are also inhabited by
small bands of antelope — this region is barren of springs.
After passing beyond these valleys we went through a suc
cession of hills well covered with undergrowth and small
trees. We saw several deer, or rather our guides (?) did,
for having burros, the Oteros and Jesus usually managed to
keep half a league in our lead, so that their guiding serv
ices were of the minimum variety. From these hills we
gradually ascended into higher mountains, each of which
Otero termed the "Cerro Colorado." During this entire
forced march the nights were crisply cool.
• The third evening out the Laird and I talked over the
alluring details of a future hunt together.
"There's a jolly good bit of country down south of Ma-
zatlan," he remarked across the camp-fire.
"Lake Chapala way?" I inquired, snipping a green and
yellow spider off my knee.
"Somewhat. Just off the Guadalajara road."

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 07
"Ah! That's where there are so many charming wom
en," I murmured, smiling indulgently, for even mention of
the name Guadalajara calls forth visions of winsome "nut
brown maids."
"Women! Don't for Heaven's sake trail them in." He
shoved a piece of maguay fiber into the coals and lighted a
cigarette in the blaze. "Plague take 'em, anyway, they're
always in the way. It's the lions we want." The approv
ing nod with which I greeted this ungallant remark indicated
that I, too, was in a slaying mood. For a time the two of
us were silent, the Laird puffing forth contentful wreaths of
smoke while I studied the coals. Suddenly a twig snapped,
sharply, throwing out an unwonted blaze.
"Oh, confound that female, she's at it again!" I sput
tered, as the light showed me the Madam diligently heap
ing lard into the batter for the morning tortillas. "Hi,
there ! No mas manteca!" I uttered the words in an
aggressive tone, and either that, or the reproof, itself,
brought me a scowl from the worthy dame and a grunt from
her lord. She paused in her labors, however. Otero,
meantime, wrinkled his brow in deep thought.
"Sefior, don't you care for lard?" he ventured, presently
— only he used the Spanish.
"No," I snapped out.
"Nor coffee?" he continued.
"No," I answered, more unconcernedly.
"Don't you care for mescal?" This he asked with some
hesitancy. "No," I replied, laughingly. "No, I don't like mescal."
Such strange lack of appreciation of the good things of
life was altogether too much for the Madam. "Mira!"
(Lo, behold!) she exclaimed, rocking herself back and
forth in the dim fire light. "No guste manteca, cafe, mes
cal. Mira, mira!" For a moment the old Cochimi was

108 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
speechless, then he had a new idea. He gave it immediate
expression. Had I a substitute for these luxuries; were
there three other things that I did especially desire? I
promptly answered in the affirmative. First, I wanted "a
buck antelope." But Otero here interrupted, his eyes shin
ing with approval. "Ah ! excellent meat," and the Madam
echoed, "Muy bueno carne." Also, I wanted "two big
lions." This incomprehensible desire called forth an
"Ugh! Lions are very fierce. Bad, bad!" from Otero,
while with an amazed "Mira!" the Madam hunched for
ward nearer the protecting coals. I had expressed, how
ever, only two separate wishes. They were anxious to hear
my third.
"What shall I add?" I inquired of the Laird:
"Why, tell 'em," was the response, between puffs, "that
you want some gentle little maid whose tendrils will cling
to your rugged being, whose eyes — "
"Cut it, man, cut it," I interrupted, laughingly. Never
theless, addressing the expectant Oteros in Spanish, I oracu
larly recited, "A buck antelope, two big lions — and a pretty
girl." The climax was unexpected. Otero's mouth
opened in surprise, then extended in a wide grin. The
Madam, meantime, chuckled, approvingly, repeating my
statement with many "Miras." "That's enough for the
savage mind for one night," growled the Laird. "Let's
turn in." And turn in we did.
Before sleep came, however, we heard the old fellow
suggest to Madam that I might make a good life's partner
for their younger muchacha. With an appreciative femi
nine eye, the Madam at once urged the claims of the Laird
as a blond and more handsome man, but the calculating
Otero silenced her by replying that "El Americano" could
kill the most came, which was of far greater importance
than looks. The Laird felt hurt. During his convales-

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 109
cence in the States, after his polo injury, society girls whom
he had not even met had showered him with flowers. Here,
when he was too crippled to hunt mountain sheep, local so
ciety cast him coolly aside.
On the 2nd day of March, we reached the Mission of
San Francisco de Borja, an unusual stone structure, which
unexpectedly loomed before us as we came around a moun
tain spur. With its magnificent carved stone portals, its
high battlements and extensive adobe outbuildings and cor
rals, certainly grim San Borja is a most unexpected as well
as an impressive mission. On nearer approach we found
that the iglesia was built entirely of hewn stones, many of
them extremely large and all firmly keyed in place. Even
the lofty vaulted roof was constructed of stone and cement,
with massive keyed arches supporting it.
Otero, who seemed to be a self-appointed guardian on the
mission, directed us to take our choice of any of the adobe
outhouses. Accordingly, selecting one that seemed clean
and was heavily carpeted with green grass, we pitched our
tent within its walls, for San Borja is a place of much dew
and the mission out-houses have long been unroofed. The
Oteros resided in a shack, built against the wall of the
iglesia and within its patio. After she had dismounted
from her burro and entered into her mansion, the Madam
seated herself and, to our amusement, began sharply to
order about her numerous daughters and granddaughters,
in a most magnificent and authoritative manner. Her own
small children were hardly to be distinguished from her
grandchildren, but the latest baby in the aggregation she
frequently clasped in her arms. Otero also experienced a
change, becoming an hospitable caretaker, quite far removed
from the Indian of the camino to whom the loss of teaspoons
and other incidentals of camp outfit might be ascribed.
Two or three families of Yaqui Indians and one family

HO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of ancient Cochimis resided in old huts near the mission.
Otero, however, was the one who climbed to the belfry on
Sunday morning and sounded the bells for matins, though
none but the elderly people seemed to gather for the simple
prayer services. Hanging against the interior walls of the
iglesia there were a few fairly good oil paintings of saints,
and in one of the dark, dungeon-like rooms off the altar two
skulls grinned. Perhaps, if these yellowed jaws could now
voice words, vivid scenes would be recalled; for tradition
and ancient chronicles alike give to the Mission of San Borja
a most romantic history, dating from those eighteenth cen
tury days when the Duquesa Dona Maria de Borja (or
Borgia), first decided to make an endowment for a mission
at Adac, the ancient Cochimi name for the San Borja site.
Its medicinal hot springs had made this spot famous among
the Indians. The establishment was founded in 1762, by
the Jesuit explorer, Padre Winceslao Link, a brilliantly
educated native of old Bohemia. The first buildings were
made of adobe and covered a large space of ground. Sub
sequently these structures were in part superseded by the
present stone iglesia, or church, on which, according to tra
dition, the Dominican Frailes labored up to the end of the
eighteenth century. In the opening years of the nineteenth
century, the Superior of the Peninsula Missions sent a cir
cular letter to his friars asking for suggestions and reports.
The response of the Fraile of San Borja still exists. In
polished periods he describes his loneliness, cut off from all
intercourse with the world and from all conversation, save
in a mongrel tongue with treacherous savages, and pathetic
ally inquires whether friars may not be assigned in couples
at such remote missions as his own. Poor Fraile! Ac
cording to their own tradition, the Cochimis ended his life
by gently dropping a heavy boulder on his head.
The church is a substantial building, seven and a half by

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL I II
thirty-nine paces within and probably a dozen paces in
height; the walls are over a yard in thickness. The main
doorway is guarded by massive hewn timber doors, and just
beyond the threshold stands a font, cut out of a single block
of stone ; a southwestern doorway is walled high with boul
ders. At either side of the altar, doorways open into dark,
forbidding, circular rooms, intended doubtless for confes
sionals. To the left and just within the main entrance, a
spiral stairway, with thirty-five worn steps of cut stone, leads
to battlements, overlooking the main arroyo ; similar battle
ments guard the northwestern corner of the church. Im
mediately before arriving at this balcony, the stairway
branches and one set of steps enters a belfry where two cop
per bells are swung. The bells are inscribed thus: "179
* senorsanioceph" and "7194 * San V I S -
GUOS aganod e." Facing slightly east of south it
self, the church is joined on the southeast by a flat-roofed
stone building containing a series of rooms and forming an
ell within which lies the patio. A high arched gateway,
such as one sees in old castles on the continent, opens into
this court. Indeed, the entire mission has the atmosphere
of a grim, massive fortress.
On the evening of our arrival at San Borja, the sound of
string music attracted me toward the ell, in one of the large
rooms of which I found two Yaqui musicians seated beside
an ancient square table, on which burned a dim rush candle.
One of the Yaquis was extremely good looking, the other
jovial and burly. They played, in excellent time, on guitar
and violin, while Martin, Otero's obliging eighteen-year-old
son, waltzed slowly up and down the room. Soon a small
Yaqui boy, with large, serious eyes and wrapped close, like
his fellows, in a red serapa, entered and immediately fell to
waltzing in solitary state. Ultimately, the fiddle was too
much for me and I, likewise, took to footing it on the old

112 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
stone flags where once the Padres had knelt in prayer, and
where, on welcome occasions, they had enjoyed good wine
with passing officials and dignitaries. Speaking of wine, in
the mission garden we observed, during our stay at San
Borja several large stone vats, which, according to the old
Indians had been used in early times by the Padres for the
making of wine and the pickling of olives. In the same
garden, there are trellised grape vines, olive trees, date
palms, orange trees, pomegranate shrubs and alfalfa, while
evidences are near by of a former extensive irrigating sys
tem. Once upon a time a cloudburst played wild havoc
with the gardens of San Borja.
The second day after our arrival at the Mission I visited
San Ignacito, a rancho situated about five miles to the west.
The proprietor of this rancho proved to be one of Seiior
Dick's numerous mining partners, Sefior Fidel Villavacensio.
In consequence of an early education secured in the United
States, Senor Fidel not only addressed me in excellent Eng
lish, but, to my greater surprise placed at my disposal copies
of Harper's Weekly and the Black Cat. He entertained
me also with much history and many interesting anecdotes
concerning the days of the missions, and particularly of the
closing days immediately preceding the Secularization Act,
for he had known many an Indian who, in early youth, had
been a neophyte. Modeling a system of intense irrigation
with well, cistern and ditches after the one employed on the
same land by the Padres a century ago, the Sefior has re
cently cleared the ground at San Ignacito and is putting to
practical use his knowledge of the history and tradition in
so far, at least, as pertains to the making of a delightful
garden spot in the barren wilderness.
Among my host's books I was delighted to find a Spanish
edition of the California writings of Padre Javier Clavi
jero, the eighteenth century Jesuit chronicler of whom I've

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 113
already made mention. An Italian version of this invalua
ble work I had seen years before in San Francisco.
As modern naturalists seem to consider the mountain
sheep one of their nineteenth century discoveries, I will
quote an illuminating passage from chapter sixteen of Clavi
jero: "El taje de la California es el ibex de Plinio y el bou-
quetin de Bufon. 'Sunt ibices pernicitatis quamquam
onerato capite vastis cornibus.' " Plin. Hist. Nat. Lib.
VIII, c. 53). Which, roughly translated, means, "The
taje of California is similar to the ibex of Pliny and the bou-
quetin of Buffon. The ibex is extremely active, though his
head is weighed down by great horns." This passage is
followed by a statement that what has been written con
cerning the ibex and bouquetin has been observed to be true
of the California taje.
In this connection I will here add a quotation from Alex
ander Humboldt, written prior to 1803. "The Sierra de
la Giganta," wrote the great traveler in his notes on Cali
fornia, "is inhabited by an animal resembling the mouflon
(ovis ammon) of Sardinia . . . The Spaniards call them
wild sheep (earner es cimarones) . They leap, like the ibex,
with their heads downward; and their horns are curved on
themselves in a spiral form. This animal differs essen
tially from the wild goat .... these goats, which belong
perhaps to the antelope race, go in the country by the name
of berrendas."
And as Padre Jakob Baegert also wrote on California
mountain sheep in the eighteenth century, before Shaw, Cu-
vier, Desmarest, Audubon and Doyle, the first accredited
writers on the subject were born, a quotation from his
"Nachrichten" is here proper: "Where the chain of moun
tains that runs lengthwise through the whole peninsula
reaches a considerable height, there are found animals re
sembling our rams in all respects, except their horns, which

114 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
are thicker, longer and much more curved." The old
Padre was evidently the author of that ridiculous jumping
yarn for he concluded his account thus, "When pursued,
these animals will drop themselves from the highest preci
pices upon their horns without receiving any injury." But
what may not be expected in the sheep line when it is con
sidered that that champion story-teller, Marco Polo, with
his ovis poli, or sheep of Central Asia, began the discovering
of mountain sheep way back in the thirteenth century !
Two modern hunters have written happily and with par
ticularly good sense concerning the big-horn. In 1881, the
Earl of Dunraven, an Irish big game hunter, thus referred
to the Rocky Mountain sheep: "Ovis montana, locally and
variously called the mountain sheep, big-horn or taye, is
very closely allied to, if he is not identical with, Ovis Argali,
the wild sheep of Asia, and he is akin to the European
mouflon. . . . To find the big-horn the hunter scales giddy
precipices and climbs to soaring peaks and confronts nature
face to face in her grandest, her most terrific moods." And
in his "Hunting Trips of a Ranchman," Colonel Roosevelt
says, "Hunting the big-horn is at all times the hardest and
most difficult kind of sport. ... Its chase constitutes the
noblest form of sport with the rifle. . . . No other form
of hunting does as much to bring out the good qualities, both
moral and physical, of the sportsman who follow it."
A few years ago the mountain sheep of the Grapevine
Mountains between Nevada and California was named
after that industrious naturalist, Mr. E. W. Nelson. If
the Lower California sheep is to receive any distinctive
name, I suggest that the honor fall to Francisco Clavijero.
But I have wandered far from San Ignacito. The pur
pose of my visit there had been to bargain for a burro, one
of mine having become too foot-sore for further travel.
Unfortunately for me, the Sefior had no burros to sell ; how-

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 115
ever, though we might not traffic in live stock, he kindly gave
me some dried beef, gladly accepting in return a small gift
of coffee, beans, flour and tobacco from us, the end of his
own supplies being in sight. The worthy Mexican particu
larly appreciated the tobacco, while his wife stated that the
coffee would bring quiet to her head, which had been rebel
lious for six days. She informed me that without coffee,
neither she nor her women could do efficient work, so de
pendent had they become upon the beverage.
Though my visit failed of its purpose I enjoyed it great
ly, for my kindly host was an interesting and observant
man; moreover, he was resourceful. Toothache, scourge
of the wilderness, he cured in a novel way: With a thread
and sheet of writing paper he made a cornucopia, the open
end of which he placed flat upon a dish ; he then set fire to
the upper end of the cornucopia whereupon the burning
paper generated a drop of yellow liquid. This liquid — it
is extremely bitter — he applied, with a toothpick and cot
ton, to the cavity and the toothache perished amid the howls
of the possessor of the tooth.
Teguas, or native shoes, if made by Seiior Fidel, are
highly prized in the Waist of the Peninsula. To their
value I can testify, for he kindly prepared a pair for me
"while I waited." His method was simplicity itself: Using
a draw knife, he first smoothed off a piece of heavy tanned
beef hide and from this he cut out two pieces of leather,
measured to my feet; then he cut out two more pieces of
similar design and, by the aid of small cobblers' tacks, soon
had double thickness soles prepared. The uppers he made
of a single thickness and with lighter weight leather. Each
upper consisted of two parts; the front piece, resembling, in
appearance, a plasterer's trowel, covered the toe and instep
and served, also, the purpose of a tongue; the other piece
lapped over the tongue with its ends and extended around

Il6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the heel of the foot: These uppers were attached to the
soles with extremely small cobblers' tacks driven, from the
outer side, through the lower edge of the uppers. Holes
having been made through the upper portions of the ex
tremities of each of the overlapping uppers, shoe strings,
in the shape of buckskin thongs, were passed through these
holes to bind the teguas to the feet. Heels he omitted.
For comfort and noiseless travel teguas are unequalled. I
used mine in hunting until they were worn out and then
purchased another pair at Loreto. Although the Seiior
could not inform me concerning the invention of these na
tive shoes, inasmuch as my Scotch friend wore similar foot
gear made by Kaffirs for use on the African veldt, I hazard
a guess that the widely-traveled Jesuits originated the Cali
fornia tegua.
While he was working over the leather Sefior Villava-
censio asked me whether I was collecting botanical or zoo
logical specimens. Upon my negative reply he related to
me this yarn : A few years ago, when Seiior Dick was yet in
charge of the San Juan Mine above Los Flores, the quar
terly supply boat brought to Los Angeles Playa a scientist
from the United States. Sefior Dick received the stranger
hospitably and supplied him with a native mozo under
whose guidance the scientist easily secured many new and
unclassified specimens. As the time for his departure drew
near, the scientist became uneasy. At last he stated his
case to Seiior Dick. He was possessed of a camera and
he desired a picture taken which would show the dangers
through which he had passed. "Good," said Sefior Dick,
"we'll arrange that." Accordingly, Seiior Dick, Sefior
Fidel, the American and the mozo repaired to a convenient
and not too dangerous precipice. Near the brink they ar
ranged a mining crane and a heavy rope, the farther end
of which was tied about the waist of the American. With

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 1 17
the Sefiors and the mozo managing the crane, the ambitious
scientist, a handful of his new specimens in his hands, was
swung over. After paying out forty feet of rope, Sefior
Dick withdrew to a good vantage point and snapped the
camera. "After the scientist's return to the States," con
cluded Seiior Fidel, "the picture of the feat was developed
and published in the papers with thrilling headlines which
secured for him an honorable position. He had never writ
ten us his thanks, though."
On my return from San Ignacito, I found that my com
panion had been successful in engaging two burros and their
master, one of the musical Yaquis, to journey any reasona
ble distance with us. Accordingly, as the Laird was still
under the weather, we decided to swing down to the Gulf
and visit Los Flores, where there was said to be a mining
proprietor who had at one time practiced medicine. This
matter agreed upon, I congratulated my friend upon his
burro bargaining abilities and accepted his invitation to
visit the further corner of the mission gardens and inspect
some hot springs in which he planned to bathe his injured
limbs. The springs proved to be decidedly warm, well shaded
by cottonwood trees and partially lined with flat stones. To
the Laird's discomfiture, however, two of the Madam's
daughters and one of her baby granddaughters were rest
ing calmly by the larger spring, evidently preparing for the
baby's bath. Even his ostentatious throwing aside of his
coat and unlacing of his boots failed to induce them to
depart. He paused with blushes on his cheeks and soft swear
words on his lips, and courteously made signs to the
Indian maidens to take their departure. The latter giggled
and made response to the effect that they were not in the
way and that their people had used the aguas calientes since

118 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the beginning of the world. This was too much for my
risibility, but though I rallied him unmercifully my com
panion, having had experience in India with natives, posi
tively declined to take the needed bath while the Indians
were in the neighborhood, saying that the question of caste
must be respected. Accordingly, I herded the pair away to
a lesser spring and then devoted myself to the diversion of
a party of half a dozen small Indians who were en route for
their hot bath. These little people soon became accustomed
to me and played with all the glee of Anglo-Saxon children?
laughing gaily, then creeping quietly towards me with small
hands outstretched, only to turn and rush away in feigned
alarm. Whenever I made pretense of seizing them their
delight became ecstatic. Of my camera, however, they had
so real a fear that I had not the heart to turn it upon them.
Though they were all pretty, bright-eyed toddlers, their
one-piece garments were ragged and wofully unwashed.
Refreshed by his bath, the Laird finally rejoined me.
Returning to the mission, we climbed the battlements whence
we could view the surrounding rugged country at our ease.
Here he explained to me the proper military manner of de
fending the mission against Indians, while I threw stones
at a large iguana which, hearing our voices, had thrust his
beetling head inquisitively from an aperture among the
stones of the arched roof. A century ago the Cochimis be
sieged San Borja and endeavored to scale its walls. Now
Otero, a Cochimi, is its sole guardian. His intense faithful
ness is measured by the fact that, when an earnest Padre
attempted to remove one of the mission bells to an iglesia
where services were more frequent, Otero trailed down the
good man, laid a charge against him before a juez (justice)'
and secured the return of the bell.
After descending from our station, the Laird and I visited
the Madam and presented her with a worn pair of riding-

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 119
bags for the use of her growing male progeny; in token of
her appreciation she gave us a large dish of wild honey.
Meantime, Otero appeared on the scene bearing two fiber
soladeros, or saddle sweat blankets, which I had agreed to
buy and which he had made from the palma del monte, a
species of palm growing extensively in the region of San
Borja. These fiber soladeros keep an animal's back cool
and save it from sores. The knack of their preparation is
doubtless a survival of the art of weaving which the Jesuits
introduced among the Peninsula Mission Indians in the
eighteenth century. Good mattresses are made in the same
way, but the mattress market is rather slack about San
Borja. While Otero was in the midst of a minute description of
the process of making fiber soladeros, the Laird veered
away toward camp where I joined him half an hour later.
As I appeared choking with laughter he gravely inquired
concerning the cause of my mirth.
"Great things, those soladeros," I began, "and, fortu
nately, the Kitten understands their preparation."
"I grant the usefulness," he replied, seriously, "but who's
the 'Kitten,' and why 'fortunately'?"
"The 'Kitten' is the muchacha for whom our friends de
sire a life's partner. As I have just explained that the hot
baths have restored you to shooting condition, the Sefior
has given his approval and the Madam is delighted over
the near prospect of a blonde son-in-law."
"Get out! You're stringing me."
"Stay here twenty-four hours and see," I replied, chal-
lengingly. "Lord, man, I've never seen the woman — don't desire to,
either." "That doesn't matter. She's heard about you. When
I told her that you had a big rancho on a distant island with

120 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
lard, coffee, sugar, and candies by the barrel, she clapped
her hands in wild delight. She's almost thirteen which, as
I gather, is a proper nuptial age among the Cochimis.
Laird, the greatest thing you ever did was to be born blonde
— and the second greatest was when you gave Madam some
of your tobacco."
"If you're trying to string me, keep on," he growled,
hotly. I shrugged my shoulders and made ready to prepare
supper. My silence disturbed him. "Suppose we break
camp," he observed, presently. "I've always made it a
point to keep my distance with savages."
"Good," I cried, applaudingly, while the Laird looked
fiercely toward the mission as though expecting a savage
wedding party to issue from the ancient arched doorway.
Presently I continued: "All I have to add is that if you
should decide to take this Cochimi princess, Pocahontas like,
to be your Lady, do not let it disturb our friendship. I
won't be jealous. Honest, I wont. I've seen her!"
That night was intensely cold, so cold that I slept fitfully
and was awakened by the tinkling of Coronado's bell.
Looking over the wall of our adobe, I saw the last of our
animals vaulting the bars which kept them within a walled
field of alfalfa — which they were leaving with the plain in
tent of dieting on shrubs and cacti. A comical sight they
made, stalking seriously along, single file, in the bright
moonlight. Our departure the following morning was too exciting to
be interesting. To begin with, rest and green feed had
made broncos of our burros so that even our powerful
Yaqui servitor, assisted by my active little mozo, was unable
to persuade the festive Cabrillo, my big white burro, to be
saddled until both forefeet were tied and a blind placed over
his eyes. Meantime one of my other burros and a Yaqui
burro inopportunely took to the hills. On top of this the

WITH THE LAIRD ALONG EL CAMINO REAL 121
Indian muchachas kept pestering me for "ropa." We had
already made the family many presents and our supply of
rope was short. In the confusion, I lost my temper and
told the girls most sharply that I had not an inch of rope to
spare. Undiscouraged, however, they hung about the adobe
clamoring for "ropa, un peso ropa," to which they received
no response, except a short reply from me to the effect that
all our rope was required for our packs and that not five
pesos would secure them a piece of it. Only too glad to
escape from the pertinacious muchachas and their cries of
"ropa, Seiior, ropa," I slipped into my saddle and rode over
to the mission gateway where I was bidding the Madam a
touching farewell, when I heard an exclamation from one of
the younger members of her family. Looking backward, I
saw the form of my friend stretched on the ground. I
learned later that just as he was mounting his burro, one of
the Yaqui's broncos, the animal had leaped forward and
fallen with him, pinning his already injured knee beneath
its shoulders and against a sharp fragment of broken stone.
That the leg was not fractured is a marvel. After assist
ing the Laird to his feet, I found him grittily persistent in
remounting his vicious beast. He was gravely anxious to
quit San Borja.

CHAPTER X
THE LOST GULFO CAMINO AND THE CANNIBAL ISLE OF
TIBURON
FROM San Borja, the Laird and I journeyed north
westerly and then northeasterly, finding faint signs
of an ancient and very broad highway, marked by
lines of stones on either side, lines which must have been
surveyed with every care. No well defined trail remained,
however. We were now in the Waist, proper, of the Pe
ninsula, the distance from Gulf to Ocean being but thirty-
seven miles. Indeed, as we crossed the divide of the main
cordillera, I was able to see the Pacific Ocean to the west;
the Gulf of California being only a few miles to the east I
felt willing to concur in the belief that, in an earlier age,
the ocean swept across this section of the Peninsula, form
ing an island of the southern portion.
Passing through the divide we found a considerable pond
lying in a sheltered valley, joyous with the gay chorus of
quail and song birds and fragrant with the perfume of
myriad wild flowers. At this stage of our journey, while
engaged in my frequent occupation of delving in my Spanish
dictionary, my eyes fell upon the word "ropa;" the English
equivalent following gave me a feeling of deepest mortifi
cation and chagrin. I had assumed that ropa meant
"rope": it means "clothes, clothing, laundry!" On my ar
rival at San Borja I had arranged with the Madame for the
laundering of a bundle of our clothes. Her girls had done
the work and in my absence at San Ignacito, left the bundle
123

124 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
in our tent where it had lain unobserved and had finally been
thrust with my blankets into a dunnage bag. Thus the
Laird and I, representatives of two highly civilized nations,
had coolly ridden away without paying the poor, anxious
muchachas their well-earned peso laundry bill. As it was
too late for us to return and correct our mistake, I pity the
next foreigner who endeavors to have washing done by the
Indian girls of San Borja!
The second day out, my companion's burro renewed his
bronco tricks, developing a strange faculty for falling un-
expectedly down. The Laird's vocabulary grew extraordi
narily, but it was unable to keep pace with that burro's new
wrinkles of deviltry. Our people, also, were provoking.
In one instance we had delayed, that I might extract several
thorns which had jammed their way through my shoes.
They kept blithely on ; in fact, they were full two miles away
when we eventually caught sight of them. Even to frequent
discharges of our rifles they gave no heed until we had so
far advanced that the Laird was able to drop a rifle ball
from his long-barreled .30-.40 Winchester, in their imme
diate neighborhood. When one is in a country minus a
trail and pays a man to act as guide, it is not gratifying to
have that man hasten out of sight and leave one to his own
tracking resources. Such experiences as this finally led me
to trust to my own mountain sense and to enjoin my mozos
to confine their attentions to the animals, cooking and pack
ing and leave to me the course of travel.
• On the afternoon of the second day, I witnessed with keen
relish and delight a gusty passage between my irate com
panion and our stupid, burly Yaqui "guide." The latter had
been particularly doltish and the former, having exhausted
all his sign language and native swear words without effect,
stood before the wooden faced Indian, his little soft hat
awry on the back of his curly blond head, his usually mild

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 1 25
face flushed with anger, his lips white, his elbows close to
his body, his clenched hands before him, beating the air.
The words that I caught were these: "Oh, curse you! Oh,
you cursed Yaqui ! I have damned you in four tongues and
your face is still impassive. Oh, if I only knew your lan
guage so that I could swear with a feeling that what I said
was being appreciated ! Oh, oh! Can't you even see that
I am cursing you?" So earnest a denunciation, delivered in
entire ignorance of my proximity, could not be spoiled, so I
fell back before exploding with laughter.
That evening, with the glint of a smile in his eyes, my
Scotchman suddenly remarked, "Do you know what the
Yaq.'s name is?"
"Julio, I believe," I replied.
"A portion of it. His full name is Julius Caesar. Your
boy's name is Jesus, and it is beyond reason for any two
men to expect smooth traveling when trying to follow, at
the same time, both Great Caesar and Je — "
"Here, let up," I interrupted, laughingly, "must I tell you
that, to save my conscience from a feeling of sacrilege, for
days — every time I've written it in my journal, in fact —
I've followed that boy's name, religiously, with brackets, en
closing the decent Spanish pronunciation, and now you, you
dissenting, Covenanting, Scotch Presbyterian, impious, ir
reverent — "
"Oh, man, man, I'm more than weary; let's sleep," and
sleep we accordingly did.
The following day we descended along the course of a
rattlesnake-infested arroyo that brought us out upon the
Gulf of California. Half a league from shore there lay a
rocky island, stretching as far as the eye could see to the
north and making a beautiful, land-locked harbor with a
beach unsurpassed at any of the American watering places.
This was the Bay of Los Angeles of the Gulf, a broad sweep

126 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of twenty-five miles, for many years the retreat of the cheer
ful buccaneers, in more recent times the haven of contraban-
distas and beachcombers. Here our eyes were gladdened
by the sight of a group of palms and a small clump of sugar
cane, clustered on the rising ground just above several
shacks, old stone corrals and the shattered ribs of ships'
boats. This oasis proved to be the Aguaje San Juan
(Spring of St. John), of which I had read in chronicles
written a century and a half ago. Shadowing the palms, a
white granite mountain lifted its craggy shoulders a sheer
mile towards the clear sky, while from the Aguaje a spark
ling stream bubbled forth and rushed into pools. For the
convenience of stray crafts, a rusty iron pipe carried a steady
flow from one of the pools to the shore, a furlong distant.
In 1746 the Jesuit explorer, Padre Hernando Consag,
visited this coast and named the harbor the Bay of the
Angels, the island, Guardian Angel (Angel de la Guardia),
and the strait between shore and island, Whale Channel
(Canal de Ballenas). This channel has always been noted
for its whales, called California Grays. Upon the passing
of the buccaneers, the New Bedford whalers hurried hither
and waged war upon the "Grays." The New Englanders
got the worst of it, however, and now these warrior whales
play and splash about and bring forth their young, undis
turbed by harpoon or rifle.
Making camp in a corral, we found, in a cave near by, a
choice assortment of skulls and other "human various."
•In early times the Indians from San Borja frequented the
Aguaje San Juan, catching turtles, fish and oysters in the
Bay, while the Yaqui and Seri Indians crossed the Gulf from
the Sonora coast for like purpose, not infrequently meeting
with sanguinary results. We, however, found but one
visitor, a pock-marked ancient, seemingly a beachcomber,
though he may have been a retired pirate.

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 127
The night we passed near the Aguaje was perfect, a moon,
nearly full, bringing out the massive, ghostly white sierras,
the glistening sand on the wide beach and the glassy water
of the crescent bay. Awakening at midnight, I arose and,
leaning against the ancient wall of our silent camp, revelled
in the brilliant beauty of my surroundings, thinking of the
sixteenth century Spanish voyagers that first had ventured
into this Adriatic of the West, this Sea of Cortez, and of
the freebooters, contrabandistas and naval explorers of later
days, until their shadows seemed to rise up against the clear
outline of silent Angel de la Guardia. I slept again, most
peacefully now, in the balmy air, but with the first soft light
of early morning I slipped down to the sandy beach and,
finding among the timbers of a broken ship's boat, two great
turtle shells, I dragged them nearer the rippling water.
Upon one I piled my clothes, resting the while in placid
comfort upon the other. After a keenly invigorating
plunge — though the water was a trifle cold and sharks had
to be considered — I raced along the warm sands, converted
to primitive life and quite ready to lapse into a primeval
existence. On leaving the Aguaje, we followed the line of the beach,
passing the deserted reduction works of the Santa Marta
Mine, and winding our way along a narrow path in the
cliff high above the breaking waves. Here one of the
burros became alarmed by a rolling stone and, turning half
about in the trail, frightened the others, placing my whole
outfit in imminent danger of falling over the cliff and into
the surf far beneath. The stolid Julius, who was nearest
to the tangle, was too lazy to retrace his steps and extricate
the animals, nor did he come to time until subjected to the
persuasiveness inherent in the staring muzzle of a carbine.
Farther along we descended to the shore once more, and
shortly passed a forlorn wayside grave with its grim pile of

128 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
stones and pathetic little driftwood cross. Another mile
brought us to a warehouse, a boat landing and a deserted
frame house. In the latter a rusted telephone box catching
my eye, I at once called for "Central." To my extreme
surprise, a woman's soft voice answered, promptly, in Eng
lish, and much abashed, I was soon announcing my name
and my intention of paying my respects to the residents of
Los Flores (The Flowers), the other end of the line.
Accordingly, we now turned from the coast. After jour
neying two leagues along a sandy road, leading in a south
erly direction, we came upon a charming region of densely
growing wild flowers where the presence of shadowy build
ings, rampant burros and barking dogs advised us of a set
tlement. This according to Julius, was Los Flores. Night
having fallen we went into camp without investigation. The
following morning we made the acquaintance of the pro
prietor of the place, an American by the name of Dr.
Plank. Not only was he a fellow countryman but also a
Good Samaritan, for he made room for us at his hospitable
table, introduced his wife and son and placed his home and
his books at our disposal. Here we stayed for three days,
during which we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. A large
mining plant is situated at Los Flores in connection with
which there is a seven-mile railroad with a baby engine.
When I boarded this engine, young Plank soberly informed
me that one of my burros was weeping with surprise and
jealousy at the sight.
Throughout the altogether pleasant hours spent at Los
Flores, I sought eagerly for additional news in regard to
the Seri Indians concerning whom I had read already in old
chronicles and of whom Julio had frequently spoken with
latent bitterness. These people inhabit Tiburon, or Shark
Island, a barren, rocky stretch of land some ten leagues in
length by four or five in breadth, lying off the Sonora coast,

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 129
opposite the Aguaje San Juan. Though its greatest heights
attain an elevation of 5,000 feet, there are only three con
siderable water-holes on the entire island. From the sum
mer of 1540 when Hernando de Alarcon, one of Cortez's
admirals, finding the surrounding sea swarming with vora
cious sharks, gave the land its name, Tiburon Island has
been a place of ill repute amongst men. A race of splendid
physique and marvelous fleetness, its inhabitants, known as
the Seri, were reported by Don Rodrigo Maldonado, an
officer of Coronado, as being "so large and tall that the best
man in the (Spanish) army reached only to their chests."
Indeed, there is excellent reason for believing that out of
the Spanish tales of the Seri were created, through an au
thor's imaginative brain, the Brobdingnagians of Dean
Swift. At the same time it is no wild phantasy to surmise
that Tiburon is really the island which Cortez had in view
when he sent his admirals in search of California, "the land
of Amazons" ; certainly the Seri women exercise an unusual
control of affairs on Tiburon, and all kinship is reckoned in
the female line.
Prior to the middle of the seventeenth century the inhabi
tants of the island were reputed to be cannibals, a stigma
which still attaches to them; by the opening of the eigh
teenth century their animosity toward strangers had become
proverbial. Neighboring Indian tribes, Spaniards, Mexi
cans, Americans, indeed, all visiting aliens have found the
Seri inexplicably treacherous and hostile. Non-agricultural
barbarians, scantily garbed in pelican skins, partial to meat
uncooked and to the unspeakably disgusting "second crop"
of the cacti, these isolated aborigines are possessed of a
pride of blood so fierce and intense that to intermingle their
own with that of an alien is an indefensible crime.
The Seri are essentially warriors. During the three cen
turies last past over fifty recorded attempts have been made

130 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
to subjugate them. Cunning, possessed of unequalled en
durance and a demoniac lust for blood, they have repulsed
or eluded all comers. If as many as five hundred members
of the tribe yet survive, then a moderate estimate of their
cost merely to Mexican war parties, would be two hundred
dollars per head. While they carry long bows, they seem
more partial to hupfs, or handy boulders, and to their teeth
and hands. That they use poisoned arrows is a charge
that has been made against their warriors these two cen
turies past. It is said that they obtain the deadly venom
by pressing their arrow points against partially hollowed
putrified livers within which a repulsive mass of centipedes,
tarantulas and rattlesnakes have been stored, warring until
death. Lithe, deep-chested, of rather comely figures and well pro
portioned bodies, the strength of the Seri is as extraordinary
as their lust for slaughter. Separated from the Sonora
mainland by the treacherous waters of a narrow strait,
well termed Boca Infierno (Mouth of Hell) and Infiernillo
(Little Hell) they dextrously propel their frail cane balsas
across the swirling waves, carrying with them plunder from
the inland natives. Indeed, at low tide it is said they breast
these waters without artificial support, carrying on their
stalwart shoulders great reeking quarters of stolen beef.
Working in concert, moreover, four Seri will run down a
deer or mountain sheep, beating out its brains with hupfs.
Many of the men exceed six feet in height.
Meager in its vocabulary, the language of these people
has been variously ascribed to Arabian, Welsh and Pata-
gonian original. In their worship, the turtle and the peli
can are chief tutelaries.
So many of the visitors to Tiburon Island, however, have
disappeared, leaving no sign, that most knowledge of its
people and their customs is traditional and veiled in uncer-

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 13 1
tainty. Of recent travelers who have never returned from
the Seri, I will mention two San Francisco correspondents,
murdered there in 1894, a party of prospectors who effected
a landing in 1896, two traders who were made away with
in 1898 and, finally, the Grindell party of last year. Well,
indeed, did a scientist of the Smithsonian Institute charac
terize the natives of Tiburon as "the most primitive, the
most bloodthirsty and treacherous of the Indians of North
America." So much for the 'cross-the-Gulf neighbors of
Los Flores. The knowledge that leagues of water inter
vened was rather comforting.
On the third day of our visit at Los Flores, our kindly
American host professionally advised my Scotch friend
against traveling farther overland in his debilitated condi
tion and invited him to remain in his home, until such time
in the near future as a steamer from Guaymas might appear.
He even seriously remonstrated with me concerning my
venturing southward by the lost Gulfo Camino, stating that
it was reputed to lead through a dangerous and untraveled
country. I parted regretfully with the Laird. Taking
the miner's advice in so far as it concerned the carrying of
Mexican currency in place of coin, and providing myself
with a new Indian guide, Lario, by name, and two new
rented burros, I left Los Flores late the afternoon of the
nth of March and rode southward into the wilds.
A rainstorm soon burst upon us and continued unceasingly,
but we covered ten miles before darkness and the pelting
storm compelled us to halt. Then, having been forewarned
by Dr. Plank, I had my mozos tie the burros for the
night so that they might not stray away into regions abound
ing in the poison weed, la yerba, and the poisonous little
creature el animal, both of which are deadly to grazing
beasts. Seemingly satisfied, the tethered burros munched
away on boughs of palo verde cut for them by the mozos.

132 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
The following morning we continued on in a flood of rain,
from which my companions sought to protect themselves by
covering their shoulders with mountain sheep hides, which
I permitted them to take from the packs, while I revelled in
my slicker. In places we saw parallel lines of stones mark
ing the ancient and now unknown Gulfo Camino of the
Padres; the greater portion of the time, however, we had
not even a sign of trail to follow. Finally, late in the after
noon, we reached a sinister appearing rancho, beyond which
Lario suddenly declined to move, in person or by burro.
In extenuation he stated that he was unacquainted with the
country and feared its dangers, that I might better have
taken the open Sierra Camino over Paraiso way.
As I was unwilling to turn back or aside, I at once paid
off the fellow and then, after much bargaining, engaged
two burros and their owner, the least murderous looking of
the unprepossessing mestizos gathered at the rancho, to
journey with me as far as the Mission of Santa Gertrudis.
Rapidly transferring such of my belongings as were on
Lario's burros to the newly engaged ones, I pressed on and
managed to place a league between the rancho and myself
before darkness and the rain compelled us to camp on the
edge of the arroyo down which we were riding. In the
middle of the night I looked from my tent and observed a
curious phenomenon. Rain drops were falling though the
sky was cloudless and the stars shining brightly !
After a dripping night, we hastened on into a region of
•lofty and rugged volcanic sierras, the favored retreat of
several varieties of big game. Of watering places, how
ever, we found but one, the "buried," or sand-covered
Tinaja de Santa Marita. At this tinaja we replenished our
canteens and then turned southwesterly into the sierras.
As we were ascending a brushy slope, I experienced a sharp
pain and a short period of uncertainty in consequence of a

An unprepossessing Mestizo

THE LOST GULFO CAMINO 133
bite, just below my left knee made by a small, greenish-
brown beetle. I captured the creature and at once en
deavored to ascertain from the mestizo what degree of
evil might result from the bite, for the pain was intense.
Finally, I was advised that the beetle's bite, though as mala
(evil) as the sting of an alacran (scorpion) was not as mala
as a beweiner.* With this differentiation I was obliged to
to be content and proceed.
Unexpectedly, a dip in the sierras gave us a view of the
Gulf spread out below us with two successive Islands in the
middle distance and the outline of a third against the hori
zon. Surmising that these were the Sal si Puedes (Get
Out if [thou] Canst) , I pointed them out to the mestizo and
he at once informed me that the two nearer islands were
San Sebastian and San Lorenzo while the distant one was
Tiburon. Then, extending his arm dramatically seaward,
he cried out in the vernacular, "There, Senor, the home of
the Seri ! Senor, they are cannibals, fiendish cannibals." I
gazed at the distant shore in horror and fascination, for
much had I heard of ill-famed Tiburon. Then I shivered,
thinking suddenly of the various explorers, even down to
Grindell, not yet a twelve-month lost, who had disappeared
forever on those shores glistening in the rays of the setting
sun. Swiftly, the clouds darkened the sky and hurled down
upon us a deluge of rain. Then night fell and we made
camp. It was not a pleasant evening. Santa Gertrudis was full
two days distant, we were in the uttermost corner of the
American continent and I had grave doubts concerning my
newly acquired and dangerous appearing mestizo. How
ever, under the soothing influence of the patter of the drops

* General local term for rattlesnakes of all varieties.

134 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
on the canvas, I finally fell asleep under my small tent, sup
plies about me, carbine at hand, revolver tied to my wrist —
and my mozos at my knees, partially sheltered by the tent
flaps.

CHAPTER XI
INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY
SOME forty-eight hours later we emerged in safety
from the lost Gulfo Camino, regaining the sierra
trail near the Mission of Santa Gertrudis. Here,
as a fitting, though altogether unpleasant, climax to the
varied experiences which had marked our travels since leav
ing San Borja, I found myself face to face with serious
trouble. Throughout the day the insolent eyes of the
greedy mestizo had been fixed covetously on my outfit.
Now, the very evening of our arrival at Santa Gertrudis, he
discovered in the currency which I tendered him a pretext
for the quarrel which he seemed only too anxious to bring
about. His pay must be in silver, he cried. To this I
made brief response, saying that I carried only currency
and the smaller coins. For a moment he stared at me with
lowering brows; then turned aside, muttering a surly re
joinder : silver he would have — and by morning.
There's unlimited picturesqueness about the old Spanish
missions. Take Santa Gertrudis, for instance. Founded
down near the twenty-eighth parallel, early in 175 1, by
Padre Consag, the noted Jesuit explorer, it has a cut stone
iglesia, and a renaissance-style separate campanile. Some
times, however, one is not interested in the picturesque. As
I hunched my shoulders up against the massive stones of the
southern wall of the iglesia of Santa Gertrudis, slipped my
wrist through the buckskin cord about the butt-ring of my
Colts .45, fixed a weather eye on the swathed form stretched
135

136 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
out not three paces distant and realized that a long night
was before me, I paid no heed to picturesque surroundings,
my mind being occupied exclusively with the thought that
an angry mestizo with a treacherous six-inch blade rested
within the serapa. Indeed, crouching against the mission
walls for the interminable hours of darkness proved a de
gree too romantic for any comfort.
Early the next morning an ancient crone, staff in hand,
tottered past, entering the mission. While she told her
beads within, I took the mestizo for a little walk beyond
the native graveyard. As we strolled along I held forth —
to a sullen auditor, I'll confess — on the equality of national
bills and coin, plainly a most unappreciated dissertation.
Presently, however, the fellow brightened visibly, his eyes
fixed on just what I was in search of — a big, long-eared
jackrabbit, sitting bolt upright near at hand. Some min
utes later we returned to the mission — again past the ceme
tery. One chamber of my revolver was now empty and a
thoughtful mestizo, carrying the remains of a badly man
gled rabbit, had concluded that national bills were legal
tender. Shortly, possessed of the right amount of these
bills, he rode peaceably away, taking the back trail which
led to his rancho.
This matter thus settled and breakfast disposed of, I dis
patched my small mozo in search of a Mexican with a renta
ble burro and a willingness to tackle the alleged antelope
country down on the eastern border of the Llanos de Ojo
" Liebre. I, for my part, undertook the luncheon proposi
tion. The' appetizing odors evidently reached the boy, for
he quickly returned, reporting several mestizos and Indians
near at hand, well provided with burros and anxious for
meat and pesos, but mightily averse to entering upon a trip
where the prospect for water was bad. Knowing what I
do now, I would have been equally reluctant myself. As

The Mission of Santa Gertrudis

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 137
it was, I became provoked, according to my wont when the
natives seemed timorous. In another moment, however,
the jangle of merry bells diverted my attention toward the
camino from the west.
I looked up in time to see a long cavalcade approaching
with much show of high peaked sombreros and silver
mounted saddles, of daggers and clanking spurs ; altogether
an unwonted and unusually fine outfit. The leader was a
tall, slender Mexican, his black hair splashed with white.
In single file, following close in his wake, came a pretty little
girl, a thickly veiled young woman, dressed in somber black,
two young fellows — one a handsome chap with an unex
pected lettered red sweater — next numerous pack animals
loaded with hampers — one even bore a large trunk — and
finally three or four mozos. The entire party were mounted
on long-legged mules, zebra-marked, sure-footed beasts.
The cavalcade halted beside a stream some rods from the
mission, whereupon the mozos began to unpack, under the
supervision of the leader, while the veiled Sefiora, accom
panied by the child and the two young men, approached the
iglesia. Attracted by my mountain sheep hides, the little
party swerved over my way and he of the red sweater, after
introducing himself as "Frank Reavis, of San Francisco and
Mexico," and acquiring my name, made me acquainted with
his companions. Though alone in speaking English, Reavis
was joined by the others in extending to me the hospitality
of camp. In fact, every member of the party was most
civil. The tall man proved to be no other than Don Ema-
liano Ybarra of Calmalli, leader of the Pronunciamento of
1875, and one of the last of the Mexican revolutionists.
With his commanding manner, piercing black eyes and sharp
acquiline features, the Don fitted the part to a theatrical
nicety. Siesta time over, the cavalcade turned into the mountains

138 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
to the southeast, bound for Santa Rosalia. Don Emaliano,
however, took the opposite direction, first advising me that,
if I did not mind taking chances, he would find at Calmalli
an old Mexican willing to enter the antelope country with
me. To Calmalli, therefore, I decided to turn my steps,
and at sunset that afternoon my small mozo and I got under
way and, with the stars to guide us, traveled northward for
nigh two leagues before unsaddling for the night. The en
suing day, after eight leagues of travel, west and northwest,
we arrived at the small pueblo of Calmalli where we spent
St. Patrick's Day and a portion of the 18th, waiting for the
Don's old Mexican to bring in from the hills two burros.
This man's name was Castro, a designation as indefinite on
the California Peninsula as is Smith in Uncle Sam's Cali
fornia. According to a lost Indian tradition, Calmalli signifies
"the lion at the spring" ; it is said to have been visited by a
roving Spaniard in the year 1544. I'll wager on the incor
rectness of that date, however. In 1883 gold placers were
discovered in the neighborhood and prospectors from the
four quarters of the globe forthwith flocked to the diggings.
One of these gold seekers was described to me by Don
Emaliano, his eyes the meantime sparkling brightly. She
was a pretty young Americana, traveling alone, her outfit
packed on a gray mule, her garb the regulation miner's red
shirt, overalls, felt sombrero and heavy boots, her ready
six-shooter strapped to her belt. Around her claim the
mercurial Mexicans flocked at once, intent on fond demon
strations. But the fair prospector had views of her own.
"I come from Tombstone," she asserted, in perfect Span
ish, "Tombstone, Arizona, where three times a day the
Coroner makes his regular rounds, and I have always done
my modest share in furnishing him with employment. You
must understand that I do not want any Greasers making

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY r39
love to me." And with this she nodded in a most cordial
manner, swinging forward the holster of her formidable
revolver. "I do hope, caballeros," she concluded, smil
ingly, "that there will be no misunderstanding of my views."
"She was a novel type for our gallants," chuckled Don
Emaliano, reminiscently, and since the courtly Revolutionist,
like most men who have braved danger, admitted a weak
ness for an attractive face, I should not be surprised if, in
his presence, La Americana forgot her armament. No
suggestion of this possibility, however, came from Don
Emaliano. Some years ago three million dollars of placer gold, to
gether with the mining excitement, passed away from Cal
malli, leaving piles of torn up earth and a small, slumber
ing pueblo where water is scarce and a vendible commodity,
where provisions are limited and cartridges sell at eight
to the dollar. Also, it costs one hundred and fifty dollars
to be married, devoutly and legally, in Calmalli. Conse
quently, not more than three couples have been thus united
there. Divorce being out of the question, the three may,
the hundred lacking formal certificates assuredly will, stay
in harness together, for, with a strange spirit of fidelity,
Peninsula women cling most faithfully to their men so long
as the latter provide, even in the meagerest measure, for
them and their children.
My stay at Calmalli was made unexpectedly pleasant by
the kindly attention of a Mr. Hall, an American mining
man, near whose home I had made camp. As soon as we
met, he invited me to his house on the strength of my —
color, I was about to say, forgetting for the instant that
three months' exposure to the Mexican sun had given my
complexion the hue of an Indian. Before accepting his
hospitality, however, I insisted that he examine my creden
tials, bringing forth, even as I spoke, a sheaf of gun-per-

140 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
mits, passports, etc., which I kept stored away in my saddle
bags. As he waved these aside most good naturedly, the
gorgeous seal on one of the documents caught his eye. This
seal, intended primarily for Indians, had been my salvation
with at least one tribe. It had come into my possession
through the courtesy of Governor Pardee, of California,
who had kindly provided me with an open letter to the Mexi
can authorities. His Secretary of State had attached
thereto an immense red seal, stating that the latter would
serve to impress the natives.
This document held Mr. Hall's attention for a moment,
then, after scrutinizing the official signatures, he hurriedly
re-entered the house, leaving me bewildered by his actions.
Indeed, in my surprise I had begun to reperuse the letter,
seeking some clause that had perhaps escaped my notice,
when Mr. Hall returned, bearing a generous sized bottle
and two formidable looking glasses. "Had you only men
tioned at the outset," he explained, proffering a glass, "that
you were Charley's friend," and he nodded toward the seal
and signature of the Secretary of State, "I should have un
derstood your immediate needs." With that he filled high
my glass, regardless of protestations. "Charley's my
friend, too," he remarked, attending to the second glass.
"Here's how!"
Mrs. Hall, for a Mrs. Hall there was — also a visiting
friend from Los Angeles — joined with her husband in cor
dial hospitality. With the three I partook of a good Ameri
can dinner where bread took the place of everlasting tortillas
and where fried chicken, salad and vegetables were gen
erously served. The table cleared, we chatted together
with rapidly increasing intimacy after the fashion of exiles
come together in a strange, wild land. "Don't be too much
impressed," explained the hostess, laughingly, "for, where
visitors only happen in about once a year, why — even you

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY I41
are an event." Ultimately the ladies made a planetary
wheel — they both seemed partial to the occult — cast my
horoscope and read my palm, gathering from these sources
that the future held in store for me a vital danger, a vast
fortune and several other interesting prospects. As I had
picked up a few ore specimens which Mr. Hall considered
of some value, we at once proceeded to discuss methods of
enjoyment of the coming fortune. Indeed, we presently
imagined ourselves dashing bravely down the Bois de Bou
logne behind six pure white trotting mules, their tall ears
ornamented with the yellow flowers of the blossoming
maguay plant, and attended by eight outriders on galloping
burros — altogether a picture quite sufficient to send every
self-respecting Parisian motor-car into a panic.
On the forenoon of the 18th, after bidding these kindly
Americans good-bye, I went on to the main part of the
pueblo where Castro was to join me and where I expected
to have a bit of soldering done to one of my large canteens.
I had no difficulty in locating Castro and his two sonorous
burros. The soldering proposition, however, was another
matter, for the mining man with the necessary tools was
deep in fiesta, the occasion therefor being the Saint's Day
of young Josefa, the belle of Calmalli — her birthday, that is,
for in Lower California an infant is named after the saint
on whose day he is born. The mining office being de
serted, I directed my steps, necessarily, toward the house
of the charming Sefiorita, where, as I had, on the previous
day, been formally introduced, a cordial reception awaited
me. Indeed, I was invited and urged and invited again to
dismount and enter the casa. Josefa and her sisters, in
gala attire, altogether attractively pretty and neat, were re
ceiving. The postmaster, the revenue official and the judge
were there, also the mining surveyor of soldering abilities
and two or three other good looking young fellows. Two

142 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of these caballeros were making music with guitar and man
dolin, while one of the sisters served cognac, mescal and
sherry. "The American gentleman is in the nick of time," they
said. "Thank you all," replied the American gentleman, "I
cannot delay, for the day advances and the next water is
two days distant. If I may impose a moment on the Sefior's
time for soldering — "
"Soldering? It will be no imposition. First, however,
you must join in Josefa's fiesta. Anyway, the middle of the
day is the best time for starting on a journey."
To temporize was my only hope, so I took refreshments
in turn with each of the Senoritas and then, revolver and
cartridge belt, camera and spurs temporarily discarded, I
waltzed with Josefa and later with her sisters. Though it
was a poor, plain little shack, this casa, with earthen floor
and but a single room, with rude chairs and beds pressed
back against the walls to provide space for the dancers, no
stately ballroom was ever more radiant with the spirit of
hospitality and welcome. The Senoritas danced gracefully
and were extremely decorous. Josefa, just fourteen, was
decidedly charming; her oval face, lustrous eyes and warm
coloring would attract attention in any company. At length
Don Emaliano, with all his lithe grace, came upon the
scene, glasses were filled again, Josefa's health was drunk,
so also was mine, the Don and I made speeches, then the
other Senors made speeches, the pretty girls dimpled and
smiled irresistibly; more refreshments were passed, the
guitar and mandolin twanged merrily and every one talked
a gay streak. These grown men, the principal citizens of
the pueblo, were having as happy a time as children on a
holiday, for such is the temperament of the Mexican.
Meantime, my departure seemed a forbidden subject.

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 143
When I again urged the necessity of going, therefore, the
Seiiors argued seriously that the middle of the day was a
bad time for the beginning of a journey, that the evening
was even better. Finally, at noon, I parted from the hos
pitable people but only by rushing away with my canteen
still unsoldered. As I spurred to the head of my caravan,
Don Emaliano exclaimed, sorrowfully, "Ah, how can you,
how can you ! Is not the sweet hostess far more attractive
than any antelope?" while the Senoritas murmured softly,
"Adios, Senor, Adios," and the mandolin and guitar
twanged a parting song. Surely, there is no hurrying in
Mexican California; there one is not supposed to hasten
even after antelope!
Anxious to make up lost time, we traveled south and
southwest from Calmalli, without pause, for five leagues,
passing through a hilly country and ultimately making
camp at dusk by the camino-side, where the presence of
much excellent bunch grass attracted the burros. Before the
camp-fire I amused myself by taking note of the proportions
of coffee and water employed by my Mexicans in making
their beloved beverage; something more than one of the
former to four of the latter ! Next I turned to serious study
of Don Emaliano's table of distances between waters.
Here it is: Calmalli to Ojo Liebre, twenty leagues; Ojo
Liebre to San Angel, twenty-four leagues; San Angel to
San Ignacio, ten leagues. In other words, only two water
ing places intervened in a stretch of one hundred and sixty-
two miles — and even the Don, himself, was ignorant of the
country between Ojo Liebre and San Angel, a seventy-two
mile stretch of desert.
Early the ensuing morning we continued our journey
southward. As we were now in a fine grass country where
the tall cholla made excellent hiding places for antelope, I
walked in the van of my outfit with carbine in hand, first

144 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
causing the bell to be removed from Coronado, the plucky
leader of my train. Nevertheless, though we advanced
thenceforth in absolute silence over the sandy trail, no
sight of game rewarded our efforts throughout the entire
forenoon. After making a short halt for a mid-day siesta,
we pressed on again, with an exceedingly hot sun overhead.
Presently, leaving the rolling hills behind, we entered upon
the Llanos de Ojo Liebre, or Plains of a Hare's Eye, some
times also called Antelope Plains, an immense barren
expanse, bordered by the San Pablo Sierras on the east, the
Santa Clara Sierras on the south and a low horizon on the
west. With its numerous curving swales and rounded sand
hills, the vast field, covered with waving grasses, bobbing
wild flowers and small, fretful leguminous plants, spread out
before us like some billowy sea.
Soon I saw my first prong-horn or antelope. He was to
our left, some three hundred yards distant, scurrying away
for all the world like some big, awkward, white-rumped
calf unexpectedly disturbed by an approaching train. How
ever, despite his haste, he had an inviting, feminine trick of
looking over his shoulder at a fellow, so I started in pur
suit, on foot, with carbine and camera in hand. For several
miles I followed that provoking beast, frequently waving
my bandana in the most orthodox, story-book fashion, but,
though he stopped twice, peering at me inquiringly from the
high grass, I was unable to get a shot. Finally, settling
down to business, he whisked out of sight with the speed of
a greyhound. After staring vainly at the heat-waves and sand hills that
had swallowed up my tantalizing quarry, I concluded that it
was time to return to my outfit; but look as I might, I could
see nothing except the undulating plain with its sand and
grass. Moreover, the sun was hot and the excitement of
the chase gone. I realized that I was deadly thirsty and

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY x45
that my canteen was tied on my saddle. Alarmed over the
situation, I circled about most wildly, signalling with my
revolver, waving a bandana from hillock tops and carrying
on generally like a lost child. Finally, collecting my wits, I
back-tracked — no easy trick where the grass grew. Next, I
found the camino, but my outfit was not in sight. By the
time I caught up with my people darkness had fallen and
my thirst was maddening. Invigorated by great gulps of
water, I roundly abused Castro for deserting me. He,
however, explained that Jesus had understood the first
handkerchief waving to be a signal for them to move for
ward. After some growling, I simmered down; under the
circumstances there was nothing else to do.
We rode on for a time in heavy silence and then, dis
mounting, proceeded on foot, thus resting the burros. The
side-winders, however, were also using the camino and their
presence robbed pedestrianism of all its pleasure. A "side
winder," let it be understood, is a short, extremely poisonous,
rattlesnake that prefers the night time for his travels; he
acquires his name from the peculiar manner in which he
throws his coils when in motion. First Coronado, and then
the other burros right on down the line, would jump aside
with a wild snort of angry terror whereupon we would do
a bit of side-stepping, ourselves, for the commotion signified
that some vicious side-winder had the right of way. This
jumping business got on my nerves so completely that at
'8.30 P. M. I ordered a halt for the night, much to Castro's
disapproval, since it was a dry camp, we had but a half pint
of water on hand and Calmalli was fifty wilderness miles
behind us.
Daylight, on the 20th, showed tracks of side-winders
about our blankets and a small clump of young cottonwoods
a half league dead ahead. Hastening forward with our
thirsty burros, we shortly arrived at the clump. In the shade

146 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of tne trees were two pools of water, known as the Pozo
de Ojo Liebre, or Well of a Hare's Eye, though why so
named I am unable to explain. I will, therefore, merely
submit Castro's dictum that "the tradition is lost, Seiior."
My first information concerning this water-hole had come
from an old journal. Before entering Mexico I had pro
vided myself with copies of such logs and journals of Lower
California travel as were to be found — a strangely limited
number. From the Ross Browne collection of 1867 I was
aware that to cross the Llanos de Ojo Liebre was a venture
that his party dared not essay; indeed, it had been reported
to them that "from San Ignacio to San Angel, a salt, al
most undrinkable water, is seven leagues; from San Angel
the next water is Ojo Liebre, thirty leagues. Ojo Liebre
is much resorted to by coyotes and wild animals, many of
which are drowned in it and the water is said to be unen-
durably foul. From Ojo Liebre the next water is twenty
leagues. The water is not to be depended on." However,
this data had not deterred me, for, in my foolishness, I
was rather hankering after adventures, and there is nothing
venturesome in exploring known regions or keeping to open
trails. Therefore, after drafting Castro into service on his
reputation of having crossed, in boyhood, from Ojo Liebre
to San Angel I had entered this sinister region heedless of
consequences ; Castro on his part, had come to me inquiring
concerning my public offer of wages : a bonus of five pesos,
extra, for a sight of a berrendo within two hundred yards,
and a promise of much carne, after such sight, had won
him completely.
We spent a day at Ojo Liebre. During the forenoon
we boiled and strained water, a precaution which greatly
amused my companions, who could see no objection to swal
lowing the myriads of small red insects inhabiting the well.
In the afternoon Castro and I explored a vast salt bed a

INTO THE ANTELOPE COUNTRY 1 47
few miles distant, being amazed by the marvelous mirages
flitting above the brilliant salt; next we swung away toward
the Pacific Ocean. Between floundering in the salt bogs and
slipping about the sand-hills, we had a sad time of it. Not
far distant was grim Black Warrior Lagoon, the scene of
the wrecking of many whaling vessels and the loss of many
lives from the time of the ill-fated Tower Castle, whose
crew, in 1838, escaped the waves only to die of thirst. The
last survivor of this ship closed his journal with these hope
less words: "I have observed the symptoms of my com
panions ; it is but reasonable to expect that my time will soon
come, for I now experience those same symptoms." As
this historical data, gleaned from a coast report which I
carried in my saddle-bags, rather gave me the shivers, I
swerved away from the treacherous coast and hunted until
evening for antelope, getting better acquainted, the mean
time, with Castro. Well past the threescore mark, he was
quick-witted, full of dry humor, something of a philosopher
and a born tracker. In appearance he was slight and
wizened. After supper I set him to work — while I boiled
more water for the journey — soldering the leaky canteen,
which he did with metal taken from an empty meat can.
During our absence Jesus, urged on by a boy's appetite
and keenly alive to the prospective dry camps and conse
quent limited cookery before us, had prudently fried some
twenty tortillas. In the preparation of these cakes — a
staple article of native diet on the Peninsula — a liberal sup
ply of water is required, for though a mozo may at other
times neglect his ablutions he never fails to rinse his hands
before mixing tortillas. This preliminary rite concluded, the
Mexican proceeds to mix flour, salt — and lard, if he pos
sess it — with sufficient water to produce a thick dough,
which he then breaks up into balls the size of a hen's egg.
He next takes these spheres, one by one, between his palms

148 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
and by a rotary motion of the hands, varied by occasional
kneading between the fingers, flattens each one into a circu
lar cake some twelve inches in diameter by an eighth of an
inch in thickness. Tortillas are cooked, one at a time, on
any sort of an unswabbed iron griddle that may be avail
able. Not infrequently they receive a delectable further
browning by being unceremoniously cast upon the embers.
If made with little or no lard and well kneaded, these cakes
are excellent to eat and easily digested. The evening well
advanced, the tortillas cooked and the water boiled, we
sought our blankets, ready to enter the desert on the mor
row.

CHAPTER XII
THIRST !
EARLY in the morning of Wednesday, the twenty-
first, we broke camp, bound for San Angel, the next
water, distant, according to Castro, just three days.
To meet the prospective thirst we had my saddle canteen,
containing half a gallon, the mended canteen with two gal
lons, and a third holding two and a half gallons. Before
taking our departure, we drank abundantly and, for the
sake of future wayfarers, I planted several palm seeds about
the pozo, while my Mexicans, less altruistically inclined,
drove the burros to the water's edge. The animals, how
ever, having slacked their thirst the previous day, stubbornly
refused to drink. We headed for the southeast, following
a faint trail which, Castro averred, had been made by the
gold seekers bound for the Sacramento Placers in 1849-50,
many of whom came from Panama to La Paz and thence
overland, hundreds of leagues northward. For half a
century the trail had not been used. It was dead. Frag
ments of glass from broken bottles, a line of grass slightly
darker than that at its sides and as erect as the trimmed
mane of a mule — these were all that marked the course of
the old pioneers.
Finally we came to a number of stones laid upon an
alkali surface of barren ground. They were in the form of
a cross and their points indicated the four quarters of the
compass. We agreed that this was the work of the ancient
Padres. I even thought it possibly a relic of Padre Sigis-
149

150 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
mundo Taravel, who crossed these plains and explored Ced-
ros Island in 1730. Beyond this cross there was no sign of
a trail. Once, indeed, the track of a burro crossed our
course but, on examination, Castro and Jesus pronounced it
to be that of a wild burro, though how they reached their
conclusion concerning this bronco when all Peninsula burros
are left unshod is more than I can say. However, accept
ing the track as a possible token of our being in the neigh
borhood of the old camino, we immediately spread out like
a fan and traveled in that order for several fruitless hours.
Then the ground became decidedly rolling, with thickets of
cholla and palma del monte growing on the swells and mak
ing it difficult for us to pick our way forward even in single
file. In one of these thickets Jesus got lost at dusk while
pursuing a rabbit, so Castro and I, after vainly calling,
made camp and built a large fire. After climbing a palma
del monte the boy perceived the brilliant reflection and
reached camp rejoicing.
That night a heavy fog moistened the grass, to the great
relief of the thirsty burros. In the morning the mist was
so dense that Castro had a wearisome chase and lost time in
locating his burros, which had strayed away during the
night, doubtless searching for water; and next my compass
came into play. I led off on the course we had been follow
ing when the trail pinched out the preceding day, that is 17
degrees south of east. The fog lifted about ten — I could
only estimate the hour, for my watch had been broken for
over a month — and soon after, while crossing a cardon and
cholla covered hill, I came upon a cinnamon colored wild cat
enjoying a sun bath on the limb of a giant cactus. Two
quick rifle shots disturbed pussy's slumbers and he disap
peared from sight, sliding into a hole in the limb. Hearing
the racket and thinking of extra pesos and much carne, my
Mexicans rushed up, crying out, "An antelope, an antelope ?"

THIRST 151
They were crestfallen when I replied, "No, un gato de
campo." (No, a wild cat) . Unfortunately, the beast had
not fallen to the ground; in fact, the blood-stained edge of
the hollow in the limb evidenced the necessity of someone's
ascending the tree and making investigations. When I sug
gested that one of them climb after the gato, both Castro
and Jesus looked troubled, and accordingly, to preserve that
surest safeguard vouchsafed to the exploring American, his
reputed national disregard of all dangers, I pulled myself
into the cardon, revolver ready. Facing the retreat of an
angry cat not being especially attractive, I was decidedly re
lieved to find the creature lifeless.
Meantime, the burros had wandered away and, upon
rounding them up, my Mexican called to me in sudden
alarm. Hurrying forward, to my dismay I found that the
burro carrying the recently mended canteen had run into a
cardon with the result that the solder had come loose, let
ting the water, save perhaps a cup full, leak out. This was
more serious, for we had been drawing heavily on the other
large canteen, and in my saddle canteen there was barely a
pint remaining. Nor was this all : In the blankness of the
situation Castro confessed that he did not know where we
were, that he had never before crossed this section of the
great plains. In other words, expecting to find the old cam
ino distinct, he had been tempted to undertake the trip for
the sake of the promised pesos. However, he said he knew
the Agua of San Angel and that it could not be over a day
distant. It was now nearly noon. We pressed on and very
shortly the face of the country changed, becoming more open
and very sandy. In many places, moreover, the earth was
honeycombed with underground runways of gophers or
similar burrowing creatures so that the burros broke through
at every step. Their consequent jolting gait was overlooked

152 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
by us in the more serious consequence of the resulting slow
advance. The heat, also, now became intense and at lunch
time Castro, realizing our condition, advised against the
eating of any kind of meat lest our thirst be thereby in
creased. A few lettuce leaves, the remnant of a present
given by the Halls, were so fresh and cooling to the palate
that we relished them greatly.
Early in the afternoon we came upon three antelope,
though I, personally, saw only one, a fine prong-horn buck.
I was off my riding burro instantly, and signalling
my men to keep the train in motion, dropped on
one knee and began pumping lead at the buck, a fair
mark, facing me at two hundred yards. Certainly that
antelope had never before seen a man, for he stood
calmly for two shots before turning tail. Running for
ward I saw no blood, but immediately caught sight of my
game racing down a wide swale. After three shots,
he fell, kicking violently. I rushed in pursuit, dropped
my carbine and was drawing my camera from its case when
the poor creature stumbled to its feet and made off across
the swale. I supposed the buck would fall again, imme
diately, but he kept on until three more shots grounded him.
Then I hurried forward to observe this, my first antelope.
Five bullets had struck true, two of them coming out near
together, just below the spine, and making a rent as large as
a man's hand. He was a true Mexican prong-horn — a
delicate, beautiful creature; white and tan and black, with
graceful, black prong horns set just above large eyes, and
with the long, well-turned head of a blooded greyhound.
The flashing eyes of a cornered stag or the green orbs of a
fighting big-horn have never appealed to me as did this
dying antelope. His great, frightened, gazelle eyes looked
up to me with so pathetic and reproachful an expression that
I would gladly have given him back his life had such power

THIRST 153
been mine. Even now I feel regret rather than pride as I
recall those great limpid eyes.
That night we made camp in a small clump of palmas del
monte, our stock standing disconsolately about, too thirsty
to seek their food. Dried biscuits and lettuce leaves suf
ficed for our supper. I sat up quite late preparing the an
telope's head, intending to have it mounted for an approach
ing birthday of my sister-in-law. Before turning in, Castro
and I put out several tin plates for the sake of a possible
fall of dew. We did not sleep much. I awoke about mid
night with my throat craving water. I drained nearly a
cup, more, in fact, than my share for the time.
Friday morning there were a few drops of dew in the
plate, we licked them up thirstily; then, careless of the ante
lope steaks, ate dried biscuit and baked potatoes. After
this slight repast, we drew in our belts and pursued our
easterly course, the fog saving us from the heat for a couple
of hours. Our stock of water now consisted of two cup-
fuls, and all that relieved the seriousness of the position
was Castro's assurance that by noon we would strike either
the Calmalli-San Ignacio camino or the Agua of San Angel.
For two leagues we traveled over firm ground, radiant
with wild flowers growing to the shoulders of the burros.
Then the soil once more became loose and yielding, cholla
and cardones superseded the wild flowers and, to the increas
ing torment of our thirst, was added the constant menace of
cactus thorns. Gradually, we ascended the rising slope of
the sierras, the ground changing to a rock heap, densely
grown with the pernicious cholla, palmas del monte and car
dones. With our advance came the greater heat of the day,
bringing intense thirst and grave anxiety. Ultimately, noon
grew near, and with sinking spirits we were forced to admit
that there were no signs of any camino approaching our
line of march from the northwest — Calmalli way. By mid-

154 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
day we had arrived at a small arroyo on a high mesa ; here
we paused briefly, to extract thorns, rest and relish a half
spoonful, each, of water. White-limbed, fresh-looking
palos blancos were growing about us, but in the absence of
water their very freshness was derisively cruel. Castro
now urged that we bear away into the sierras to the north.
Mindful of the advice given me in February by my friend,
Seiior Dick, however, I refused to consider this suggestion
and later in the day, with threatening revolver, enforced
my determination of pursuing, without the slightest varia
tion, the course which we had adopted Wednesday after
noon. Could we but hold out, this would bring us to some
one of the caminos running into San Ignacio from the north
or south, while straying would merely serve to eat up our
endurance. For twenty-four hours, dead ahead against
the eastern horizon we had seen, except during darkness
and fog, a mighty cleft peak, our adopted landmark, indi
cating to us the direction we had chosen — 17 degrees south
of east. From this course there should be no turning.
After our brief rest, we pressed on over flat rocky ridges
and across sandy arroyos, the whole country being nearly
impassable because of the dense thickets of cacti and under-
growths. In the forenoon, we had crossed several small
water courses, parched, salt-stained by the evaporation of
alkali water ; now each successive arroyo wore a fresh, ver
dant carpet that deceitfully invited us to hasten forward
but, on near approach, always proved to be flowering creep
ers, entangling gourd-vines, stubborn cacti — Dead Sea fruit
for our terrible thirst. Meantime, Castro and I were com
pelled, again and again, to dismount and hack a passage
through the deterring growths. Finally, we continued on
foot, grim, silent figures, moving forward, forward, ready
machetes in hand. Early in the afternoon the Mexicans had
split open a young viznaga, or barrel or fish-hook cactus,

THIRST 155
and carved out great chunks of the firm, interior flesh ; fol
lowing their example, I was soon chewing some of this to a
pulp. It looked like an apple and yielded considerable
juice, but our bodies had become so dry and our throats so
parched that we craved great gulps of water rather than
this impalatable moisture. Perhaps an hour later Castro
bent down suddenly, with a low gasp of delight, and
wrenched loose from a crevice among the rocks a small
plant made up of a number of pale delicate shoots. Ex
plaining that this was the siempre vivens and muy bueno,
the old fellow equably divided up the shoots. We chewed
them greedily. The siempre vivens in its appearance
greatly resembles the lily of the valley — always a favorite
flower with me, now doubly so, for the leaves and flower
stems of this, its desert cousin, proved to be juicy and an
astringent, by no means unpleasant, to the throat and
tongue. Over seventy hours had elapsed since our poor burros had
had water! Now, however, I shortly noticed a wise old
burro of Castro's, and Cabrillo, my large, half bronco
burro, tearing at a small, cylindrical cactus. The Mexicans
at once nodded approvingly, and sighting another similar
cactus, tore it loose for the burros. This cactus — not over
an inch in diameter by four in height — they termed the
chiquita pithaya. It contained much moisture. Almost
immediately we were still further encouraged by the sight
of two doves which, according to the Mexicans, betokened
the proximity of water. As the hours dragged by, how
ever, without materialization of these hopes, our spirits fell
lower than ever.
Darkness found us on a rocky mesa where we unpacked.
After pushing aside the large loose stones and opening our
blankets on the half cleared spots, we sank down apatheti
cally, heedless of the numerous stones remaining. For sup-

156 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
per we ate baked potatoes, lump sugar and prunes. Each
of us also gulped down a spoonful dole of water : this left
us less than a cupful in stock.
Neither of the Mexicans had as yet uttered a word of
complaint, nor did they now. Jesus, poor boy, lay for
lornly on his blanket, careless of the stones beneath. His
eyes looked preternaturally large and pathetic. Feeling
that death was probably near at hand, my main regret was
for him. Castro was reaping the chances of his specula
tion. I had challenged fate by attempting to explore the
country, but poor Jesus was a mere pawn indentured to me
by his father. Eventually, I made a few entries in my
journal, smiling grimly as I noted that they filled out the last
page in the volume. By this time Jesus had sunk into
broken slumber; Castro, swathed in his serapa, crouched
by the small fire ; with tired muscles relaxed, I was stretched
out at length on my blankets, disheartened and hopeless.
Fortunately for me, sleep came, bringing temporary relief.
With a feverish start I awoke, possessed by a maddening
thirst. The air was cruelly dry. No dampening mist had
rolled in to cool us. The night was silent and starry. At
other times in my life I had been on long stretches without
water and had suffered from thirst — but never like this.
With a ghastly alertness ideas and thoughts came march
ing down the pathways of my brain and instantly I thus
summed up the situation : We have little water and no sup
ply is near — San Angel has evidently been passed to our
Tight — and yet our parched condition is such that our sys
tems imperatively demand refreshment. However, we
have but a few drops of water and the nature of the country
is such that even with fresh animals or greater individual
energy there could be no hastening forward more rapidly
toward San Ignacio. Unquestionably even more terrific
thirst will come and with it — Death.

THIRST 157
And yet death always seems the other fellow's portion,
and while one is possessed of vigor its immediate personal
proximity is hard to realize. Then it came over me that
the many other poor devils who had met death by thirst on
the Lower California deserts had doubtless found a similar
difficulty in realizing the nearness of the end. On the heels
of this thought there flashed across my mind the closing
entry made by the last of the crew of the "Tower Castle,"
and I repeated to myself, "It is but reasonable to expect that
my time will soon come." Yes, reason pointed that way for,
face to face with the domination, the angry gripping of such
maddening thirst, our minds certainly would shortly lose
their balance, their grasp, and from an experience with
tragedies of the desert I knew that such mental unbalancing
— insanity — was the prelude, the first step, incident to death
by thirst.
At this I grew rebellious. I would not give in. I was
not fated to die in such manner — not yet, at least. More
over, I belonged to the superior nation and I must keep up
my end before my Mexicans. With this there flitted across
my mind the gay pictures of fortune predicted by the kindly
ladies at Calmalli and I found sardonic amusement in blam
ing them as false prophetesses. My thoughts hurried oh
and I began to consider a plan. Meantime I ate a few bis
cuit crumbs and lumps of sugar, moistened with a teaspoon-
ful of whiskey. Next I seized upon my journal and made
a brief closing note across the margin of the last page ; then,
scrawling on its cover my brother's address and a simple
direction in Spanish that it be sent to him, I tied the book
with a strong cord and slipped it into my saddle-bags.
Looking up from this, I saw Castro's eyes upon me. He
evidently had understood the intent of my actions, for he
nodded approvingly. Passing from him my glance wan
dered across the mesa, with its cholla and kindred shadows ;

158 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
it noted the mist that had stayed on the plains below ; for an
instant it viewed the clear sky giving sinister promise of an
early day of heat, then again fell upon the old Mexican in
his serapa. On the spur of the moment I addressed him in
English: "How now, old boy?" I said, forcing a grin.
Though the words were meaningless to him, the spirit he
appreciated and a smile, brave but frightfully ghastly, crept
over his wizened features and seemed to run like some stray
electric current out into his crisp gray curls. Presently in
hollow tones that I even yet recall, he made his answer.
"Senor," he said, "manana, manana no agua, manana tardes
— nosotros muertus." (Sir, to-morrow morning no water,
to-morrow afternoon — we die.) His words voiced the con
clusions that I had not dared express. I shivered, and
then, "Si, seiior," I replied, quietly.
For a long time after this we sat by the coals, brooding
silently. Then he made inquiry whether I had wife and
children. I shook my head. "Bueno," he muttered, and
without further words I knew the trend of his thoughts.
Later I secured an hour of broken sleep, but long ere dawn
Castro roused both Jesus and me that we might lose no pos
sible chance of travel before the heat of the day. Suffering
though I was, I could but note the quiet, even way in which
both Mexicans went after the burros — poor creatures, they
had stayed near by, their heads hanging disconsolately — and
put on the packs, performing their wonted duties as faith
fully as though the brightest prospects were before them.
In response to a query as to how he felt, Jesus answered
simply, "Muy mala, Senor."
To lighten the loads of our weary burros, I had regret
fully directed Castro to throw aside the forequarters of the
antelope. At the same time I divested myself of my cam
era, spurs, cartridges, even of my revolver, placing them all
in my cantinas; thus lightly accoutered, and armed only with

THIRST 159
a short machete, I was prepared for the finish of the chapter.
I now submitted the plan on which I had determined : if we
found no water or camino by midday, the burros should be
unpacked, unsaddled and turned loose, the Mexicans should
put up my small tent and lie quietly in its shade while I, as
the hardiest in the party, should push on ahead, find San
Ignacio — if possible — and then hasten rapidly back on a
fresh animal, bringing with me a supply of water. Castro
approved of this scheme, Jesus nodded and we began the
day's march.
This was Saturday, the 24th of March. For three days
we had been traveling in a dry, smothering atmosphere,
where extreme perspiration is the rule. On Wednesday
we had had a reasonable amount of water, some five cups
each. Thursday we had had probably three cups each, Fri
day not over three spoonfuls — and on this day Castro and I
had been on foot most of the day and the brush had been
dense. We began Saturday with a spoonful each: three
spoonfuls remained. A personal experience of this nature
is not pleasant to recall, and I shall hurry over our further
sufferings. A deep chasm soon confronted us, but after much diffi
culty we found a place where we could descend and down
which we persuaded the burros to venture ; poor creatures,
they seemed to realize that it was no time to be stubborn
over steep places for, with Coronado leading bravely, they
jumped after me from boulder to boulder. In one place
we found a number of the siempre vivens growing and these
we seized upon with avidity. On we went, down one moun
tain side and up another. None of us had anything to say.
Once or twice the Mexicans were disposed to stray from
our course, but I grimly persuaded them into line. About
eleven in the forenoon, while searching in a side arroyo for
a possible tinaja, I came across a group of graves. This

160 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
dispiriting discovery I kept from Jesus, though I made it
known to Castro. The old man shook his head, briefly
remarking that doubtless some considerable party had died
of thirst and that we would soon be in the like fix — only
we might have to wait a time for stones to be piled over us !
This set me to thinking of an ancestor hunt I had once
made in an overgrown cemetery at Newtown, Long Island,
and I began to chuckle over the recollection that even the
most magnificent tombstones in that cemetery were entirely
neglected. The note of insanity which rang in my laughter
checked these thoughts, sharply; but i'n another moment
ghoulish memory was picturing the appearances of the vari
ous dead men whom I had chanced upon at different times
and particularly one found near Lake Tahoe; above this
man's body I had helped place a rude board, inscribed from
the Psalms, "The mountains shall bring peace."
The recollection of this inscription still sharp in my brain,
a dull effort to find a proper translation in Spanish engross
ing my attention, laughter on my lips — to such a state had I
come, when I saw near at hand the familiar parallel lines of
stones which mark a roadway of the time of the padres.
My wild cry, "Un camino, un camino!" brought my com
panions hurrying forward with strained, doubting expres
sions that were pathetic.
After following this trail — it came from the southwest,
San Angel way, we learned later — for a few rods, we
halted and wet our lips with the few drops remaining in
the canteen and which we had been keeping, tacitly, for the
first who should give out. Assuaging the further poignancy
of our sufferings by chewing viznaga pulp, we kept on for
about ten miles. Then, unexpectedly, the blank rocky mesa,
over which we were traveling opened before us. At the
bottom of the chasm, five or six hundred feet below, lay a
long, narrow valley, of perhaps two thousand acres, with

THIRST 161
water — pools of fine, rippling water flowing through
green masses of sedge — and palms — thousands of tall,
graceful palms, shading numerous thatched houses — and
over to the further side a beautiful stone church with spires
and belfry rising aloft. Up the trail came a homelike cow,
closely followed by three little barefoot girls, clad in pink
and red.
Off came my sombrero. "Hurrah, hurrah!" I cried
hoarsely. "San Ignacio, San Ignacio," mumbled old Castro, while
Jesus, hysterically laughing, cried out, "Agua, agua!"

Part II
THE WIDENING OF THE TRAIL

CHAPTER XIII
SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED
DOWN the camino we plunged, following hard in the
wake of our thirst-crazed burros. Some slow
dragging moments brought us into the midst of a
group of natives lounging in dreamy apathy before the open
doorway of a small shack built against the base of the cliff.
"Agua, agua!" we demanded, gaspingly, with naught by
way of preliminary greeting. Our hoarse, broken voices,
our dry, mumbling lips, our frenzied manner, our burros
wading belly-deep in the stream beyond : no need to amplify
such signs to children of an arid land, to a people reared
amid tragedies of the desert. On the instant, seizing cups
and gourds they dipped up cooling water from an earthen
olla, splashing our dry faces, our dry necks, our dry arms
with large gourds of blessed water, then they gave us each
a brimming cup, a great, cooling, life-renewing cup of wa
ter, cautioning us the meantime lest we drink overmuch.
And thus I came to San Ignacio, the favored. That we
were in an out-of-the-world place was now brought home
to me, for my accent disclosing my nationality, one of the
natives exclaimed, "Ah, Sefior, you are an Americano!
Ten months past there were here two of your compatriots,
bird collectors from your great city of Washington. But
they came hither safely, having taken the upper, the well-
beaten camino. Ah, three strange Americanos within the
year!" Soon we made camp in the shade of two great olive trees
165

1 66 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
where my tent opened out upon the stream and where palms
and orange trees were near by. Thoroughly exhausted,
we stretched out in the shade, now and again drinking more
water or eating luscious fruit, for we were well supplied
with oranges, lemons, dates and sugar-cane, gifts of kindly
people who had come quietly to our camp with their offer
ing as soon as the news of our fearful experience had reached
them. In the late afternoon, with sharp clatter of hoofs
there dashed by a party of gentlemen mounted on spirited
Durangian horses, with silver mounted bridles and saddles
and carrying long swords thrust under the left knees. Later,
a gay party of these Caballeros, with Sigiioras and Senoritas
in their midst, swept by, bowing gravely as they passed, and
calling forth in courteous tones, "Buenas tardes, Senor;
buenas tardes." Though seated in strangely designed side
saddles, the ladies rode with extreme grace. The peculiar
features of these saddles consisted in the hanging of the stir
rup at the right side of the horse and in the presence of a
high back or support which arose above the cantel and ex
tended to the left.
Noting, in a dazed manner, these passers by, I rested
quietly in camp, accepting the readily given information of
not infrequent visitors. Meantime I drank water; by
nightfall I had absorbed over two gallons and yet I craved
more ; indeed, there seemed no abatement to my thirst, my
parched system absorbing the moisture as the desert sands
drink in the drops of a rare August thunder shower. The
following day found me feverishly nervous. Fortunately,
however, a delightful young caballero, Seiior Villavacensio,
soon appeared and, seemingly appreciative of my mood,
took me for a stroll along the winding, palm-shaded streets
of the pueblo and through the quaint precincts of the ancient
mission. Before my interest in these scenes had even be
gun to abate he turned toward a substantial residence where

SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 167
I was formally presented to a dignified Senora and her two
daughters, who inquired kindly concerning my home and
my welfare. From this pleasant home we passed on to
another and another, finding in each the same genial hos
pitality. With their bright eyes, soft voices, fluttering fans
and easy grace the Senoritas were altogether adorable ; win
some, nut-brown maids, every one of them, their pretty
faces set off by the fascinating rebozo, or Mexican head
dress. Our calls concluded, we dropped in at a cantina and then
another and another, finding in each drinking, smoking and
billiard playing, but no drunkenness. We drank mediocre
imported beer at four reales the small glass and a fine qual
ity of native wine at half a real the generous sized glass.
With evening came the sound of guitars and violin and I
was ushered into an adobe where a baile or ball was in prog
ress. The principal citizens of the pueblo were in attend
ance, dancing gravely with the Senoritas while the Sefioras
looked on with seeming content. I was courteously intro
duced to several of the young ladies and I found them ex
cellent waltzers even though our dancing floor was earthen.
Between the dances mescal was passed for the men and wine
and beer for the women, but none indulged too freely. The
scarcity of bachelors was noticeable. This was explained
to me by the statement that the majority of the young men
were employed in the copper mines at Santa Rosalia, too
far distant to permit of their attendance at the baile.
Surely of San Ignacio I can write only in the kindliest vein
and such, I am sure must also be the attitude even of those
who have neither been rescued by its streams nor taken cap
tive by the charm of its history and traditions for, with its
oasis-like aspect and the impulsive hospitality of the inhabi
tants, the little pueblo is a delightful place, marvelously in
viting to the traveler. By whatever camino he may ap-

1 68 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
proach, it comes as a surprise, the rocky mesa opening
unexpectedly before him and disclosing the verdant arroyo
below, with its tens of thousands of waving palms, its glis
tening orange trees, its green sedges gemmed with pools of
limpid water, its thatched roofed jacales — shacks made of
thatch — its substantial, flat roofed adobes and magnificent
stone mission church. There are a thousand inhabitants in
the narrow valley. They cultivate about two thousand
acres of rich, well-watered, ashy loam, volcanic in its origin
and of surpassing fertility, which rewards them with pros
perity. In the arroyo of San Ignacio oranges, lemons,
sugar-cane, olives, figs and grapes mature, unchallenged by
frost, while palms — sixty thousand, it is said, grow in pro
fusion; the fan palm, useful for thatching, and the red,
green, yellow and black date palm all are there. Enough
grain is raised and enough leather prepared for home con
sumption, while long trains of burros and mules carry away
for export cargoes of fresh and dried fruits, wine and a
native sugar called panoche.
The history of this favored valley is that of its mission.
Nigh two centuries ago a Jesuit explorer, one Sistiago, came
exultantly to Loreto, reporting the discovery of a deep
arroyo with much water and sedge grass and many Indians.
Happy coincidence: even then a caravel was entering the
offing bringing to California Padre Juan Bautista Luyando,
a brilliant and socially accomplished missionary, eager to
establish, personally, a mission dedicated to San Ignacio, the
founder of the Society of Jesus. To Kadakaman, or the
Valley of Sedges, therefore, the two padres, pioneer and
aristocrat, hastened, founding there the Mission of San
Ignacio de Kadakaman.
This was in the year 1728. Some three decades before
Padre Juan Maria Salvatierra, a priest of the Society of
Jesus, a native of Milan, of noble parentage and ancient

SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 169
Spanish descent, had landed, with an escort of six soldiers,
on the east coast of the Peninsula. In the seventy years
succeeding this event and ending with their expulsion in
1768, the Jesuits established such a network of missions
throughout the Peninsula that, although the eighteenth cen
tury was pre-eminently a fervid period of mission construc
tion in their Spanish Majesties' realms, in no portion thereof
was more ardor shown than in California. Not the Cali
fornia of these days, but the Isla de California as it was
termed by the early chroniclers, the mysterious "Island"
of pearls, mermaidens, Amazons and treasure, now classed
as the Mexican territory of Baja California and, aside from
its name, relatively as much a terra incognita as in the days
when voyagers charted it as an island and peopled its val
leys with roving and alluring Amazons.
Of the substantial work accomplished by the energetic
Jesuits during the threescore and ten years of their Cali
fornia service, San Ignacio was the pivotal point, second
only to sacred Loreto. From the year of its dedication
the mission was the starting point for their venturesome
explorers and an enticing field for their scholarly priests.
At the time of the expulsion of these padres the church and
subsidiary buildings at San Ignacio were still in course of
construction; completed, a few years later, by the Domini
cans, they were thereafter considered among the finest in
the country.
The Mission of San Ignacio has its traditions as well
as its history: A queen of Spain, it is said, gave a million
and a half of pesos for its construction and over fifty years
of labor were required for its completion; in the distant
Santa Clara Sierra, within sight of the lofty spires of the
church, lies hid away the mysterious Lost Mission of Santa
Clara ; finally, saintly padres have been interred before the
altar of San Ignacio and beneath it there is secreted a

170 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
mighty chest of treasure. Short has been the shrift allotted
to the wickedly avaricious who have sought this treasure;
for should it once be disturbed then the slumbering volcanic
fires in the mighty Tres Virgenes will awaken and over
whelm San Ignacio with lava. It is a pity that the volcano
did not give a few threatening rumbles a short time since,
for by so doing it might have saved the altar from being
pillaged, under the cloak of legal authority, of many of its
precious gold and silver ornaments. The long knives of
the natives, however, will doubtless protect the traditional
treasure. It is part history and part tradition that in early times
the Padres gathered at San Ignacio a library of rare books
and precious charts. Even less than sixty years ago these
treasures were seen. After diligent search I found, in the
hands of an old San Ignacio family, the remains of this
library: two poor, lone volumes. Both were printed in
illuminated type, done at Rome "Superiorum Permissu,"
one under date of 1723, the other, 1783. The ancient
leather and wood bindings, the broken iron clasps and the
quaint print of these relics would cause any normal anti
quary to thrill with covetousness. Church ceremonials, Holy
Days and other religious matters were the subjects consid
ered in these books. Near Santa Gertrudis I had found
others not unlike them, but with this greater interest: the
illustrations had been designed to appeal to the natives, the
Roman Centurions, for instance, being mounted on mules
accoutered with the shoulder and crupper straps in use on
the steep caminos of the Peninsula.
The Mission of San Ignacio is remarkably well pre
served. In outward appearance it is so like the Franciscan
Mission of San Luis Rey in the State of California that I
rather expect the latter must have been designed from it.
The church, the usual ell and the wall surrounding the patio

SAN IGNACIO, THE FAVORED 171
stand practically untouched by time. At all hours of the
day veiled Senoras and smiling girls enter the wide portals
of the church to kneel in prayer before its ancient altar.
The Post Office and the village school — with soft voiced
urchins repeating aloud their lessons — are located in the
commodious ell, while an elderly, rotund and jovial maker
of leather, father of a sloe-eyed Sefiorita, inhabits still an
other portion of the priest-forsaken quarters. All the
buildings are of cut stone. Approaching the church, which
opens upon the usual plaza, one climbs two flights of steps
before entering the lofty arched doorway with its massive
hard-wood double doors. The walls are four feet in thick
ness. The interior, though but seven paces in width, floor
measurement, is even of greater length than the church at
San Borja, while the extreme height, under a superb dome,
must be over twenty metres. Above the altar there are a
number of magnificent oil paintings done by Italian brushes
in the eighteenth century, while below and to the right and
left are extensive alcoves, each with its individual shrine.
Finally, the floor of the church is composed of hewn stone
cubes, set closely together.
As the junction of numerous caminos which lead away to
the north, south and east, San Ignacio even now is an im
portant pueblo. Three of these trails connect with the Gulf
port of Santa Rosalia, twenty leagues to the northeast.
This was my next objective. Accordingly, selecting the
most favored of the three trails, I set forth early the third
morning after my arrival at San Ignacio. Anxiety for home
news and the recollection of a promise given the proprietor
of the mines at Los Flores, relative to the delivery of a
certain letter to his factor at Santa Rosalia, urged me for
ward; otherwise, I would have rested longer, for my cara
van still suffered from the effects of our experience on the
Plains of Ojo Liebre.

172 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
In fact, my old mozo Castro was so feeble and unfit for
travel that I left him in the care of his friends at San
Ignacio. His parting message was a prayerful request that
if death came, "would the patron take the compass and fix
the direction for my soul to reach Paradise?" Once on the
road my poor Coronado, unable to continue his former
vigorous gait, was compelled to see his place and leader's
bell given to the younger and more recuperative Cabrillo.
It was affecting to observe the evident humiliation with
which the plucky burro accepted the change. Such were
some of the effects of our struggle against thirst, an ever
impending danger for those who wander in the fastnesses
of Lower California. Now, however, we were to see the
more settled portions of the Peninsula.

CHAPTER XIV
SANTA ROSALIA, A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO
ALTHOUGH in Washington and San Francisco I had
frequently heard mention of La Paz as the largest
settlement on the California Peninsula, concerning
Santa Rosalia I had found no data in the United States
beyond the bare statement of some financial and shipping
men that it was a small port on the Gulf of California
where a wealthy French syndicate was quietly engaged in
extensive copper mining. As I proceeded down the Penin
sula, I began, to my surprise, however, to hear Santa
Rosalia referred to as a French city and the largest munici
pality in Lower California. I left San Ignacio, therefore,
filled with expectations.
For two days we traveled northeasterly, passing through
lofty volcanic sierras and wearing around to the right of
three massive peaks, the Three Virgins, two of which shyly
hid themselves behind their sister. These peaks approach
seven thousand feet in height and even in modern times have
rumbled with volcanic life. During a portion of this journey
we rode along a broad and ancient highway, bordered with
stones and dating into prehistoric times. Late in the after
noon of the second day we entered a long valley in which
we found habitations and small plots of garden land.
Finally we came upon quite a settlement called Sant'
Agueda and first developed in the days of the Padres.
Here and there were palms and orange trees, a watercourse
and a number of frame houses, at the farthest of which we
173

1.74 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
stopped for the night. Our host and hostess were a French
couple, Monsieur and Madame Rosand. From them I
gathered that the residents of Sant' Agueda were engaged
in raising "garden truck," which they marketed at Santa
Rosalia, two leagues distant. Madame Rosand was an
industrious little woman of twenty-eight, possessed of such
a wealth of maternal love that she generously cared for a
small orphan in addition to her own sturdy brood of six.
Remembering her good deeds I bow to Madame Rosand,
a brave little woman, and such a culinary artist ! So pleased
was I with this kindly couple that I arranged to leave Jesus
with them while I pushed on to the Gulf.
I was in the saddle early the morning after my arrival
at Sant' Agueda. The trail immediately broadened out into
an excellent road, marked by a line of telephone poles. Soon
I passed a succession of gaping mining shafts and then ar
rived at a small railroad station protected by a series of
frame residence barracks. This was El Providencia, one
of the three great copper mines of the Santa Rosalia group.
Between San Ignacio and Sant' Agueda I had seen thickets
which, though they were composed of small varieties of
trees such as the palo bianco, were more extensive and nu
merous than any I had observed since leaving the region of
thick mesquit near the 29th parallel, north latitude. Now,
however, I had arrived in an absolutely barren country,
devoid of any trees or shrubs.
The station rests in a narrow arroyo which gradually
widened out as I rode forward. Twenty minutes burro
travel brought me past a long shed — a public laundry, evi
dently, judging from the washtubs and hydrants under its
shelter — into a town with side-walks, well-kept streets,
frame houses and "Rurales" or mounted police. This was
Santa Rosalia, the most modern and largest town in Lower
California. At the foot of the street before me I could see

Santa Rosalia

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 175
a harbor and many ships ; on the bluffs to the right and left
of the town there were residences, while high above those at
the left rose the mighty smoke-stacks of the smelter. After
the rare interest of quaint San Ignacio my first impression
of this new, mathematically laid out town was far from
agreeable. The salt air from the harbor, however, was wel
come. Eyeing my surroundings with curiosity and surprise
I rode slowly down the main street, guided by the first ur
chin I observed, and crossing a plaza dismounted before the
Correo, which I found just beyond.
Here I submitted identifying credentials to the Post
master and asked for mail. The official carefully examined
my documents, then smiling in a friendly manner delivered
to me a packet of letters. These contained my first home
news in over three months ! With nervous fingers I opened
the letter with the oldest postmark, then the one with the
most recent. They contained no bad news. The official
seemed to read the evident relief in my face for he smiled
again and offered to conduct me to the neighboring office
of the principal Mexican shipping merchant, Sefior Rudolfo
Garyzar, for whom I had made inquiry, as he was the
factor of my mining friend at Los Flores.
Seiior Garyzar proved to be a middle-aged Spanish-
Mexican gentleman. Though he spoke little English he
had full command of the pure Castilian. After accepting
the letter which I delivered to him and thanking me cour
teously, he introduced me to the Mayor of Santa Rosalia,
one Seiior Bouchet. After greeting me in English, this gen
tleman proceeded to read, with every care, the credentials
which I presented to him. Meantime I noted his appear
ance. Like Sefior Garyzar he was dressed in clothes of
American cut. I quickly decided that he was medium in
every respect: age, height, weight, even nationality, for his
dark pointed beard was more French than Mexican. Later,

176 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
I found that he was part French — and all courtesy and hos
pitality. His reading concluded, the Mayor invited me to
his place of business, a general store facing the plaza.
Office and sales-room opened upon the street, while at the
rear there were store-rooms and a kitchen. After directing
me to deposit my saddle-bags in the office, Sefior Bouchet led
the way up a flight of stairs to a suite of rooms where he
resided. Later I found that all of the merchants lived thus
in touch with their stores. As soon as he had apologized
for appearances, explaining that his family was absent on
a visit to Los Angeles, the Seiior placed one of his rooms
at my disposal. The extent of his hospitality dawning upon
me, I protested that there was a hotel on the plaza and that
I could not impose on his good nature. Protestations, how
ever, were waved aside and I became a guest, a particularly
agreeable position, as my host proved to be widely informed
and a well read gentleman, at home in the English, French,
German and Spanish languages.
After luncheon I enjoyed a short visit with the two
Italian priests who were in charge of the parish and then
passing through a gateway in a large enclosure, ascended a
broad highway leading to the French quarters on the north
ern bluff, immediately overlooking the lower town. Anxious
to obtain data for historic work, I directed my steps toward
the office building of El Boleo, the French copper mining
company, and sent in my card. After a short delay I was
ushered through a hall-way and a succession of rooms into
an inner office, where the clerk left me in the presence of a
keen eyed French official, whom I soon found to be a pol
ished and educated gentleman, well qualified to relieve a
stranger of embarassment. The purpose of my call briefly
explained, I retired from the offices of the notedly uncom
municative officials of El Boleo, with an assurance that my
request would be given consideration. Twenty-four hours

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 177
later there was delivered to me a concise report in crisp
English, setting forth all the data which I desired.
On my return to the lower town I met on the plaza an
American, a traveling dentist, who seemed nearly as glad
to meet me as I was to see him. He explained that al
though there were a few Germans, a couple of hundred
French and seven thousand Mexicans, Japanese and Yaquis
in Santa Rosalia, we were the only Anglo-Saxons. In the
usual unusual happening of coincidences it developed that
my countryman and I had been born in adjoining counties.
I entered his office, which of course faced the plaza — in
Mexico everybody seeks the plaza — and we were soon deep
in the novel exercise of speaking English. Presently we
heard childish voices in the adjoining yard singing in chorus,

Cuan- do sa- li de la Ha-ba-na val-ga me Dios!
Na-die me ha vis-to sa-lir si no fui yo
Yu-na lin-da Guachi-nanga sa-lla voy yo
Que se vi no tras de mi que si se-nor
Si a tu ven-ta-na lle-ga u-na Pa-lo-ma."

Through the open doorway I could see the singers, a group
of small girls, hands clasped and moving from right to left
in time with the music. My companion's face had clouded,
and abruptly excusing himself, he rushed out and quieted
the children.
"What's up?" I inquired on his return, "the youngsters
were merely singing "La Paloma" (The Dove), which, by
the way, I've heard the muchachitas singing all the way
down from our Border. The air and soft syllables are de
cidedly pretty."
"I can't abide that song," replied the dentist, testily.
Recalling the pathos of the verses and that many Americans
in Mexico have painful home memories, I jumped at my
own conclusions and was silent. "Come," exclaimed my
companion, changing the subject, "let's find the good mayor

178 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
and indulge in a chat over there on the hotel veranda."
Again crossing the plaza, we found Sefior Bouchet and
were soon seated around a small table before the hotel. A
passerby, the captain of a German vessel at anchor in the
harbor, made a fourth to our party. Glasses were promptly
filled. "Herr Cap," I remarked, "you have sailed these waters
for years, what do you think of Mexico?"
"Mexico ! Ah, the Senoritas are sehr schon — but always
chaperoned, always, always." He shook his grizzled head
mournfully and then inquired of me :
"How do you get on with the lingua?"
I hesitated a moment. "Do you recall as a child hop
ping from stone to stone in crossing a stream — " "Ja, ja,"
he interrupted, chuckling reminiscently. "Well, that's the
way I habla Espagnol. Of nouns, adjectives, swear-wirds
and adverbs I have a liberal supply, but as for the verb —
Well, I hop over verbs. When I slip among them there's
the deuce of a splash and I flounder shamefully."
The dentist nodded encouragingly. "Don't be disheart
ened, said he, "remember that even though your Spanish
grammar be weak you have always your hands and shoul
ders. Which reminds me. The other day I heard a Mexi
can, in complimenting an American amigo' s Spanish, say,
'Why, he could habla though his hands were tied.' "
"Where is the flavor of a conversation devoid of shrugs
and gesticulations?" queried Sefior Bouchet, in quick re-
• joinder. Then, leaving the subject instantly, for the rest of
us were smiling appreciation of the yarn, he continued, with
eyes twinkling merrily, "I, too, have a little story. Last
week I saw an American tabulating English equivalents for
Mexican words. Consider my feelings when I observed
that he had our now set opposite your tomorrow and our
tomorrow made an equivalent of your never."

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 179
This sally was thoroughly appreciated, for every man of
us had suffered from Mexican procrastination. On regular
polyglot tongues conversation sped forward.
The ensuing day I boarded a steamer for Guaymas.
After spending nearly a fortnight in Sonora, I was again in
Santa Rosalia, however, once more the guest of the hospit
able Mayor. For four interesting days I remained under
his roof. In odd moments he would pore over my books
on ancient California history, pointing out in return modern
characteristics of his people. In common with all in touch
with Mexican affairs he was an ardent admirer of President
Diaz. "The General has given stability to our finances," the
Senor remarked one day, "he has invited capital to develop
our resources, he has enforced our laws. The next step,
and the one toward which every patriotic Mexican must
do his part, is to teach thrift to our lower classes. Have
you noticed these small packages the people throng this
store to buy?"
I nodded affirmatively.
"Well, those are one cent packages of beans, panoche,
coffee, cheese, etc. On pay-day these people splurge; at
other times they purchase necessaries in minimum lots,
which, while giving the merchant a substantial retail profit,
is a heavy drain on the purchaser. Such a habit merely
typifies the lack of thrift which I deplore."
Through the days Santa Rosalia was supremely quiet,
undisturbed save by the occasional entry of some pack train
from the interior. Twilight, however, released the men
from labor and brought forth bevies of feminine shoppers.
Until ten o'clock the streets were thronged and in the store
my host and his clerks were rushed with work.
The Seiior introduced me to one of his customers, the
daughter of his friend, Seiior Garyzar. An extremely

180 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
pretty sefiorita and a charming member of the Mexican
Primera Clase, or high social class, she spoke English
fluently. Though we found much in common to discuss,
she was promptly whisked away by her inexorable duenna
the instant shopping was concluded. Later I met her two
particular friends, one of whom, Sefiorita Cuca P  ,
spoke English, French and German in addition to Castilian,
quite essential accomplishments, according to the teasing
Mayor, because of her American, English, French, German
and Spanish admirers. Furthermore, she was a fearless
horsewoman; and in Lower California, at least, Mexican
girls rarely share their brothers' expertness in the saddle.
One day, while enjoying a stroll on the southern bluff
where the officers of the Port and other Federal officials
resided, I met two young senoritas as attractive as the trio
whose acquaintance I had made through Sefior Bouchet. As
my dentist friend who was with me had been formally pre
sented to the young Mexicans, he introduced me to them
in due form. The younger, a fair girl with the blue eyes
of Old Spain, was the sister of an official with a roving
commission. She had just arrived with him at Santa Ro
salia. "I am bad company, Sefior," said she, "I am feeling
triste. I miss beautiful Guadalajara and the dear City of
Mexico. You, too, have lately arrived; and by way of San
Ignacio, as I understand. That is a pretty place, is it not?"
"Si, Senorita," I replied, "at San Ignacio there are green
palms, beautiful gardens, a stream of water, an old mission
and an atmosphere of the medieval."
The girl sighed. "Ah me, how I wish I were in San
Ignacio." She glanced at me, wistfully. "What is there
here? Tell me, American, what can you, a stranger, see
before us?"
She waved a hand gracefully toward the town. I an-

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 181
swered slowly, "I see a deep sea harbor, protected by a
stone jetty out on which a train is carrying carloads of
broken stone. The Customs buildings are near the water
and from them wharves jut out into the harbor. An arroyo
debouches at the water's edge, immediately below us, form
ing the town site. The width of this arroyo may be three
hundred metres; at the upper end of the town it is even
more narrow. I see a plaza, faced by an hotel, a school
building, a most creditable structure, and several stores."
As I paused in my cataloguing, the girl exclaimed, impul
sively, "Oh, you are as precise as my brother. Let me con
clude : The whole lower town is mathematical — and, there
fore, horrid. Those fussy French engineers laid i't out,
doubtless, with a metre rule and a surveyor's chain. The
school house is the only painted building below us. There
is a complete system of electric lighting — and no balconies,
anywhere. There is a theater where at times plays are
given, tiresome ones. Annually there is a delightful ball —
dressy, en masque and well arranged by the French officials,
who, for the evening, are charming."
She paused, breathless, and I ventured, "In its appear
ance the town does rather resemble a combination of a de
serted Arizona mining camp and a frontier military post.
Cold, barrack-like  "
"Yes, a thousand times yes. And unhomelike — un-Mexi-
can. No shaded promenades, no historic mission cathedral,
not even a patio with its garden retirement. The engineers
have banked the arroyo and not planted a single palm. Yet
the French are supposed to be creators of the beautiful
only; their Paris is almost as delightful as Madrid. Oh,
how I wish I were back in Guadalajara !" She turned away
quickly, her voice breaking.
Accepting our dismissal, my companion and I sauntered
on down toward the lower town. "Poor children ! It must

1 82 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
be frightfully dull here for them," he remarked, sympa
thetically. "What is there to know concerning Santa Ro
salia, past or otherwise?" he inquired, suddenly, changing
the subject.
I shrugged my shoulders. "No traditions, a brief his
tory, a busy present and doubtless a big future." Nor could
I sum up the situation more accurately now. Thirty years
ago there was a rancho and some slight surface mining done
at Santa Rosalia. A German company was in control. A
decade later a powerful French syndicate bought out the
Germans. Favored by liberal governmental concessions,
the syndicate made substantial improvements, enlarged
their holdings to a million and a half acres, made a superb
harbor and their copper mines are now credited as being
among the world's greatest producers. But these facts are
not advertised to the public. The office of the syndicate is
in Paris.
The following morning, the second after my return from
Guaymas, I accompanied my host to a session of the Mu
nicipal Court, which convened daily in a small frame struc
ture situated on the high bluff at the north of the lower
town. The proceedings proved decidedly interesting. One
by one the offenders of the preceding twenty-four hours were
ushered in by the Assistant Chief of Police, a good looking,
athletic chap, in white sweater, belted trousers, tan shoes
and the regulation peaked white straw sombrero of the
southern Rurales. Standing at attention, this official would
salute the Mayor, then twirl his cane and twist his mus-
tachios while his chief, a middle aged Mexican of serious
mien and white linen garb, would state the particulars of
the offense. The well-groomed Mayor, seated behind a
desk, would peer through his gold rimmed glasses at the
prisoner and inquire why he had broken the laws. The
accused, for the most part, were ragged and extremely dark

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 183
of complexion; they would enter noiselessly, shod, as they
were, with guarachas or teguas, and in soft, persuasive
voices reply to the questionings, each making his own de
fense. No oaths were administered. The usual sentence,
the offenses being misdemeanors, was two dollars or two
days. Sentences were accepted in a most extraordinary
manner. Thus, in one case, the complaining witness paid
the fine; in another, a widow, fined a dollar for failing to
send her eight-year-old to school, found herself released
from prison, the Court advancing the peso; in a third in
stance, a father, whose son had been imprisoned, entered
the room, openly thanking the Mayor for the sentence im
posed. Indeed, not even the magistrate of a Juvenile Court
could have shown a greater paternal interest in his charges
than did this big-hearted Sefior with his child-like
people. Later I learned that His Honor was not only a Solomon
but a veritable Haroun Al Raschid as well; for that even
ing I found him wandering about the town, accompanied
by the Assistant Chief, looking after the peace of the com
munity and conversing with all possible malefactors. This
was his nightly habit. He kept in close touch, moreover,
with his fourteen Rurales, the mounted police apportioned
to Santa Rosalia. Small wonder that even the cosmopolitan
population of the mining community, including in its num
bers many Yaquis, the fiercest, save the Seri, of the Indian
tribes of Mexico, was kept within bounds.
This Assistant Chief of Police was a most obliging man.
The day after my return from Guaymas I engaged through
his assistance an old Mexican to assist Jesus in camp work.
He gave his name as Praemundi Marron and stated that,
as he had once resided in San Jose del Cabo, he would be
ready to start southward with me within twenty-four hours.
But a new tangle had arisen, the solution of which put

1 84 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the time of my departure more than twenty-four hours into
the future.
On entering Lower California the question of how to
carry funds on the long journey before me had been a
puzzler. A bag of cash and currency seemed dangerous.
Indeed, so recent has been the passing of the Mexican ban
dit that his reputation still shadows the camino, and it is
difficult for an American to realize that, thanks to the ever
ready Rurales, the traveler is as safe from molestation on
the highways of Mexico, save in certain remote or Border
sections, as he would be in the United States. Finally, I
decided upon drafts and checks of small denominations as
the safest financial supply. Doubtless, considering that I
was alone with natives the greater part of the time, this
was the best solution of the problem. Now, however, I
learned that for the first five hundred miles before me I
would require more change than I had on hand and would
pass through no place where checks could be cashed. In
deed, there was no bank even in Santa Rosalia with its
considerable population. Moreover, my drafts were used
up and I did not care to presume so far on the hospitality
of the merchants whom I had met as to ask them to cash
a check for the amount I desired. In this dilemma I wired
for money. After four days of exasperating delays I re
ceived this satisfying message from the obliging operator
of the wireless office:
"Operator on other coast say he have two messages for
some one, but his bread in oven — wife she away — and might
burn if he leave it long. After lunch he transmit message."
Surely, in Mexico even the electric service has become
impregnated with the spirit of manana, of poco tiempo, and
its ahora is translated "tomorrow" and its manana "never."

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 1 85
Thanking the kindly local operator, I strode out of the
office, boiling with indignation. My vexation passed away,
however, as soon as I repeated the message to my com
patriot, the dentist.
"Now wouldn't that jar you!" he exclaimed. "One must
become accustomed to such things, here, however," he
added, grimly. "You can't measure by home standards.
For instance, the commercial and mining laws of Mexico
are far ahead of ours; their criminal laws have a certainty
of enforcement unknown in the States; the courtesy of the
men is delightful, the natural modesty of the women re
markable: these are items on the credit side. Range on
the debit side lack of thrift, procrastination, such puerile
methods of business as just experienced by you  . But
come to my office. You are anxious to journey southward.
I have seventy-five pesos, if they will suffice you."
And thus, through the kindly confidence of my fellow-
countryman, I was enabled to start forth without further
delay. That evening, therefore, I despatched Praemundi
to Sant' Agueda. The ensuing morning I bade good-bye
to Santa Rosalia. As it was Good Friday and all places
of business were closed, Seiior Bouchet accompanied me to
El Providencia, where a fair was being held. We had seen
its beginning the evening of the previous day — Holy
Thursday — when a group of fantastically garbed Yaqui
Indians, led by a masked musician decked out as a Chief
Devil, had entered Santa Rosalia, disporting themselves
hilariously. At the same time numerous vendors of pre
served cacti fruit — some of it not half bad — and of sweet
cookies had sprung up most unexpectedly. We now found
several groups of these masked Yaquis dancing frantically
in and out the gaily decked booths of the El Providencia
fair. Their movements were timed to strains of wild
music. They were muscular men of stocky build and some

186 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of their contortions were little short of fiendish. All the
Lower California Yaquis are importations from Sonora,
where they are continually on the warpath. In Lower
California they develop into excellent miners.
Crowds of Mexican children were gathered about the
booths, while a number of well dressed and distinguished
appearing Frenchmen, mounted on horseback, were watch
ing the performances of the Indians. The eagle-eyed
Rurales were also in evidence, riding quietly in and out of
the crowd. As I was anxious to return to my outfit, I soon
bade the kindly Mayor good-bye and walked the two
leagues to Sant' Agueda, where I found my Mexican boy
and Praemundi awaiting me.
Though my burros were improved by their long rest, I
found it necessary to purchase an additional one, and was
thereby detained thirty-six hours. The time passed most
delightfully, however, for Sant' Agueda is not only the
garden of Santa Rosalia but the playground of the French
officials of El Boleo. A gay party of these mercurial
Frenchmen soon swooped down upon the Rosands, reining
up their steeds at the very threshold of the house. There
were over a dozen in the party, young and middle aged,
including the wives of two of the older men. Madame
Rosand immediately began the preparation of a sumptuous
dinner to which I was invited.
Two of the party were on the eve of departure for
France; one, a mere boy, was to enter the army; the other,
after fourteen years' service with El Boleo, was about to
retire, and, in company with his wife, enjoy a prolonged
hunting expedition in Algiers ; he examined my carbine with
great interest, questioned me concerning calibers, and fairly
bubbled over with enthusiasm over the lions he expected to
shoot and the boars he would spear.
At seven in the evening we sat down to a long, rough

Yaqui Indians at SantaRosalia

A FRENCH MUNICIPALITY IN MEXICO 187
board table, placed under an arbor in the open air. At one
the following morning I escaped to my blankets, though my
companions were still enjoying themselves. A better spir
ited company could not be imagined. The repast was
delightful and all were hungry, for few of them were good
horsemen and their ride had given the men effective appe
tite. There was an abundance of red wine. We drank the
healths of the ladies; we drank that of the men who were
about to depart. I was toasted, and on my proposing,
"The Three Republics: France, Mexico and the United
States: May they always progress in harmony," my hosts,
not to be outdone, rose cheering, and sang in French and
English the opening verse of "The Star Spangled Banner."
At my right hand sat a M. Cailliatte, who kindly translated
for me ; at my left a musical chap from the south of France.
All the party possessed good voices and their universal
courtesy was charming. At my request my left hand neigh
bor scribbled down a verse from a little chanson of southern
France, which he sang to every one's delight, though he
persisted in explaining that it was a mere recollection from
his boyhood days near the Pyrenees. Here it is :
"Et celui qui le fait
"IV est de son village
"O madame voila de bon fromage
"Voila du bon fromage au lait
"IV est du pays de celui qui la fait."
Saturday morning we had breakfast together, after which
the Frenchmen hunted doves and rabbits, while I searched
for a burro. As we were assembling at luncheon, a new
Frenchman rode up for a brief visit. One of the physicians
of the Company, he was deeply interested in a new serum,
calculated to overcome the rattle-snake's venom. Luncheon
concluded, the majority of those assembled departed, many

1 88 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
of them, to the great dissatisfaction of their steeds, riding
double. Later I enjoyed supper with those who remained, and
then, mounting my riding burro, rode out into the starlight
at the head of my small cavalcade, southward bound along
El Camino Real for the distant pueblo of Loreto, the an
cient capital of the Californias. Turning in my saddle, I
saw the flickering candles on the rough table and heard
the kindly French voices calling after me, "Bon voyage,
Monsieur. Bon voyage."

CHAPTER XV
TO LORETO 1
FROM Santa Rosalia, via the Purisima camino, Loreto
lies distant sixty-seven leagues, or slightly over two
hundred miles. The natives, however, reckon this
distance at one hundred leagues, attaining their figures by
adding the hours consumed in journeying between the inter
mediary places and allowing two leagues to the hour of
mule travel. But over the rocky sierra caminos of Lower
California even four miles per hour is a high average gait
for a mule train. Traveling with burros I made the dis
tance, and several leagues extra, in fifteen days. Had I
the time and opportunity I would gladly spend fifty days
in going over the same ground!
Two months earlier I had revelled in the poppies and
the other California wild flowers of La Frontera. Now,
day by day, a riotous wealth of deep colors burst forth from
the myriad varieties of cacti, glorifying the flower petals
of the swelling buds, while the sober mesquit and verdant
palo verde suddenly decked themselves in golden hues. Of
soft pink, yellow, deep red or still deeper green, a hundred
chalices caught the eye, whenever I looked aside from the
camino, until my heart softened even toward the vicious
cholla which constantly opposes the traveler with its
needles and strews its bristling sections in his way. With
its rosaries of lovely blossoms, even this hated cactus could
momentarily banish memory of its evil fame and exact
homage from the vision. 189

190 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
In the thirsty wastes between Santa Gertrudis, Oje Liebre
and San Ignacio there had been a dearth of birds, but as
we rode southward toward Loreto, gallant cock quails
called out challengingly, and from the occasional thickets
beautiful red cardinals piped forth with gentle tenderness,
"Sweet, sweet — ah, dear, dear; sweet, sweet — ah, dear,
dear," a tender refrain most unexpected in the wilderness.
Nightingales, too, sang bravely, while doves flaunted forth
their amorous notes, forgetting for the time their weird
call. Morning after morning, out from the fading gray
of the earliest light, the mountains would assume form, bold
and dark against the clear sky, their outlines hewn and
carved in stern sculptury. Then, stirring the trembling
silence of the blushing morn with tuneful melody, doves,
quail and cardinals would burst forth in triumphant chorus
hailing the majestic and ever-wondrous coming of the day.
As the east reddened and the chorus grew in fervor, a
gentle breath of air would sweep across the land, a mellow
radiance soften the rugged western heights and, welcomed
by his songsters, the God of Day would spring forth in the
east. Surely, though in an age when the world itself was young,
the noble lines of the Vedic Hymn to the Dawn must have
been composed amid such surroundings as these.
" * * * Thou art the breath and life
Of all that breathes and lives, awaking day by day
Myriads of prostrate sleepers, as from death,
Causing the birds to flutter from their nests,
And rousing men to ply with busy feet
Their daily duties and appropriate tasks."
The doves were unlike those to be seen in the State of
California. Like the cardinals, I had first observed them in
the rugged Waist of the Peninsula, opposite Tiburon Is-

TO LORETO 191
land. There, late one afternoon, as I traveled down a
wild gorge, an eerie call of three notes unexpectedly rang
out with nerve-rending sharpness. Dismounting instantly,
carbine in hand, I had peered anxiously ahead, and upon spy
ing the offender, had called upon Jesus to bring it down
with the small rifle. The poor bird had a bronzed head
and back, long dark bill, blue eyelids and dark splash below
the eyes, a white line across the wings and beneath the tail,
and bright red legs. Except for the distinguishing white
line, the doves along the way southward showed more sub
dued markings than this first specimen.
From Sant' Agueda to Loreto we passed three towns and
a few ranchos. Throughout this two hundred miles of
travel we met on the camino but three wayfarers! Of
wild creatures we saw mountain sheep, coyotes, foxes, wild
cats, ducks, quail and doves. Rattlesnakes were frequent.
Those California roadside habitues, the jack rabbits, were
daily to be seen ambling sociably about or considering us
with long ears pointed questioningly forward. Within
two leagues out from Sant' Agueda we were advised we
were deep in the Land of the Padres by the sight of a large
wayside cross made by placing boulders upon the ground in
the conventional design. This may have been a first notice
arranged in olden times to call the traveler's attention to
his approach to sacred Loreto. Thereafter, ancient cami
nos, broken aqueducts, neglected cisterns, chapel ruins and
enduring stone missions, attesting the tremendous energy
of the Jesuits, advised us of our proximity to the earliest
center of the missionary field in the Californias.
After our departure from Sant' Agueda I had a glimpse
of a survival of the religious fervor which animated the
past generations. Late Easter night we had spread our
blankets on the edge of a stony arroyo by the site of the
ancient Jesuit mission chapel of Santa Maria de la Magda-

192 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
lena. In the small hours of Monday morning I had seen
several horsemen in the moonlight; later, as the sun was
rising, I heard the crunch, crunch of many hoofs, and look
ing down the arroyo, saw a cavalcade drawing near, gor
geously garbed — men, women and children mounted on
richly caparisoned horses and mules. They had been at
tending mid-day and evening Easter services at Mulege,
some five and a half leagues distant, and in their anxiety to
reach their distant ranchos had taken the camino long be
fore daylight. To be present at these services, they gladly
rode from fifty to one hundred miles !
I had had some difficulty in locating these ruins of Mag
dalena. From Sant' Agueda I had ridden direct to Santa
Lucia, a diminutive settlement on the Gulf, and from there
had followed the old Gulfo Camino down the coast a league
and a half to San Bruno, another equally diminutive settle
ment, where symmetrical salt beds, a fine orchard of olive
trees and a dignified white adobe, the residence of an Eng
lish hermit, were clustered in close proximity. Leaving
San Bruno we bore away slightly west of south for over
three leagues, picking a way through the cacti and brush or
following a convenient arroyo until we came upon an
ancient camino which brought us out at a spot where a large
arroyo came forth from the sierras. Here the remains of
a substantial and extraordinarily well constructed stone and
masonry aqueduct — apparently run several miles for the
purpose of irrigating a very few acres — and heaps of grass
grown ruins, marked the site of early missionary labors.
In March, 1867, Professor Wm. M. Gabb, of the Ross
Brown exploring party, evidently the only foreign visitors
of modern times in this section, noted these ruins as the re
mains of the Jesuit Mission of Guadalupe. Had the
scientist been a trifle more conversant with early Peninsula
history or had he visited the neighboring rancho of Magda-

TO LORETO 193
lena, doubtless he would have avoided this error and placed
Guadalupe Mission ten leagues to the west.
This Rancho of San Jose de Magdalena proved to be a
small and truly delightful oasis with a field of grain, a
thicket of sugar-cane, towering palms, enormous fig trees
and a pool of clear water. The proprietress was a firm
old Sefiora who despotically ordered about a numerous
family of blooming muchachas. So overrun was the place
with these wholesome looking girls and so lacking was it in
males that I caused the old dame to relax her severity by
renaming her property the Rancho de las Muchachas.
From this point we rode across the desolate plains of Mag--
dalena, once the site of some wildly visionary agricultural
colony of American conception, into the hills. Coming
down through a picturesque pass, we arrived at Mulege the
afternoon of April the 16th.
The Mission of Santa Rosalia de Mulege, founded by
the Jesuits in the year 1705, attained during the eighteenth
century considerable prosperity. Of late years the stone
church has been extensively repaired and is now in excellent
condition. It stands upon a slight eminence above the
town. Only two foreigners appear to have noted their
impressions of Mulege. The first of these, Lieutenant
Hardy of the British Navy, anchored in the offing while on
a little pearl venture in 1828. Though he was delighted
with the local port wine, he seemed to consider the village
as a half deserted place in the grip of a shamefully profli
gate Friar. Thirty-nine years later, Professor Gabb, visit
ing Mulege, described it as "a straggling village of adobe
houses with a population of, perhaps, two hundred per
sons." To his surprise he found a little coterie of accom
plished gentlemen in the village, who made his stay with
them most agreeable. As I entered Mulege I could but

194 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
wonder whether the intervening thirty-nine years since Pro
fessor Gabb's visit had brought about many changes.
I quickly discovered that they had.
In place of a profligate Friar as in the days of Hardy, I
found a scholarly, ascetic young Italian priest, Padre Mar
seliano. His clear cut, refined features, his deep interest in
his people, in literature and in photography, won me in
stantly. So extensive, so rugged and so desert is the field
of his labors — reaching from the mining camp of Calama
juet on the north to the Mission of San Luis Gonzaga on
the south — that I doubt whether any soldier of the Gospel
has in hand a task of greater severity. In place of a strag
gling village of two hundred, I found Mulege to be a pros
perous town of full eight hundred inhabitants, with adobe
houses, public buildings, narrow shaded streets, a tide-water
stream, numerous irrigating ditches, fertile fields and acres
of vegetables, sugar-cane, trellised vines, and orange, lemon,
olive, fig, pomegranate and palm trees.
In the matter of the "agreeable coterie" of 1867, hap
pily I found the only change was that of new generations.
After conversing with the Padre, I visited the District
Court where I met a handsome and affable young official,
the Federal Attorney for the district. Later, on the plaza
I came across one Seiior Elias Bareno, merchant and sur
veyor, who introduced me to his "pupil in English," Don
Mauricio Mexia. Thanks to Don Mauricio, I enjoyed a
most delightful afternoon drive, for the genial fellow gath
ered into his commodious three-seater no less than six
Senoritas of the Primera Clase and laughingly told me to
squeeze in. To my pleased surprise one of the company
was my recent acquaintance, Sefiorita Garyzar. She had
come from Santa Rosalia on a Gulf steamer to spend Eas
ter with relatives.
We drove along the stream for half a mile, then crossing

TO LORETO 195
over through water to the hubs, entered a beautiful, shaded
driveway leading to a picturesque sugar plantation, where
we were given a great sheaf of cane stalks. The whole
region was an Eden-like bower of green and flowers, the
property, I believe, of some member of the party. Here
we alighted, and as we strolled about under the great palms
and amid the flowers, the girls began singing soft Spanish
songs, until I seemed to be enjoying some delightful
dream. Foreigners have such a mistaken fashion of considering
all Mexicans swarthy people that I cannot but note that
there were only three brunettes in our little party: Don
Mauricio and his baby daughter, who had joined us at the
last moment, had the bluest of eyes, while his sister-in-law,
a tall, statuesque beauty, was a decided blonde. Dark eyes
were the exception. As we were roaming about the garden
we came to a large vat where olives were pickling. The
best lined the bottom. Desirous of obtaining these, each
in turn, amid gay laughter, began reaching down into the
brine. By rolling my right sleeve to the shoulder, I easily
fished out a handful of fine black olives. As I passed the
fruit, one of the girls, her gaze falling upon my bared arm,
exclaimed in uncontrollable amazement, "Jesu Christi, dos
colores!" Having assumed from my tanned face and forearms that
I was a dark-skinned individual, the muchacha had been
completely taken aback by the unexpected whiteness of my
upper arm. Her confusion was at once increased for "Je-
susa, you must apologize to the gentleman for your expres
sion," said pretty Sefiorita Garyzar, in a reproving aside in
Spanish. "He will think you profane."
"Profane! I?" exclaimed the girl, deeply shocked.
"Certainly. In his country to use freely the expression
'Jesus Christ' is to blaspheme."

196 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
"Blaspheme ! Victoria, it cannot be so. It is but an ex
pression; it is my own name, even."
"I know," persisted the American travelled Sefiorita,
"but, although we use the term as a given name and as a
harmless by-word, in the United States — "
Here I hastened to the rescue of the embarrassed girl,
but she was inconsolable, murmuring in blank distress, "I
blaspheme — I could not so offend!"
Leaving the plantation we drove down to the water's
edge and found the shade of a large palm, where we stopped
to enjoy the sweet pith of our sugar-cane. As they held
the straight, slender, reed-like stalks to their carmine lips,
the girls looked quite like a group of pretty flute players.
We were all in high spirits, applauding roundly the many
gallant remarks of Don Mauricio. "Ah," said he, finally,
chucking his little daughter playfully under the chin, and
preparing to cross the stream, "it's doubtless the eating of
so much sugar-cane that endows our Mulege muchachas
with such rare sweetness." As I was seriously announcing
my firm belief that the lasses surely lived half the year on
honey, a bright-eyed miss inquired how many daughters I
had at home. Making prompt answer that I was a single
man, I produced, with mock formality, a Mexican passport
describing me as "un soltero" (a bachelor), whereupon my
inquisitress asked whether any Americans married. "As
suredly," she concluded, amid concurring nods from her
mates, "all that have ever come here have stoutly averred
that they were bachelors."
"I don't wonder," I replied, with an admiring glance at
the pretty bevy. Certainly there might be compensations
for being marooned at Mulege.
From Mulege there are two caminos to Purisima, one
via the San Sebastian Arroyo, the other by way of Zapote
and the Guadalupe Arroyo. As Professor Gabb had taken

*. ___  ^ —

Ancient Jesuit Mission at Mulege ; Padre Marseliano
in foreground

i ,*,

TO LORETO 197
the latter in 1 867, I chose the San Sebastian camino. From
my own observations the route a traveler does not select,
he later decides was necessarily the better. Via the San
Sebastian camino the distance is thirty-one leagues, the di
rection southwest.
As I left Mulege early the morning of April the 18th,
the world seemed in perfect peace, the mission bells were
ringing and there was no sympathetic sign of the great
natural disturbance that was bringing disaster upon the busy
metropolis of the State of California. That afternoon
Coronado began to fail. The following morning, before
breakfast, I endeavored to secure a new burro, a vaquero
having one for sale. As he declined to execute a bill of
sale, the transaction fell through. (Later, I ascertained
that the man had no title to the burro. ) When the animals
were saddled I had Coronado's pack transferred to my
riding burro and I proceeded on foot; such relief proved of
no avail, and a few hours later, as we made our way up
ward toward a four-thousand-foot pass in the sierras, the
poor beast sank upon the camino, unable to arise, urge him
as we would. Unsheathing my carbine, I regretfully
sighted for his heart, but as my eyes rested on the sturdy
brown shoulders, I remembered how bravely they had borne
my possessions for a thousand miles, I remembered our
common sufferings on the Llanos de Ojo Liebre — and put
aside the gun. "Is there a chance of his recuperating?" I
asked of Praemundi who stood by.
"Perhaps. He had water this morning; there is feed
here. Let him be, and by to-morrow he will be dead or up
after feed and water."
Sheathing the carbine, I approached my poor dumb ser
vant. "Adios, Coronado," said I, feelingly, patting his
bulky head the while. "You have done your level best for
me. Adios." The old fellow looked up with great weary

198 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
eyes, whereat I turned away with a lump in my throat.
"Vamunos" (Onward) , I shouted out roughly to my mozos.
Forward we proceeded. Soon Cortez began to stagger, so
I had Jesiis dismount. The strain of a thousand miles of
travel and of thirst on the Llanos de Ojo Liebre was telling.
On the 19th instant and the two days succeeding we pro
ceeded on foot, no unpleasant exercise had it not been that
my teguas were so worn that sharp stones and cacti con
tinually wounded my feet. The third day of our walking
'we crossed over into the Purisima Arroyo and came to a
rancho, then to another and another. In the afternoon we
made camp on the banks of the Purisima Rio, a fine, clear
stream, bordered by willows and sedge grass and running in
a rock channel with precipitous walls rising close at either
side and forming a magnificent gorge full a thousand feet
in depth. Tired and footsore from over sixty miles of
walking, I did not break camp for thirty-six hours, good,
peaceful hours, in which I enjoyed four swims in a deep hole
near by, let my blisters heal, philosophized with my old
mozo, dipped into my two small volumes of Balzac and
Kipling, and listened to the fascinating song of running
waters, a song that carried me to scenes in the High Sierras
of Upper California, then to my fevered hours on the
Llanos de Ojo Liebre and, in prospect, to possible thirsty
experiences to come on the deserts before me.
Jesus, for his part, slipped joyously away on a visit to
the beehive and orange trees of a neighboring rancho, while
Traemundi spent the major portion of his time laundering,
the pot-holes in the rock flooring of our camp serving ad
mirably for wash tubs. As he sat near me patiently await
ing the drying of the clothes, the old Mexican made an in
teresting study: A lean, wiry figure of sixty years or more,
with long arms and bowed legs, with brown hands clasped
and resting between his small knees, with dark eyes bent in

TO LORETO 199
somber study of the running water. A tawny straw hat, low-
rounded of crown, with brim down in front and up behind,
shaded his face, a kindly face, wrinkled, leather-colored,
contrasting sharply with his white beard and iron gray mus
tache; a soft gray shirt, open at the throat, disclosing his
brown neck and chest, the sleeves, rolled to the elbows, dis
played his red undershirt carefully folded back at the wrists ;
a blue scarf, fringed at the ends and tied in the small of the
back, belted in his faded gray trousers and held a long
knife ready to his hand; worn sandals, loosely bound, pro
tected the soles of his small brown feet. Kindly, genial
and willing, a respectful servant, half philosopher, half
child, and wholly typical of an earlier Mexican generation,
such was the paisano seated before me. To bathe in the
stream was something that neither Praemundi or Jesus
would consider. Did they not wash their hands before
mixing tortillas? why risk a cold by immersing their bodies?
The 23rd instant we proceeded forward and shortly
came to a rancho, where I secured a stout riding burro, which
Jesus promptly named "Colon" (Columbus). This burro
was an excellent animal. For him and a leather bound
water-bottle I gave five pesos, cash, an order for Coronado,
if found alive, and Cortez. Both parties to this bargain
were well satisfied, for while Cortez had become a dead
weight for me, after a month's rest he would serve the
ranchero as well as Colon. Another league brought us to
a second rancho where for fourteen pesos I purchased a
second burro, named "Vapor" (Steamboat).
In the acquisition of Vapor I experienced some delay.
First it was necessary to heat an iron, throw the animal and
give him a mark, for he was unbranded; and after this
operation was completed the vendor discovered that he
must send a messenger to secure requisite revenue stamps
for his bill of sale. In bargaining Mexicans are regular

200 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Yankees, and in dealing with them the traveler must examine
his nutmegs and safeguard his purchases as closely as in
Connecticut. During this delay the rancheros proceeded
with their spirituous ambition of draining a generous num
ber of bottles of mescal. The leader of the party, a comic
opera bandit in appearance — flashing black eyes, twirling
mustachios, ornamented sombrero, brilliant plush small
jacket, tasseled sash, long dagger, voluminous trousers and
wide flapping red leggins bound below the knee with orna
mented cords — in the exuberance of his hilarity swallowed
a copious draught that was horribly unlike mescal. Crying
out that he had been deliberately poisoned, the comic opera
individual drew his dagger and rushed toward the man
nearest him, who sprang aside, drawing a revolver as he
avoided the descending steel. In an instant daggers were
in the air and pandemonium turned loose. Six-shooter in
hand, I was looking earnestly for a friendly tree, when the
sufferer's better half appeared upon the scene in search of
her kerosene bottle. It stood upon the table where her
husband had placed it after his unsavory taste of its con
tents. All thought of murderous intent now removed from
his mind, the Mexican embraced his wife, kissed a scream
ing baby, struck a heroic attitude and proclaimed that he
would meet death like a man, while his friends crowded
about me beseeching that I save his life. Although I
promptly separated the tippler from the kerosene and some
other things, almost immediately afterwards I half re
gretted having done so, for every man Jack in the company,
fascinated by the appearance of my medicine chest, at once
complained of some ailment and begged for drugs. All
that saved my pills and vials was the chorus of howls and
sputtering that followed my quick doses of clear Jamaica
ginger and the bitterest powdered quinine.
As I rode away, finally possessed of the stamped bill of

TO LORETO 20 I
sale, my bibulous friends, embracing one another and
rhythmically waving their sombreros, sang almost tearfully,
"El Vapor," a Mexican farewell song. A short ride
brought me to the central portion of Purisima, a small town
which, counting the racheros up and down the stream,
claims six hundred inhabitants. Purisima Rio, a succession
of large water-holes, carries the largest body of any stream
in Lower California, except the Hardy. It runs through a
deep arroyo to the Boca de Purisima on the Pacific coast, a
few leagues distant. In fertile spots along this stream
sugar-cane, figs, grapes, etc., are grown extensively. The
Mission of La Purisima de la Conception was established
by the Jesuits in 17 18. The building is rather a small
stone structure, situated near the Rio and in the center of
the town.
As I was possessed of a letter of introduction from Padre
Marseliano to Don Jose Osuna, the principal resident of
Purisima, my brief visit there was made exceedingly agree
able. Sefiorita Osuna, the Don's sweet faced and digni
fied daughter, showed me the mission, and her brother,
Pablo, then explained to me the six steps in the making of
mescal from the maguay plant. The ensuing day father
and son made me their guest at a bounteous dinner, while my
mozos were cared for at a second table. Both tables were
spread in the Don's garden which, after the pleasant fash
ion of Mexico, occupied the patio around which the house
was built. The Senoritas provided us with two frequent
and most pleasing standard Baja California dishes, the one
made by frying vegetables and pounded dried beef in but
ter, the other by frying in lard beans already boiled and
crushed. In addition they served rich soup, steak, boiled
potatoes, rice with wild honey, excellent tortillas, jellies and
beaten egg dulce, or sweetmeat. To drink we had tea, cof
fee and wine. The Osuna family is typical of the highest

202 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
class of courteods, well informed, dignified and hospitable
native land owners of the Peninsula.
Eight and a half leagues slightly south of east of Puri
sima lies Comondu. A rocky, broken mesa intervenes;
after attaining an increased elevation of nigh three thou
sand feet the camino from Purisima enters this mesa, leav
ing behind the impressive and majestic scenery of the Puri
sima Arroyo. Immediately after dinner we began this as
cent. At nightfall we camped by the wayside, as usual
scraping aside the larger stones before throwing down our
blankets. While we were eating supper a large tarantula,
an unbidden and most unwelomce guest, came marching
up to my plate. I yelled lustily and made a record jump,
closely followed by Jesus. Praemundi, however, valiantly
crushed the venomous creature with a stone; we had upset
his tarantulaship's peace, of course, in scraping aside the
stones. Reassembling, we discussed various snakes and
insects of venomous nature, Praemundi describing native
antidotes for practically all save what he called the "sole-
cuate," a blunt tailed snake resembling in color the ordinary
water variety, and the mala zorea, or small southern skunk.
The bite of this latter creature — and in fear of it the travel
ling natives draw their serapas close about their faces at
night — causes hydrophobia and death. Cheese and en
livening music were the remedies he suggested for the sting
of the tarantula, certain varieties of which he considered
fatal. After this cheerful discussion and before retiring to
my blankets and bad dreams, I entered in my journal, after
the style of the mighty Caesar, "All Baja California is di
vided into three parts, of which one is all barren sierras,
parched deserts and thirst, another is inhabited by snakes,
scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas, salamankasers and mala
zoreas, while the third is all palms, flowers, dates, oranges,
sugar-cane, honey, running water and pretty muchachas.

TO LORETO 203
Trouble is, the boundaries on the parts are undefined."
The following day, just before noon, we came upon a
runaway couple. From snakes to romance 1 But El
Camino Real is full of just such contrasts. The young
people — they were eighteen and twenty-two — were rest
ing by the wayside when we came upon them. Their
belongings, tucked in a sack, were swung across
the swain's sturdy shoulders, a leather water-bottle and
a pair of short, pointed shoes were tied to the girl's
left arm. He was clad in tattered garments, she in a blue
calico gown with red dots in the waist; an eminently be
coming yellow rebozo, or native headdress, completed her
costume. Although she seemed unconscious of her lack of
stays and hosiery, she was plainly distressed at being found
wearing guarachas, for, as soon as I devoted my attention
to her companion, she quickly slipped them off and forced
her feet into the shoes. But though her feet were small,
the shoes were yet smaller, and under their pressure her
face became so wofully drawn with pain that I charitably
assured her that guarachas were the preferable footgear
for a rocky camino. This cheered her. The young people
were rather attractive looking, the man's face showing less
of the Indian than the girl's. After persistent questioning
I gathered their story. They were on their way to San
Jose del Cabo, where some of her people lived and where
they would find a home. They were slipping away be
cause his parents had objected to the match. Yes, they
know that the Cabo was far distant, but they had little to
carry and were excellent walkers. His name was Ramon,
hers Susana. With kindly memories of a certain Susan, I
promptly gave Susana the use of my riding burro for ten
miles. She was grateful and so was he. To think of two
youngsters on a six-hundred-mile walk for their honeymoon
trip entirely upset my gravity, and yet their frequent little

204 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
love glances and the underlying pathos of the situation ap
pealed to my heart, and I found myself respecting the wan
derers for being capable of so fervent a devotion. At
luncheon we were a happy wayside party, Susana preparing
the tortillas, good ones, too, though in her ignorance of
baking powder she dumped in an alarming amount. I
caught her picture as she patted a tortilla, and then found
that she had no idea of the nature or purpose of a camera.
When we were advised by the waning day of our near ap
proach to Comondu, Susana dismounted, and the last
glimpse I had she was heroically working into the tight
shoes required by her sense of the proprieties to be ob
served by a bride.
Ten minutes later my caravan paused abruptly upon the
brink of a deep chasm. Seven hundred feet below us lay a
semi-tropical park, well-watered and verdant with olive,
fig, palm, cottonwood and orange trees. In width it might
have measured two furlongs, the windings of the arroyo
precluded any further estimate of its extent. Here and
there thatch houses showed through the foliage, while in
the midst of the arroyo a cluster of adobes stood forth like
so many boulders tossed down by playful Titans. As I
looked upon this superb vista, tropical with deep verdure,
waving sugar-cane, trellised vines and tall palms, the sounds
of lowing cattle, baaing sheep and soft-voiced Mexicans
came floating gently upward, mellowed by the distance, and
in an ecstasy of delight I wondered whether the Happy
Valley of Rasselas could have had the charm of this beau
tiful Arroyo of Comondu.
As a poet has sung,
"There is no sun like the sun that shines
In the Valley of Comondu,
There are palms and olives and figs and vines
In the Valley of Comondu."

TO LORETO 205
Hugging close to the winding camino we made the dizzy
descent into the valley, where a letter which I possessed ad
mitted me to a substantial sky-blue adobe, the home of a
kindly Don, who proved to be an exceedingly gracious and
widely informed gentleman. With him I spent the night,
receiving the most hospitable treatment, though through a
remark made by Praemundi concerning my performances
as a medico, I soon found myself in an amusing but em
barrassing position. In short, I was invited to aid in the
arrival of an hourly expected addition to the population of
Comondu !
The ensuing morning I continued my journey, following
a shaded camino leading up the arroyo. About eight hun
dred — or eight hundred and one! — people reside in the
Arroyo of Comondu, which, in physical appearance, greatly
resembles that of San Ignacio. So many of the men of
Comondu have been drawn away to the mines at Santa Ro-
sailia, and such is the good fame of its muchachas, that down
the Peninsula the arroyo is frequently referred to as the
"Adamless Eden of Comondu." Some eighteen hundred
acres of fertile soil are under cultivation. There are two
main settlements, a league apart, the upper being clustered
around the old mission. This is a truly ancient establish
ment, having been founded nearly two centuries ago. Here
is its story, as told by the chroniclers: In the year 1707, one
Padre Julian de Mayorga came to California from Spain.
Though he was a deep scholar, his health was so delicate
that he appeared utterly unfit for the rigors of missionary
life. However, after a year's rest at Loreto, he sallied
forth with Padres Salvatierra and Ugarte. Sixteen — only
they considered it many more — leagues of rough travel,
westerly, brought the worthy Padres to a valley known
among the Indians as "Comondu," or the Valley of Stones.
From the high cliffs at either side of the arroyo and the

206 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
thick sprinkling of stones carpeting the mesa to the north
and south, I think the Indians showed great sense in choos
ing this name. A stream watered this valley and for sev
eral leagues there was much fertile soil. Here the Padres
paused and founded the Mission of San Jose de Comondu.
The well disposed natives assisted in the work, while funds,
to the extent of ten thousand pesos, -were supplied by the
Marquis de Villapuente, the most liberal of the many con
tributors to the famed Pious Fund which supported the mis
sions for over a century. Just above the stream build
ings of stone were erected, fruit trees and vines planted —
flowers already were growing in profusion — and the con
version of the natives and the making of caminos were aus
piciously begun. In these pleasing surroundings Padre
Mayorga, regaining health, lived peacefully until death
called twenty-eight years later. San Jose de Comondu
long flourished. Crops were large and certain, much wine
and brandy were made and live stock multiplied. The
iglesia was richly furnished and had a library of over a
hundred volumes. This is the sum of the historic data of
the old chroniclers.
The mission was built with the usual iglesia, ell and patio
design. With inspiring majesty its massive stone walls and
substantial pillars stand sentinel above the inroads of time,
earthquakes and vandalism. Though vandals, seeking for
building stone, have made a breach in one wall and growing
trees have ripped open the stone and cement roof above the
altar, the somber walls, four feet in thickness, retain their
solidity. Unshaken, too, are the eight Grecian pillars,
each a metre in diameter, placed four on either side of the
main aisle of the iglesia and supporting the arched roof, the
keystones of which are so cunningly set as to defy the cen
turies. Narrow windows and low doorways admit the
light. Above the main entrance there is a choir loft,

The walled-up doorway of the Mission of San Jose
de Comondu

TO LORETO 207
A j
reached by a narrow spiral stairway of thirty-three steps.
The roof is vaulted and, in places, still resplendent with
red frescoing. Above the eaves stone torches flame up
ward, and stone cylinders, perhaps for the drainage of rain
water from the roof, point outward like cannon. The altar
has been destroyed; at its right and left there are small,
dark rooms. In length the interior of the church measures
forty-five paces, in width, sixteen; its height must approxi
mate ten metres. I obtained an excellent view of the in
terior by climbing to the crest of the wall behind the ruined
altar and looking down through the wide rent made in the
roof by growing trees ; from the outlook before me I might
have been gazing into some ancient crypt.
The wing, forming with the iglesia the ell, is in perfect
state of preservation and its two rooms are utilized, the one
as a chapel, the other as a storeroom. In the latter there
are two large bells, one of which is sadly cracked; in view
of its inscription of "San Francisco, 1697," the latter pre
sumably came from the Mission of San Francisco Xavier de
Vigge. Another relic, of even greater interest, is a carved
wooden saint, sans arms, sans feet. I found him thrust
aside in a dusty corner where warlike "yellow-jackets" were
engaged in building a mud house between his poor knees.
Charmed by the sweet, pathetic expression of the upturned
face, I carried the poor wooden child — St. Joseph of Ara-
mathea, like as not — into the sunshine of the April morn
ing and placed him gently beside the silent old bell. There
are ten oil paintings and an onyx font in this chapel.
' Within the ell there is a pretty and well kept garden and
two bells are swung from a low wooden frame. One of
these bells bears the date of 1708. Back of the ell thus
formed by iglesia and chapel, there is a well-watered gar
den with flowers and trees. This garden is forty paces
square and enclosed by stone buildings and ruins.

208 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Though at Comondu, as at San Ignacio, quarries were
convenient and labor at the wage of sustenance only, never
theless, even under such favorable conditions, the construc
tion of so imposing a mission must have required a far
greater outlay than the ten thousand pesos mentioned by
the chroniclers. Perhaps the generous Marquis de Villa-
puente visited his Mission of Comondu, and, enchanted by
its surroundings, increased his benefaction. It is of record
that in 1735 he gave to the Pious Fund an estate of several
hundred thousand acres in Tamaulipas, together with flocks
and herds, farming implements and appurtenances. May
the Grandee rest in peace, doubly blessed by his endowment
to San Jose de Comondu! Also, may better days be in
store for the Mission and the crippled little Saint.
Out from Comondu as many as three different caminos
lead over the famous Sierra Giganta, the local section of
the cordilleras, to Loreto. In constructing these caminos
industrious persons — unquestionably Indians in missionary
days, for the residents do not initiate such laborious tasks
nowadays — removed the stones, burrowing down to earth,
so that for the first league or more the traveler is practi
cally below the surface of the mesa. Two of these caminos
are in frequent use by pack trains travelling out from the
prosperous arroyo laden with cargoes for shipment across
the Sea of Cortez. I chose to travel by the third and least
known route. This I did because of certain strange infor
mation which I had received the evening after my arrival
at Comondu. At that time my kindly host, looking up
from an examination of game trophies, had exclaimed
abruptly, "But, sefior, how comes it that you have not killed
an antelope of the sierras (un berrendo de los sierras)?"
"Un berrendo de los sierras?" I repeated, inquiringly,
with some unplaced memory struggling back of my brain.
"Yes, sefior. The berrendo de los sierras is not unlike

TO LORETO 209
the mountain sheep in habits, but he is thicker through the
shoulders, his horns extend further outward. In color
these animals are black."
"Los hay negros" (they are black), that gave clue to my
unplaced memory, and later that evening I turned to my
notes from Clavijero. "La gamuza . . . es mas grande,"
wrote the old Jesuit in his chapter on the native California
animals, "mas agil y mas veloz que la cabra. Los animales
de esta especia se justan en manadas, y trepan en los rocas
con incredible facilidad: los hay blancos y negros; su piel es
apeciada y su carne buena para comer." Translating
gamuza into antelope, the passage becomes, "The antelope
is larger, more agile and swifter than the goat. This class
of animals travel in flocks, and they leap among the rocks
with marvelous ease: they are white and black; the hides
are esteemed and the meat is good for eating."
Who ever heard of an American antelope that was black?
and on the other hand, who ever observed one at a distance
without thinking of its being white ? Clavijero's white an
telopes must be the ordinary variety, his gamuzos negros
must be my host's antelopes of the sierras; having come to
this conclusion I went to sleep with the firm intention of
hunting the strange animal.
Two days later, therefore, having in the meantime fol
lowed the little known route heretofore mentioned, I made
camp in an eerie spot high up in the Sierra Giganta, where a
goat-herd had erected a poor adobe and a corral in the
shadow of frightful precipices, above which towered a
threatening black picacho. Early the next morning I started
forth with Manuel, the goat-herd's eighteen-year-old son.
The climbing abilities of this untutored youth were so su
perb as to be worthy of notice. Striking a gait which was
a jog, varied with goat-like leaps, he calmly attained the
summit of that peak without so much as getting out of

210 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
breath, though my aneroid showed its elevation to be 3,650
feet above our sierra camp. For my own part I was nearly
exhausted, though I had merely followed in his wake, while
he, searching out the one break in the precipices where as
cent was possible, had sturdily hacked with his keen machete
a passageway through the thickets of tunas, palo Adan, una
de gato, garabatillo and other thorny shrubs that hindered
our advance. According to Manuel, we were the first to
take the trouble to ascend the picacho, though one of his
goats had twice made the ascent, hobbled.
When we were at an elevation of 4,000 feet above sea-
level, Manuel suddenly pointing toward the east, exclaimed,
"There, Seiior, dos berrendos de los sierras!" Looking in
the direction indicated, I saw two dark animals, one far
larger than any mountain sheep I had ever seen, with great
head and immense ram's horns extending far outward and
of extreme bulk about the shoulders. The smaller animal
slipped into the brush before I had a good view of it. The
ram was jumping leisurely along among some rocks not over
two hundred yards away, but as I drew down upon him the
rising sun glinted over the sights, obstructing my aim. In
another instant the berrendo disappeared in the brush, and
although we found his great tracks we had no further sight
of the creature throughout the day. Manuel explained
that usually these berrendos were less wild, not being hunted,
and that they kept aloof from the borregos which also
ranged on the picacho.
Late that afternoon while tracking I became separated
from Manuel, and, descending from the heights, reached
camp, alone, at night. As I lay on a pile of hides, dress
ing a bad ankle and extracting thorns from my arms and
shoulders, wondering the while whether two days' rest
would fit me for another try at the berrendos, into camp
rode a Mexican, the bearer of such news concerning San

The carved wooden Saint of San Jose de Comondu

TO LORETO 211
Francisco, the home of those nearest to me, that breaking
camp hastily the following morning I pressed onward with
out further search for game.
To me, perturbed in mind, how endless that day seemed!
Finally, after sixteen hours of rugged travel, we made camp,
halting beneath a group of ancient palms hard by the sea.
The faint light of a late moon picked out silver spots be
neath the boughs, it made shadow pictures of somber build
ings, it glistened on the rippling waters of the Sea of Cortez.
A dog ceased baying the moon to challenge us entering the
sleeping village. Completely exhausted, torn by haunting
anxieties, I threw myself upon my blankets. After over
a thousand miles of El Camino Real I had come to sacred
Loreto, the Mother of Missions, the ancient Capital of the
Californias, but my thoughts were far away in Alta Cali
fornia.

CHAPTER XVI
THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS
UNDER a canopy of fluttering palms and spreading
eighteenth century shade trees, her poor shoulders
pressed close against the thorny thickets of a
treacherous arroyo, the bereft Mother of the Missions
sleeps the southern sleep of forgetfulness while the croon
ing voices of the Vermilion Sea whisper wistfully about her.
They are telling of the days when the admirals of Cortez
sought the Island of California, they are singing of the
knightly Salvatierra, first of the Jesuits, of the earnest
Franciscan, Junipero Serra, of cowled Dominicans, of
haughty Dons, earliest Governors of the Californias, who
here held court. They are murmuring of armadores de
perlas who delved deep for brilliant pearls. With plain
tive sadness they are whispering of storms that rocked the
Mother Mission, of corsairs who bore away her wreaths of
pearls, of the passing of the Padres, of glories lost, of op
pression, of neglect and of dreams.
As I passed through the fringe of thatched houses and
entered the plaza with its eighteenth century buildings of
adobe and of stone, I felt that perchance the magic of the
south had traced its finger tips across my brain, that perhaps
the sharp imagery in my agitated mind would fade could I
but silence the voices of the sea. It is easy for him who is
far removed by distance to imagine, unreasoningly, disaster
and death — and yet it is difficult for such a one to realize
their actuality when they come in fact. Were my thoughts
213

214 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
mere fantastic dreams? was I sleeping? was I waking? was
my reason perchance disturbed by some fever? Insidiously,
then clamorously, these questions arose, challenging con
sideration. In my native language, from the one American
in the village I had just heard the unbelievable northern
catastrophe verified, with merely a lessening of the loss of
life first related, and had had thrust into my hands a Los
Angeles paper that, by illustrations and headlines, certified
to the destruction and burning of San Francisco.
From a merchant on the plaza I learned that Loreto had
no communication with the world either by telephone or by
telegraph; that a Gulf steamer had come in on the 28th
instant and another might touch in a week, though perhaps
not for two weeks; that the American steamer, the
Curacao from San Francisco might stop at Magdalena
Bay on the 9th of May, it certainly would touch at La Paz
on the 17th of May. How far distant was Magdalena
Bay? Quien sabe, probably seventy-five leagues; La Paz
was one hundred and ten. My course I outlined even as
he spoke: Magdalena Bay, then back across the Peninsula
to La Paz. I consulted with Praemundi. The burros
were a trifle tired after their hard trip from Sant' Agueda,
but pasada manana (day after to-morrow) he thought they
would be ready for the camino. Could they start to-mor
row afternoon? "Si, seiior, listo manana tardes," (Yes,
sir, ready to-morrow afternoon) was his reply.
Half wishing myself a devout Roman Catholic, able to
forget all troubles in prostration before the Cross, I strolled
over to the mission, mechanically noting its detail. A large
church it was, built of stone, the rough and cut cemented to
gether, flat roofed, with bells swung above the northeast
corner. Off at the right were a cemetery and an ell form
ing a chapel; to the left extended a goodly patio. At the
main entrance, facing the sea, there were doors, double and

THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 215
ancient. Pausing before them I searched in vain for the
inscription mentioned by the historian Bancroft as being
upon the casement. Entering, I noticed above me a pro
jecting gallery, perhaps a choir loft, with a high carved rail
ing. So long and narrow was the interior of the church
that I had an impression not unlike that received upon enter
ing a deep, high vaulted cave. Thinking of the early days
when the altar was decked with golden ornaments and the
shrines and images with ropes of pearls, I could easily
imagine that on holy days the flickering candles made a
scene as effective as when twinkling lights call forth a bril
liant resplendency among the myriad stalactites in some
deep and lofty cavern. By pacing I found the width of the
interior but twenty feet while its length was nearly nine
times as great; the height I estimated at thirty-five feet.
With walls five feet in thickness the windows and doors of
the church are deeply indented; shutters and rounded
wooden bars protect the windows. The flooring is part
stone cubes, part earth — and the footprints in the dust are
all of women. Though made of stone the altar has been
sadly dismantled. About it there are several one-piece
onyx fonts, beautiful even in their fractured state. Above
the altar hang three large oil paintings and five empty
frames ; above and back of the shrines — of which there are
several — there are immense torn tapestries, sadly faded
from the rain that has come through the leaky roof. At
the left of the altar there is a closed room, used to store
what has escaped the cupidity of vandals. From the patio
a broken stairway leads through the choir loft and upwards
to the roof and the bells, five in number. Dating back as
they do to the close of the seventeenth century, it is not sur
prising that the rim surfaces of these bells have been worn
smooth, the outer surfaces, too, for the usual method of
sounding them seems to have been for a man to strike them

2l6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
in quick succession with an iron bar. The mission has suf
fered so severely from earthquakes and neglect that only a
suggestion of its pristine beauty and majesty now remains —
and unless repairs are promptly made the main building
will shortly fall asunder.
Though the Padre comes but once a year the women of
Loreto are constant in their visits to the church. Even while
I loitered within its precincts a sound of deep sobbing adver
tised the presence of a worshiper. She had thrown herself
down at the right of the altar before a latticed door through
which she could look upon the image of the Virgin in the
adjoining chapel. A more forlorn figure I never saw.
Absorbed, unconscious of my presence, she poured forth her
grief in doleful cadence, confessing such transgressions that
I fled in embarrassment.
In Loreto there are half a thousand residents, varied and
numerous varieties of fruits and vegetables grow readily
and there is a considerable export trade, much of it being
the produce of Comondu. Off shore a league or so lies
Carmen Island where there is a supply of salt so inexhaust
ible as to remind one of the fairy tale of a salt mill that
supplied the ocean. To the west of the town rise the ma
jestic heights of the Sierra Giganta. But I gave small heed
to surroundings, scenery or people, though I do remember
that it was the first settlement in Lower California where
I found the word "Gringo" in use in place of the more gra
cious "Americano." Also, and with pleasure, I recall a
young Mexican of twenty-five or six, Don Amadeo Romero,
who introduced himself and his brother to me: they were
the most thorough gentlemen and the most progressive men
of their age whom I had met upon the Peninsula. "Sir,"
said Don Amadeo, "you presented a carta de recommen
dation to a gentleman in Santa Rosalia to whose daughter
I have the honor to be affianced. It is my privilege, there-

Ancient Mission Bells at Loreto; Sea of Cortez in
the distance

THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 217
fore, to be at your service and it will be a pleasure for me
to give you cartas to my friends further south." Did I
want to write ? Yes, it would be fitting for me to write from
Loreto, the early capital of old California, to the Governor
of the new California at Sacramento; furthermore, I would
write to my brother. Then the office was at my disposal,
the library, too, the home. Ah, how can the traveler fully
express his appreciation of that gracious courtesy of
Mexico, inherited from the ancient Dons, that expansive
hospitality which, upon the slightest demand, blossoms out,
flower-like. I spent the evening leaning against a laneha down by the
shore, looking abstractedly out across the moonlit waves.
Disturbed at length by two drunken Yaqui Indians, I tapped
my revolver significantly and strode away to my blankets.
The ensuing morning I revisited the Mission in time to wit
ness an interesting little scene in the chapel. The mother of
five daughters had come to give tardy thanks to Our Lady
of Loreto — the special patroness, apparently, of mothers,
for an infant son. Kneeling before the image, the naked
child in her arms, the mother poured forth her prayers of
gratitude and thanksgiving. From the walls twenty paint
ings of sacred characters looked down upon the scene, while
flowers decked the altar, making fragrant the air. Soon
the father and muchachas entered and I was given permis
sion to take a picture of the mother and babe.
"He is a man-child, a man-child," cried the woman, fond
ling the chubby infant, happily.
"I have a son," said the father, proudly. Then in his
expansive joy he inquired whether I had sons. "What, un
soltero!" he exclaimed aghast. Quickly recovering himself,
he added, with a gay laugh, "Ah, our first born, Carmen" —
or Maria, Lolita, Josefa — I have unromantically forgotten
just which — "is twelve, in three years return, she will then

2l8 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
be a Sefiorita. You may wed her, Sefior." Carmen — or
Maria, Lolita, Josefa — her father's arm on her shoulder,
nodded smilingly while I, placing my hand upon my heart,
bowed in acknowledgment of the honor.
That afternoon, May the first, I was again on the camino.
Departing from Loreto by the Los Parros trail, we soon
escaped from the cactus clad plains and entered a long wind
ing arroyo from which a steep trail ascends into the Sierra
Giganta, passing through the precipitous gorge of Los Par
ros. Here, turning in the saddle, I obtained a superb view
in which the distant Gulf, the sloping plains, the lofty cliffs,
the pinnacled picachos, the ferns, wild grape vines and mes
quit were before the eye at a single glance. By the upper
end of the gorge and beyond a sudden turn in the trail snug
gles the Rancho of Los Parros, a few verdant acres of rich
soil drawing life from a tiny network of irrigating ditches
and rich in lofty olive trees, fluttering palms, ancient orange
trees — full ten metres in height — trellised vines and deep
green garden. On the 2nd instant we crossed a divide byond
Los Parros and soon came to another rancho, the Watering
Place of Doves, a name typical of many of the euphonious
and delightful designations to be found among the Penin
sula ranchos. The name of this rancho, however, proved
more attractive than its people, whose ranching, by the way,
consisted in making mescal.
A league and half southeast from this rancho brought
us to a sharp bend in the arroyo, passing which we arrived
unexpectedly before the Mission of San Xavier. Although
I had heard extravagant tales from the natives concerning
the beauty of this mission I was in no wise prepared for the
splendor o( the structure that now arose before me. Cross
ing a small brooklet, we entered the village — a few Indian
shacks and half a dozen low Mexican adobes — and rode
down its single street, guarded on our right by a stone wall

THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 219
that seemed to admit the futility of endeavoring to screen
the immense orange, lemon, olive and pomegranate trees
which even generations ago must have overtopped its high
est points. At the north end of the street there stood a sub
stantial stone monument surmounted by an ancient stone
cross. Down at the farther end of the street, a hundred
paces distant, rose the Mission of San Francisco Xavier de
Vigge, a splendid stone structure, rich in the noble elegance
of Moorish and Romanesque architecture, and worthy of
the name of the most beautiful mission church on the Pacific
coast. Since the halcyon days of the missions when noble
prelates and armored grandees made stated visits to the
Peninsula, doubtless no Bishop's eyes have seen this glorious
church of the wilderness. Once only, in each year, does a
Padre cross the threshold. A dozen, possibly fifteen, fami
lies, Indian and Mexican, constitute the village : they are the
sole worshipers before the rich altar of San Xavier; they are
the sole guardians of its precincts, the faithful custodians of
its secrets. Close around iglesia, adobes, and shacks, rise
the lofty peaks and ridges of the Sierra Giganta, grimly
watching, protecting.
From the southwest corner of the iglesia there juts out an
ell within which dwells a kindly Mexican family. Here,
doubtless, in olden times the Padres lived and received
chance travelers; here, until my departure the following
day, I was lodged, for, as I bore a letter to the Sefior of
the household from Don Amadeo, a hospitable welcome
was accorded me. The few hours at my disposal, except
ing the time I spent in chatting with my hosts and paying
visits to a sick boy in the principal adobe, I passed with
delighted interest within the church.
One entered by a great double doorway at the west. Simi
lar doorways open out at the north and east. Once there
was a patio into which the western doorway opened. Pre-

220 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
sumably, those at the north constitute the main entrance, for
cut in the stone archway above, are the figures 175 1, being,
I assume, the date of completion of the structure. By the
eastern doorway there is a cemetery. A well-built wall of
cut stone protects the churchyard at the north and east;
to the south there are stone cisterns and aqueducts, the ruins
of an earlier church, and perhaps fifteen acres of irrigable
land. The interior of the church is spacious and well lighted.
In length it measures forty paces, in width, seven ; the height
must be above twelve metres. The broad doorways indent
the sides. High aloft, on either side, four windows — deep
set for the solid walls are five feet in thickness — admit the
light. The altar is of stone and wood, and on either side
doors open into lofty rooms wherein are stored what re
mains of the ancient and costly altar trappings. Eight paces
below the altar there is a carved altar rail, and on either
side of and below this rail there are alcoves, seven paces by
five, floor dimensions. Each alcove has its saintly shrines.
The floor of the iglesia is level and marvelously smooth, the
blocks of stone with which it was constructed having been
cunningly welded together with a rare cement, the secret of
which is said to be lost. The walls are whitened, the roof
is vaulted and in places there are frescos. Bending forward
slightly, back and above the altar, stands a life size image
of San Francisco, skillfully carved out of hard wood.
Against the wall, above the image, there are two full length
oil paintings of saints, ranged one above the other, while
two other tiers of paintings with three canvases to the
tier, are arranged one on either side of the center tier. Each
shrine, moreover, has similar sets of paintings, together
with many smaller ones. At the east shrine there is a small
canvas with a masterly representation of the Last Supper.
From each of the shrines some paintings have been
abstracted, so, also, have some of the jewels from the

The mother and child in the chapel at Loreto

THE PEARL MISSIONS OF THE JESUITS 22 1
Communion Service and from the halo of San Francisco.
Within and just above the main entrance to the church
there is a choir loft, with a spiral stairway leading to it and
upward to the dome-shaped belfry above, where once eight
great bells chimed forth their peals. The upper portion of
this stairway is of palm wood and shows signs of decay, the
lower portion is of stone. Six of the bells have been re
moved: one to the City of Mexico, one to Loreto and the
others to La Paz and Comondu. Roof and belfry, alike,
are of stone and cement and there is no evidence of tiling
about the structure. So magnificent was the workmanship
of the builders of San Xavier that the passage of time,
neglect and the convulsions of the earth, alike, have failed
to mar their handiwork and the mission stands to-day in a
perfect state of preservation.
The history of the mission dates back to the seventeenth
century, for it was in the fall of 1697 that Padre Francisco
Maria Piccolo, a highly educated native of Sicily and a
staunch friend of Salvatierra, joined the latter at Loreto
with a firm purpose of establishing a mission. Two years
later he successfully laid the foundations of the Mission of
San Francisco Xavier de Vigge. San Xavier was located
in the midst of an Indian settlement, situated eight leagues
southwest of Loreto. With a stream of water and a plot of
fertile soil near by, crops were abundant; the Indians, how
ever, were turbulent and to curb them required much mus
cular Christianity.
The site was thrice changed. This data and a mass of
miraculous details are provided by the old chroniclers. Tra
dition adds that over two million pesos, a portion of the
Virgin's share in the pearl fisheries of the Gulf, were ex
pended on the iglesia, the service and paintings, that the
work of construction continued over thirty years and that
buried treasure lies within ninety-nine metres of the altar.

222 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Were San Xavier in the path of the sight-seer its beauty
would be heralded universally. In the closing days of the
eighteenth century there were over thirty mission establish
ments in Baja California. To-day ten secular Italian priests,
volunteers sent by his Holiness the Pope, minister to the
Californians. To the three most beautiful Missions, San
Ignacio, Comondu and San Xavier, a Padre comes but once
a year. Rarely, indeed, are these missions visited by
travelers from the outer world. Ignorant eyes gaze sleep
ily upon massive architecture in which Grecian, Moorish
and Spanish types are strangely blended. Paintings over
which Italian masters labored, look down upon unapprecia-
tive clods. When the Anglo-Saxon visitor comes, he usually
comes as a despoiler, seeking for buried treasure which
exists frequently in tradition, only, or in fable.
Although the sierras tower above the iglesia of San
Xavier in all the somber grandeur of repellent cliffs, its
shadows fall upon lovely gardens where sweet-scented
flowers bloom in the midst of alfalfa, corn, garabanzas and
grain, where delicate tendrils from trellised vines cling to
white limbs of mammoth fig trees and where olive, pome
granate, orange and lemon trees rival one another in their
unusual size. The oranges are juicy and of excellent flavor.
The lemons are large, rounded like an orange and in taste
resemble grape fruit rather than the lemons produced in
more northerly climes. When we made our departure from
San Xavier, we were overwhelmed with these golden fruits,
tokens of a mother's grateful appreciation of the medicines
which I had gladly administered to her sick boy.

CHAPTER XVII

A LONG FORCED MARCH

BEFORE leaving San Xavier I gave serious considera
tion to the journey immediately before us. Accord
ing to local authority, La Paz, via the shortest
trail, the San Luis Camino, lay distant one hundred leagues.
As local authority could safely be depended upon for an
exaggeration of sierra distances, I reduced the hundred to
sixty-five. From this route, however, it would be neces
sary for us to deviate many leagues in order to carry out
my plan of making inquiry for news at Matancital, near the
great Bay of Magdalena on the Pacific. How many leagues
of deviation, I could only indefinitely surmise, for I had been
unable to find anyone who had ever traveled to La Paz,
via Matancital. I knew that San Luis lay in the sierras.
Praemundi was certain that the barren sweep of the dread
Llanos de Magdalena measured full twenty-five leagues
from the ocean to the sierras. If this proved correct, cross
ing the Llanos de Magdalena and then swinging back to San
Luis would increase the distance to La Paz by fifty leagues.
Realizing that on the plains a mule might approach his two
leagues per hour, I merely struck off one-sixth from Prae-
mundi's figures, leaving the aggregate distance at one hun
dred and seven leagues, an accurate approximation for the
Matancital route, as I learned later. To reach La Paz
the night before the arrival of the steamer Curacao, it
would be necessary to cover this distance in fourteen days,
inclusive. This meant an average of twenty-three miles a
223

224 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
day, over rough and unknown trails and with no allowance
for rests.
Possessed by anxiety concerning the consequences of the
northern disaster, I cared for no rests, and realizing the
possibility of the steamer's bringing me such personal ill
news that I would wish to dispose of my outfit and take
passage for its return trip on the 20th instant, I felt that I
simply must undertake, and, within the fourteen days, must
complete the impressively long march to Matancital and
thence to La Paz. My mozos appreciating my anxiety stood
ready to push on, although they both feared the dread
Llanos de Magdalena. In deliberating I gave serious
thought to my animals. My outfit consisted of two large
pack burros, Vapor and Cabrillo, and two riding burros,
Colon and Serrano. Of these Cabrillo and Serrano had
just covered two hundred and forty miles from Sant'
Agueda in eighteen days, during six of which they had
been at rest. Prior to this and with but a fortnight's rest
intervening, Cabrillo, the finest burro I ever knew of, had
come in ten weeks through eight hundred and fifty miles of
sierras and deserts, bearing a cargo at times weighing two
hundred pounds. He now carried one hundred and thirty
pounds and Vapor about ninety. With my one hundred and
sixty pounds of avoirdupois, my saddle, canteen, cantinas,
carbine, revolver and camera, Colon had two hundred and
twenty pounds to carry. Serrano, an active stocky burro,
had an easy time with Jesiis, a slender boy sitting a light
saddle. Finally, my animals, my mozos and I were in per
fect physical condition.
Midday of the third of May bidding the kindly people
of San Xavier "Adios," we entered the camino southward
bound. Following the course of the arroyo for three and a
half leagues we came to a grove of superb fan palms grow
ing in the mouth of an intersecting arroyo down which we

Mission of San Xavier, Mission de Vigge, showing west entrance
(to the left)

A LONG FORCED MARCH 225
turned. Half a league further I discovered in a thicket of
brush and cacti, just off the camino, the ruins of an extremely
ancient mission. The iglesia had been well constructed of
cut stone and its walls were still standing. Near at hand
were the remains of other buildings made of rough stone;
also, and in excellent state of preservation, a magnificent
cistern, seventy feet square and six feet in depth, and a large
corral with high substantial stone walls. Two sets of stone
stairways descended into the cistern and aqueducts led to
and from it. In response to inquiries which I put to him, a
passing ranchero stated that this was the site and these were
the ruins of La Presentacion, a mission far antedating San
Xavier. As no such mission is mentioned by the chroniclers,
La Presentacion was doubtless the first foundation of
San Xavier and as the earliest structures at Loreto were
temporary, this iglesia is probably the oldest mission church
in the Californias, the one survival, indeed, from the seven
teenth century.
Early the morning of the 4th instant we were under way
and thereafter the journey became a feverish, restless march.
Weeks before I had read those lines in which Kipling de
scribes the impatience that seiz.es upon the hunter and now
into my mind again and again came the second stanza,
"He must go-go-go away from here!
On the other side the world he's overdue,
'Send your road is clear before you
When the old Spring fret comes o'er you
And the Red Gods call for you!"
I seemed unable to escape the first three lines and over and
over with personal application I would repeat,
" — go-go-go away from here !
On the other side the world you're overdue,
'Send the road is clear before you —
— go-go-go away from here !" etc.

226 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
For a time I fretted constantly over the slow advance of my
burros and chafed because, not daring to assume that the
San Francisco banks had weathered the storm, I could not,
by recourse to my check book, purchase horses. But when
the caminos were at their worst and grazing scant I realized
that the horse has his limitations and the burro his advan
tages. For the humbler beast no sierra trail is too fearful,
no provender too poor ; browsing on cacti he can exist with
out water; he survives or avoids the eating of poisonous
herbs; he outlasts all other beasts of the sierra caminos.
Though his pace is deadly slow, it is steady, continuous; it
goes on, on, monotonously on perhaps, but ever on, un
swervingly on, on, cutting away and wearing down distance
until the goal is attained. And yet when one is in a hurry
this perfect mountaineer, this faithful, slow moving, un-
hastening servant rarely receives his due.
There is a fascination in such a steady continued onward
march. As I fell into the swing of it I began to imagine
myself a mere cog of locomotion, finally becoming so fever
ishly impatient of any break in the advance as to permit only
the imperative halts at noon and night — and to postpone
them. My camera swung in its unopened case, my carbine
remained sheathed, leaving the camino to shoot with the
small rifle was forbidden. Our manner of life becoming
fixed, fell into systematized grooves. With the break of
day we would awake. Wrapping his serapa close about his
shivering shoulders, Praemundi would start forth in search
of the grazing burros leaving Jesus to make a small fire and
prepare breakfast. After dressing myself, performing my
ablutions and rolling my blankets away in a dunnage bag, I
would proceed to transfer the preceding day's entries from
pocket notebook to journal. Soon Praemundi would ap
pear with the burros, and while he put the pack-saddles on
Cabrillo and Vapor, Jesiis and I would saddle our riding

A LONG FORCED MARCH 227
animals. Then sitting together, cross-legged by the fire,
we would eat a plain breakfast of broiled doves or "cotton
tail" rabbit, stewed prunes, boiled rice, hard-tack, or flour
and water tortillas, and wild honey. My mozos drank
strong coffee, water sufficed for me. On the Llanos de
Magdalena and in such other localities as we found dense
morning mists, Praemundi took his coffee before going in
search of the burros. In fact he lived at all times princi
pally upon coffee. Breakfast concluded, the boy would
rinse the tin dishes while Praemundi and I stowed the sup
plies in the alforcas. Then the two would pack Cabrillo
and Vapor, employing a sort of "old squaw" hitch with the
rope. Meantime I would strap on my revolver, slip the
cantinas over my saddle pommel and continue my journal
work. "Listo caminando" (Ready for marching), Praemundi
would sing out, presently. With a responsive "Bueno," I
would mount my burro, and slipping my journal into the
cantinas, ride to the head of the little caravan. The animals
once in their gait, I would dismount and walk ahead for sev
eral hours. These walks were bracing and I expect Colon
appreciated my taking them. They certainly kept me in
revolver practice; for I would invariably find a rattlesnake
or two stretched across the camino. Halting at midday,
we would have lunch, first, however, unsaddling and turn
ing loose the animals. Our menu would be dried slabs of
beef broiled on the coals, hard-tack, boiled rice and wild
honey. After an hour's nooning the Mexicans would round
up the burros while I wrote in my journal. These midday
halts would occupy between one and two hours' time. Again
on the march we would travel until six or eight o'clock at
night, camping in the vicinity of feed or water, or both, if
possible. Each afternoon I walked a league or more but
Praemundi, my walking mozo, was the springy, easy-gaited,

228 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
high class pedestrian of our party. That man could walk
a horse to death.
As soon as we halted for the night, packs and saddles
would be quickly removed from the burros and the weary
creatures would slip away, unhobbled and untied. From
the necks of two of them ropes would be left to drag and
accentuate their trail. In grazing they kept well together.
We would now be hungry and deadly tired. Again we
would eat broiled dried beef, boiled rice, honey and tortillas,
with strong coffee for the Mexicans. Supper concluded,
we would clear of stones and cactus thorns places large
enough for our bodies and then throw down our blankets.
For two months I had rarely pitched my tent. During the
day Jesiis or I would have shot half a dozen doves, or
perhaps a "cottontail," with my short-barreled, single shot
.22 calibre rifle which, for the most part he carried swung
by a strap from his saddle. These he would now dress
while Praemundi and I discussed directions for the follow
ing day. Neither of us had ever been through the coun
try, though he had traveled along the Gulfo Camino years
before and I had an ancient map, that was fairly accurate,
and two modern maps that partook of the wonted unrelia
bility of Peninsula California interior charts. Soon we
would all stretch out, each man swathed by himself like a
mummy. Though I was too anxious to rest well, my com
panions slept soundly. We always took care to spread our
blankets off the camino itself, for at night it would become
the highway for "side-winders," mala zoreas, and I know
not what other evil creatures and insects.
Except when we were upon the Llanos de Magdalena, all
the trails — and many of them were ancient caminos of the
Padres — were clogged with stones. Even on these plains
bristling sections of cholla and swaying branches of pithaya
amarga retarded travel. Moreover,, we were in a cattle

A LONG FORCED MARCH 229
country where cross trails and by-paths made the question
of which was the main camino a matter of frequent debate.
Early one morning we met the most rapid pedestrian I ever
saw, a gaunt Italian, outward bound from La Paz. Save
for a long dagger and a canteen, he carried no luggage or
accoutrement. His haste, his business or his lack of outfit
were no affairs of ours, but his tracks served to advise us of
the camino. Later in the day two incidents occurred illus
trative of the farcical Peninsula misuse of the word camino,
which is supposed to signify a roadway. Wondering which
to follow, we had halted at the junction of half a dozen
narrow cow paths, when Praemundi pointing to the least
used trail exclaimed, "Alli, los rastros del Italiano" (There,
the tracks of the Italian.) Jesiis at once dismounted for a
close examination. "Si, Senor," he announced quietly,
"aqui el camino" (Yes, sir, here is the highway.) We fol
lowed the "highway." Presently a young "cottontail" rab
bit darted across our path, some rods before us. When we
arrived at the spot where the little fellow had crossed,
Praemundi paused and looked critically about. "Ah," he
whispered pointing earnestly toward the tiny tracks leading
off into the cacti, "alli caminito de conejito. Conejito muy
bueno carne." (Ah, there is the little highway of the baby
rabbit. Baby rabbit excellent meat.)
Twice we fell in with Rurales. The second party con
sisted of an officer and two men. After giving his name
and rank — Carlos Gonzales, Captain of the Gendarmes
Federal — the officer inquired, in excellent English and in the
most courteous manner, by what authority I carried a car
bine and side-arms.
"Captain," I replied, formally, for I realized that he was
acting in accord with the regulations, "I am in your country
as a traveler and a hunter after big game. I am traveling
under the protection of a Mexican passport and of one from

230 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Washington. Moreover, I have a formal Mexican permit
to carry arms."
"I assumed as much, sir," he replied, "but it was my duty
to make inquiry. I trust your travels have been pleasant."
"Thank you, Captain Gonzales, they have indeed been
pleasant," I replied. "As for my passports and permit
they are here in my cantinas."
"Further examination is needless. I have your word and
I do not wish to hinder you further," he replied. Then,
while I persistently produced the documents, he addressed
Praemundi in Spanish, saying, "Seiior you may meet some of
my men along the camino. We are searching for an
offender. Tell them that I have said that your patron is
not to be molested."
I especially appreciated the courtesy of the Captain, for
having been upon the trail so long I looked more like a
contrabandista or a desperado than a peaceable traveler.
Fortunately for me Captain Gonzales was too keen an offi
cer to judge by appearances. Had he officiously detained me
as a suspicious character or allowed his men the opportunity
of delaying me, my plans would have been upset entirely.
Each day we came to some well or water-hole close by
which would be the house of a ranchero. Although these
rancheros controlled all the way from a thousand to a hun
dred thousand acres — the area of one grant ran into the mil
lions — their houses were usually mere jacales, or huts with
thatched roofs and stake-and-mud walls. The limitations
of their larders accorded with the poverty of their homes.
With cheese, dried beef, milk, beans, tortillas, wild honey,
coffee and salt on hand they considered themselves well pro
visioned. Many of them were without coffee or panoche,
while flour and rice were luxuries. Their tortillas they
made from flour crushed on metates. Though big horn
were to be had in the sierras and deer and countless doves in

•'¦•;. ¦ W
i: ¦

*

1 .';. ^JhjSJJTJ

ImJ|

H ¦
!

-

Burros on the march

A LONG FORCED MARCH 23 1
both sierras and on the plains, the men were frequently
without ammunition and absolutely ignorant of the art of
trapping. Every rancho would support flocks of goats and
herds of cattle and stock. The goats were held at two and
three pesos each, burros from ten to twenty pesos, cows
from thirty to thirty-five, horses from twenty-five to sixty-
five, and mules from thirty to seventy-five pesos.
The rancheros and their sons usually wore leather leg-
gins and in riding were further protected from thorns by
immense flaring leather chaparejos. The Seiioras were ex
tremely religious and many of the younger Senoritas de
cidedly pretty. Upon one rancho I found a widow living
alone with three little daughters, the guardians of her flock
of goats. Noting the clear complexions, graceful bearing
and clear-cut features of these poor, bare-footed little las
sies, I wished that some pastoral poet might appear, for
surely their beauty would awaken the Muse. The vaqueros
reported lions extremely troublesome in the sierras, and we
saw any number of coyotes, foxes and large hawks. At one
rancho a burly, good-natured Mexican showed me the heads
of three lions which he had recently slain with the assistance
of his perros grandes (big dogs). With keen regret I de
clined his hearty invitation to delay and hunt with him. Not
withstanding their impoverished condition, these people
were universally cordial, selling me dried beef and honey at
moderate prices and expressing deep sympathy with my anx
iety concerning the northern disaster. With the "adios" of
parting they would invariably couple a wish that I find my
"familia y dinero" (family and money) safe.
In the sierras our route followed the course of immense
canons, the San Xavier, Las Palmas, Santa Lucia, Santa
Cruz, Guadalupe and Los Reyes Arroyos, which twisted
about until I again and again put aside my compass in abso
lute despair of keeping accurate record of directions. Down

232 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
upon the Llanos de Magdalena, likewise, our course was
continually placed in doubt by the multitude of cattle trails.
Though these extensive plains are arid and overgrown with
cacti, were they cleared and watered their soil would prove
productive. The appearance of this country is desolate and
forlorn. The nights are foggy and the days stifling hot.
It was along the shores of the great Bay of Magdalena
which indents these plains that a company of which General
Butler was the president, attempted to plant a colony back
in the early seventies. Hostility of the local government,
coupled with mismanagement, lack of water, over-booming
and general misrepresentation, made the scheme a failure.
A Boston and New York concern now controls the coast line
along the Pacific from latitude twenty-three degrees thirty
minutes north, to the twenty-ninth parallel of north latitude,
with an inland extension of fourteen miles. This barren
principality contains over four million acres, quite a farm.
We arrived at the Rancho of Matancital, the local head
quarters of this company, the evening of the 9th of May.
The moon was shining brightly as I halted before a high
fence within which stood a well lighted frame house, the
home of the resident manager, W. J. Heney, Esq. Finding
a doorway in the wall, I entered and strode along a board
walk to the porch. Pausing before an open doorway, I saw
within a decidedly blond, wide-awake looking man of
thirty-two or three engaged in conversation with a handsome
middle-aged matron. I knocked on the casing. The two
• looked up, the lady at once withdrawing.
"Buenos noches, Seiior," I began, unconsciously employing
the Spanish greeting.
"Buenos noches," replied the blond man, surveying me
listlessly. "£lsta casa se de Seiior Heney?" (Is this the house of
Mr. Heney?) I continued, suddenly possessed with a curi-

A LONG FORCED MARCH 233
osity to see whether an American would accept me as a
Mexican. "Si, Seiior," was the response, in a deeply bored tone.
"^Seiior Heney aqui?" (Mr. Heney here?)
"Si, Seiior."
"Ta bueno, Senor Heney. Yo tengo una carta de recom
mendation por V'd," I continued. Then, unable to keep up
the farce, I laughed outright and added, "When my burro
train comes up, I'll yank the letter out of my cantinas. Mean
time, North is my name — I am an American. What news
have you from San Francisco?"
"Ah," he muttered, with a quickly drawn breath of read
justment. "I thought you were a Mexican official come to
arrest me for the violation of some new stamp act of the
existence of which I had not as yet been advised. It is some
little time since my last arrest." This final remark he made
in a musing tone. "Come in," he added.
I entered, mightily glad to confer with a fellow country
man. We chatted together until midnight. Of the north
ern situation he knew little more than I, though he had a
notion that the banks in San Francisco had gone under.
The following day I saw something of Matancital. Trees,
vines and vegetables were flourishing under irrigation from
a twenty thousand gallon cistern, kept overflowing by a
steam pump which forced a large stream from a well in a
neighboring arroyo. Heney presented me to his aunt — the
matron whom I had observed — and her daughter. The
latter, as his secretary and the company's bookkeeper — ac
counts are required to be kept both in Spanish and English
— has her time well occupied. In place of bemoaning her
exile, this young lady has so won the respectful esteem of
the Rancheros and Sefioras in the vicinity that for days I
had heard praise of her knowledge of Spanish, her gracious-
ness and her bravery.

234 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Complimenting her upon her spirit, I said, "I am told
that you have spent ten days at a time, alone, down at the
island residence, a revolver strapped to your waist." She
smiled. "Had you seen me one noon crouching in the
shadow of a cardon on the Tepetates Camino, weakly cry
ing because I was tired, you would not have thought me a
heroine." Knowing that modesty and spirit are close
friends, I ceased my compliments. I was to hear, again,
however, of these "weak tears." They were shed from
sheer exhaustion in the midst of a one hundred and eighty
mile ride which she made in three days and a half — and
made in the interest of others !
At noon on the ioth of May, the Heneys drove down to
Magdalena Bay, a few miles distant, while I, enriched by
gifts of eggs and Mexican hard-tack, took the trail for La
Paz, fifty-six leagues distant. When twenty leagues slightly
south of east of Matancital, we arrived at the old Jesuit
Mission of San Luis Gonzaga, founded in 1740. Though
small the iglesia is well ornamented and in excellent state of
repair. The subsidiary mission buildings are used by Don
Benigno de la Toba, a descendant of one of the old Cali
fornia Spanish governors and the proprietor of the
Hacienda or Plantation of San Luis. Near the mission we
observed an extensive red brick store, the most imposing
modern private building in Lower California. In the ab
sence of the Don, we were cared for by his major domo, an
old Mexican of methodical ways.
At dusk, two days later, we met Don Benigno on the
camino. He was mounted upon a splendid animal and his
dress and accoutrement were well chosen. Perhaps he was
forty-five years of age, perhaps a trifle more. In build he
was rather portly. His manners and bearing were those of
a gentleman accustomed to the company of gentlemen. After
reading a letter which I presented to him, he answered my

A rare stream of water

The Pithaya Pulse or "Organ Pipe" Cactus and native cavaliers

A LONG FORCED MARCH 235
numerous questions with extreme affability. His hacienda
contains over one hundred thousand acres of land and
twenty families are employed in its care. Barring droughts
that at times afflict the country, good rains can be counted
upon every other year. On his property he has had over
twenty wells dug, water being found at an average depth of
thirty metres.
Though no hint of the subject was given by either of the
principals, rancheros assured me of the existence of a bitter
feud between Heney and Don Benigno, a feud which has in
creased with the continuance of legal differences. The
situation is simple enough. Both men are cattle barons and
their lands adjoin. It is a case of worthy foemen. Heney
is a fighting American, of the same blood as a certain noted
prosecutor; the Don comes of an ancient and illustrious
Spanish family.
Out from San Luis I had taken the Salto Los Reyes
Camino, a trail enriched by beautiful scenery. Deep in an
arroyo we found the Salto Los Reyes, the Kings' Leap, a
high bluff, crowned with a pile of stones, quarried in bygone
days, and frowning down upon two shimmering pools of
water where swallows, doves and hawks, side by side, slack
their thirst. It is a royal spot. Out from the very heart of
the cliff comes the water, clear and limpid. Down from this
sheer cliff, in ancient days, 'tis said, a king of the Guiacuras
leaped, close followed by a king of the Pericues. 'Twas a
mighty leap.
As the sun was sinking on the 16th day of May, a weary
little party made camp close against the Gulf shore, just be
yond the Rancho of Arripaz and within sight of the capital
of the Distrito Sur. Before us spread the lovely Bay of La
Paz, calm as on that day, nigh four centuries gone by, when
Cortez there found shelter. Whether the traditional and
published tables of distances were correct and our round-

236 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
about route from San Xavier had taken us over four hun
dred miles or whether my lesser figures were more accurate,
I did not consider. We had completed a long forced march
on time. Another day would end suspense.

CHAPTER XVIII
LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS
AS the sun was gilding the heights of the Cacachilas, I
took an invigorating plunge into the Bay of La
Paz ; three hours later, my outfit corralled hard by
the outskirts of the pueblo, I was striding along the wide
streets inquiring the way to the Government House. A
child, an aged woman and a muleteer successively and indefi
nitely informed me that it faced the plaza ; then a soldier,
clad in a white linen uniform, obligingly accompanied me to
the very portals of the building. At the proper department
I made inquiry, of a courteous and stately old gentleman,
for Sr. Coronel Agustin de Sangines, the Jefe Politico of the
District. His Excellency was not in, I was informed.
Would I see his Secretary? I would. After a brief delay
another most affable official, Sr. Arcadio Villegras, Secretary
to the Jefe Politico, entered from an adjoining office and,
greeting me in English, said: "I regret exceedingly that His
Excellency, Coronel Sangines, is not in. If you will be so
gracious as to accompany me, however, you will find mail
which you are doubtless anxious to peruse."
In another moment I was seated at a desk in a private
office deep in a packet of letters. Though I have read since
then many graphic accounts of San Francisco's fire and
earthquake, no one of them has meant as much to me as did
the first lines of a brief note which I read at La Paz. It
was from my brother, dated at San Francisco, April 21st,
1907. "Yours of the 4th instant duly received," it began.
237

238 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Even an earthquake could not upset his methodical acknowl
edgment of a letter. "None of us are injured. I should
have wired you but lines down and your whereabouts un
known. This city looks like Hell. Banks are closed. Hope
you are well and that quake didn't reach you. Better come
home for a month."
Stuffing the other letters into my pocket, I strode out into
the open air, smiling and at peace with the world. After
seventeen days of continual anxiety, after repeated visions
of those nearest and dearest engulfed in flames or lying
crushed, "None of us are injured" was a message that made
life worth while again. My eyes once more noted surround
ings. As the capital of the Southern District, a prominent ship
ping port and the seat of the Gulf pearl industry, La Paz
has long enjoyed a certain prestige. For many years it was
the most populous place in all Lower California. Even now
its numbers are on the increase, exceeding, in the aggregate,
five thousand. It aspires after the ways of larger cities,
however, and loses, thereby, the quaint medievalism that
makes delightful such pueblos as San Ignacio and Comondu.
I will not express an opinion as to whether or not La Paz
has acquired due compensation for her loss. Indeed, I am
not qualified to render an expert opinion on the subject. To
my way of thinking man was absurdly stupid when he in
vented cities. I could enjoy being marooned on a million
acre rancho and invariably suffocate when I am thrown into
one of those mighty artificial tread-mills where a million
mortals irritably rub shoulders against one another, dully
thinking their fretful race to the grave is living. There
fore, I may as well hold my peace on the subject of cities.
However, the hundreds of tall palm trees, the blossom
ing gardens, the streets lined with red-flowered trees — the
arbol de fuego — and the low, flat-roofed adobes give to La

LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 239;
Paz a delightful picturesqueness, lying, as it does, hard by
the beautiful harbor. In this and in its historic associations
lay, for me, the greatest charm of the little city. Here
whites first set foot in the Californias ; here Cortez attempted
to plant a settlement full seventy-five years ere the founda
tion of Jamestown; here swaggering buccaneers congre
gated; here landed Alexander Selkirk, the inspiration for
Robinson Crusoe ; here were quartered American troops dur
ing the Mexican war ; here came Walker with his tall young
filibusters. After my early call on officialdom, I strolled about the
town, admiring the gardens, meeting several Americans and
finally locating an excellent hotel. The welcome Curacao
having already nosed into the harbor, a ship's boat brought
its chief officers ashore. The purser, a big, broad-shoul
dered, handsome chap, Byrd by name, smiled upon me rather
quizzically. "Guess you're my man," he exclaimed, heart
ily. "We're just in from San Francisco. I've got letters
and instructions to cash a check for a traveler of your de
scription. Banks at home all closed so you couldn't draw
on 'em here. Call on me. We return on the twenty-
second." After this encouraging greeting I continued my tour of
the town with increased good spirits. In a very brief time I
discovered that the community was in the throes of intense
excitement over charges preferred against one of the resident
foreign consuls. As he was a man of means and a native of
La Paz, feeling ran high and I had a difficult time explaining
that a possible game of tennis and an inspection of the local
pearl fisheries appealed to me more than discussing a con
sular matter in which I had no concern. To give the official
credit, he made no mention of the absorbing topic. After
two sets at the nets I visited a factory where buttons were
being made from pearl oyster shells. The pearl fishery re-

240 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
gions of the Gulf are divided among three concessionists,
one English and two Mexican. Yaqui Indians do the div
ing and the pearls are marketed in Europe. According to
public rumor, one of the Mexican concessionists was far
away in durance vile all through forgetting some ten thou
sand dollars' worth of pearls when making his declaration
at the Customs House in San Francisco. It's strange
how the atmosphere of a custom house does affect the
memory !
As I was returning to the hotel, after my stroll, I met a
burly individual hurrying along with an immense revolver
protruding belligerently from his inside coat-pocket. He
explained to a resident with whom I chanced to be walking
that he was avoiding the shedding of official blood by keep
ing away from the Governor. When I met the latter, as
I did upon calling at the Government House later in the day,
I decided that there might be two sides to the blood-letting
operation. Sr. Coronel Sangines, Territorial Chief, or
"Governor," is a swarthy, keen-eyed, middle-aged officer,
well able to take care of himself and perform the duties of
his office. Both he and his Secretary treated me, a visiting
stranger, with extreme civility. The latter even undertook
a wearisome amount of research to place at my disposal
certain historical data.
As Lower California is merely a territory, each of its
two districts are in charge of a chief executive and military
officer, a federal appointee, formally styled the Jefe Politico
,y Militar. The majority of the local federal officials have
offices in the Government House, an imposing structure built
around a court where soldiers lounge at ease. It occupies
a block facing a plaza made attractive with flowers and
shrubbery. Upon the opposite side of this plaza there is a
large church with adjacent parochial buildings. On visit
ing the church I had the pleasure of meeting Padre Rosse,

LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 241
an agreeable and well educated Italian, the Superior of the
Peninsula Fathers.
As I was recrossing the plaza, bound hotelwards, a car
riage with three occupants passed slowly by. One of the
three I recognized instantly as a classmate of university
days. "Hi, there !" I called out.
"Hello. Who is it?" he answered. "Why, Great Scott,
old man ! Say, get in here and ride with us. Heard you
were somewhere on the Peninsula. This is my wife — we
are running a mine down at Triunfo. Come visit us."
As the sequel of this pleasant meeting, I threw my saddle
on a horse the following day and rode southward eleven
leagues over a good road which wound gradually up into
the hills, bringing me to Triunfo, a pueblo of three thousand
Inhabitants, which has grown up about the "Triunfo," or, as
they are now termed, the "Progresso" gold and silver mines.
Like Santa Rosalia, Triunfo is essentially a mining town,
quickened by foreign capital and supervised by foreign
brains. There all similarity ends, however, for Triunfo is
less cosmopolitan, less ready-made and far more attractive
than Santa Rosalia. Also, it is older and smaller. In
addition to the mining plant, with its tall brick chimneys,
chugging stamps, cosy residence — "The Hacienda" — and
high protecting stone wall, grim relic of revolutionary days,
Triunfo boasts a rakish looking church, intended, primarily
as a stable for the racing stud of a sporting mine superin
tendent. I spent two enjoyable days at Triunfo and the
neighboring pueblo of San Antonio Real. Not being techni
cally versed in mining, however, I was more interested in
the remarkable precociousness of the superintendent's baby
daughter than in the completeness of the noisy mills. Ulti
mately the little toddler, climbing into a small engine used
to haul ore cars, signified her intention of taking us "for a
long ride, fast'r than burro."

242 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
The ancient village of San Antonio Real lies deep down
in a canon a league to the southwest of Triunfo. Here,
early in the eighteenth century, was begun the first mining,
so far as is known, ever done in the Californias. In the
still more distant days of Sir Francis Drake and Sir Thomas
Cavendish^-the merry English rover who sailed blithely up
the Thames with plundered silk spread forth for sails —
doughty buccaneers were wont to harbor at Ventana Bay, a
few leagues distant, eastward from the pueblo site. How
imperiously the old sea gallants must have strutted about in
their flapping jack-boots; how their sharp eyes must have
glittered as their swift barks swooped down upon some luck
less and richly laden Manila galleon! Even during the
nineteenth century, southern corsairs, prowling inland from
Ventana Bay, rifled the old stone mission chapel at San An
tonio of its ancient golden altar ornaments and long strings
of pearls.
Making the trip on horseback, I visited San Antonio Real
in company with a genial young giant, Hughes by name, a
veteran of the Philippine War. We returned to Triunfo
by a steep road which opend about us a magnificent view of
the Cacachilas. These sierras, sharp and rugged in their
outline, attain a maximum height of 4,700 feet. On our
arrival at "The Hacienda" we found Mrs. Nahl, my class
mate's wife, in the garden with a college flag.
"Let us rejoice in our colors, gathering together the
alumni," she laughingly exclaimed.
"Everywhere the American collegian," answered Hughes,
'responsively. "Think of four of us with the same Alma
Mater being down here under the Southern Cross! Why,
if the Pole is ever discovered and an ice fence built about it,
there'll be a bunch of collegians sitting on the top rail in no
time, a-smoking away as cool as you please."
"My new engineer is a California man, too," interposed

Porch of the ancient house of the Hidalgos at
San Antonio Real

LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 243
Nahl, who had joined us. "My predecessor, also, came
from Berkeley; Brookes, first manager of these mines, had
a son who went to New Haven, becoming Yale's fleetest
Mott Haven sprinter. We must certainly have a picture
here under the bananas."
The ensuing day I returned to La Paz. Before visiting
Triunfo I had paid my mozos the amount due them, where
upon Praemundi had immediately hied himself to a cantino,
or drinking saloon. In appreciation of his marvelous pe-
destrianism, I had also presented him with Vapor. The
other burro I had necessarily sold, though parting with
plucky Cabrillo had proven a truly sharp wrench. Now
Praemundi appeared before me in a state of cheerful in
ebriation, begging for a written ratification of my gift. He
was penniless. Indeed, between liquor and thieving com
panions his first twenty-four hours in La Paz had cost him
forty dollars. Without giving thought to his purpose, I
gave him the desired formal bill to Vapor; possessed of this
instrument, he sold the faithful animal forthwith, then pro
ceeded to spend the proceeds, his entire worldly capital,
for more mescal.
So much for the sober burros and their unfortunate
packer. Jesus, for his part, had blossomed out in new ap
parel from head to foot. Indeed, though I had at no time
given especial thought to his looks, I now laughingly realized
that my youthful mozo was a handsome young dandy.
That evening four of us — two Americans, an Englishman
and a German — dined together at the hotel. As my com
panions were men of education and had spent years on the
mainland, I listened with keen interest to their expressions
concerning the vulnerable characteristics of the natives.
Crystallized, their opinions were that the Mexican lacks
appreciation, is improvident, a hard bargainer and unre
liable. At the same time they were in accord in admitting

244 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
that these traits might be subdued by a continuation of the
present enlightened and progressive administration of gov
ernment. In reaching their conclusions they eliminated the
higher classes from their reckonings and referred to the
brief period in which education has been within general
reach and to the comparatively recent cessation of succes
sive civil wars as extenuating circumstances to be con
sidered. After supper, to enjoy the twilight, we sought a balcony,
overlooking the Bay. "See those couples, trios and quar
tettes of girls promenading up and down the long wharf,"
remarked the American, between puffs of his cigar.
"Yes," I assented. "I've been admiring their graceful,
easy carriage."
"They belong to the Primera Clase of La Paz. It is a
good object lesson for us Gringos to reflect on their freedom.
In our country, in England, on the Continent a dozen men
would obtrude upon such attractive, unescorted girls. Here
no one would think of addressing them without a formal
presentation." The German chuckled. "There's a man famine in local
high circles," he remarked. "A dozen charming Senoritas
of the first class; only two eligible men — and of the two
one is a woman-hating Judge, the other a stripling."
"La Paz must occasionally produce men children of the
same social class as these girls," I demurred.
"Certainly," interjected the Englishman, "but they leave
for the larger business fields of the mainland. These proud
Senoritas then await their return, preferring spinsterhood
to accepting men socially in a lower strata."
The following morning I embarked on the Curacao for
San Francisco. Two leagues down the>Bay of La Paz we
passed the sheltered harbor of Pichilingue where Uncle
Sam maintains a coal station with ten or twelve thousand

LA PAZ AND SOME OTHER PUEBLOS 245
tons of coal for his war ships. A fine, deep harbor, well
sheltered by San Juan Nepomucino Island, it derives its
name from having been a pirate cove in early days. Swing
ing off across the Gulf we visited Topolobampo, Mazatlan
and other mainland ports, at each of which we took on Eng
lish and American mining and sugar people, most of them
intent on looking after their northern bank accounts, for San
Francisco is the Mecca and supply point for the entire west
coast of Mexico. Recrossing the Gulf we cast anchor off
San Jose del Cabo.
Here, in company with a Scotch traveler, I landed on a
freighter and visited the pueblo, a mile inland. As we found
two rentable mules, the distance was easily covered. San
Jose del Cabo is a charming and picturesque pueblo, with
the inevitable mission and plaza, many sky-blue, flat-roofed
adobe residences, attractive gardens, rich soil, much running
water, and every tropical and semi-tropical fruit conceiva
ble. It has a population of sixteen hundred and enjoys a
wonderful climate. Leaving the town behind us, we rode
through fields of sugar-cane toward Santa Anita, a garden
spot, presumably the site of the early eighteenth century
Jesuit Mission of San Jose. It is a frequent saying down
the Peninsula that if a man stops a week at San Jose del
Cabo he becomes a "lotus eater" and only ropes can haul
him away. It certainly is a dreamy garden. The small
boys who crowded about us demanding centavos were an
evidence of foreign visitors for, at Rosario, when I had of
fered to toss pennies for several small children who had
showed me the mission ruins, the youngsters had no idea of
the meaning of a penny scramble, seeming well content to
hold my hand and walk beside me.
Leaving San Jose del Cabo and rounding Cabo San Lucas,
we bore away toward San Francisco, 1,160 miles distant. At
Magdalena Bay we made a brief halt; at Ensenada we spent

246 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
a day; and then we steamed northward toward the Golden
Gate. And now, before proceeding any further with my adven
tures, let me accord a full chapter to the strange story of that
superb harbor, Magdalena Bay.

•jL*,^/»

i \4r

Ode^S

V

•*«.

At anchor off San Jose del Cabo

CHAPTER XIX
THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY*
TO an American looking forward to the completion of
the Isthmian Canal, the location of Magdalena Bay
is startlingly strategic. Indenting the southwest
coast of the California Peninsula, distant a full thousand
nautical miles from San Francisco on the north and over
twice that distance from Panama on the southeast, this in
frequently considered port is the only great anchorage be
tween the Golden Gate and the Isthmus. To conceive of its
vastness, picture a landlocked sheet of water fifteen miles in
length and over twelve in breadth ! But even then the con
ception is incomplete, for the actual length of the roadstead
is nearer forty miles than fifteen, although points reaching
shorewards from the adjacent Island of Santa Margarita, a
long, narrow strip of land, barren and of volcanic origin,
divide this mighty stretch of water into two bays of which
only the northerly one is properly referred to as Magdalena
Bay, the southerly division being usually called Almaca, or
Almejas, Bay. The old-time whalers termed these divisions
Weather and Lee Bays.
The formation of Magdelena Bay is peculiar. From the
peninsula coast at the north headlands jut out into the sea ;
at the west a long narrow strip of land, sometimes called
Man-of-War Island, parallels the inequalities of the shore
line, while to the south and southwest lies the Island of Santa
Margarita. By practically hemming in a portion of the
* Reproduced, in part, from "Sunset Magazine," March, 1908.
247

248 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
sea these successive lands form the harbor, for Magdalena
Bay does not deeply indent the coast. As these protective
girders are lofty enough to shelter the harbor from gales,
they served in older days to conceal buccaneers and smug
gling craft from chance ships of the Crown. The formal
gateway to the ocean lies betwen the northern extremity of
Santa Margarita Island and Punta Entrada, the southern
most point of the so-called Man-of-War Island. There are
additional passages, however, for lagoons, fringed with
mangrove shrubs, run northward finally opening into the
Pacific — others extend inland — while to the south there is
easy egress through Almaca Bay.
Pictured in an earlier chapter, the country inland from
Magdalena Bay is desolate in the extreme. First, reaching
from the shore eastward for twenty miles, comes a barren,
undulating waste of sand and cactus. Next the plains sweep
inland with an upward swell for another twenty miles, finally
wedding with the hills and plains which stretch down from
the eastern cordillera of the Peninsula. Save for the mes-
quite, which line the broad, shallow arroyos — occasional
scars on the interminable desert — the face of the country is
veiled entirely with cacti. It is not a pleasant region. The
ground is parched. The days are stifling hot. Great waves
of fog roll in during the nights, effectually shrouding the
country in the mornings. Until he has proceeded inland
from one hundred and seventy-five to two hundred and sev
enty-five miles from the bay, the chance wayfarer need have
no thought of finding the fertile district along which, strung
out in the form of a crescent, lies the historic mission sites
of Todos Santos, La Paz, Dolores del Sur, San Xavier,
Comondu and Purisima.
The history of Magdalena Bay, a story never yet knit to
gether, is dashed with the wild flavor of the romance of
centuries. Its theme is ever thirst, thirst. First visited by

THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 249
Europeans in the days of Cortez, in various centuries the
gathering place of voyagers from the Spanish Main, gal
leons from the Philippines, buccaneers from England and
the Netherlands, American filibusters and whalers from a
dozen ports, less than forty years ago the favored property
of a powerful New York syndicate presided over by General
John A. Logan and financed by Belmont and Jerome, to-day
the magnificent harbor looks out upon desolate shores un
known to the world. With few shoals, sheltered from gales,
this noble expanse of water, spacious enough to accommo
date the navies of all nations and be heedless of their pres
ence, this grim bay of the southwest nevertheless counts an
incoming sail an event. The explanation is thirst, thirst.
For every man who has ever visited the shores of this su
perb, ill-starred bay has felt the want of water, water.
First came Francisco de Ulloa, a resolute Spanish ad
miral outfitted by Cortez. In serious search for the rich
pearl island of Ciguatan where charming Amazons were
supposed to live in sovereign state, de Ulloa coasted along
the shores of peninsula California, discovering successively
the Colorado River and Magdalena Bay. To the port he
came at Christmas time in the year 1539, but though he fell
a-foul of warlike savages he could get no sight of pearl-
bedecked Amazons or of living springs of water. And for
lack of the last he mourned the deepest.
In the wake of de Ulloa sailed Juan Cabrillo. In his
ship's log, under date of July 18, 1542, appears this early
notice concerning Magdalena Bay, "this is a good port and
it is sheltered from west winds; but it has not water or
wood." Later came the restless pilot Viscaino. But he,
too, found little water. "They could get no intelligence of
any water," wrote his chronicler, "except in a cavity among
the rocks, and what they had there was excessively bad."
After Viscaino's visit occasional Spanish galleons, Isth-

250 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
mus bound from the Philippines, sought the shelter of the
great harbor, and graceless Dutch and English buccaneers
followed close at their heels. In the sands southward to
ward Cape San Lucas lie buried the surplus riches of many
a ravished treasure ship.
Thus passed the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In
the eighteenth the fearless Jesuit padres sought a mission site
overlooking Magdalena Bay. But even these intrepid ex
plorers retreated from its thirsty shores, content, perforce,
with the foundation of San Luis Gonzaga, nigh fifty miles
inland and the nearest of the links of their extensive mission
chain. Finally with the opening of the nineteenth century, the
bay region experienced surprising prosperity in consequence
of becoming the center of an active smuggling trade between
the dwellers by the missions and voyagers from Europe and
the United States. This free trade was the outgrowth of a
commercial embargo enacted by Spain during the Na
poleonic wars. With mules and donkeys laden with hides,
occasional furs and pearls, fruits and honey, the natives
wended their way from the missions toward Magdalena
Bay. In the lagoons they would find expectant sailors await
ing them with long boats freighted with woven stuffs, trink
ets and the like, acceptable articles for exchange. It was a
thirsty business. The Californians prepared for it by bring
ing with them well filled leather water-bottles, while the
sailors supplied themselves with an inferior quality of the
liquid by sinking barrels in the sand, then stoving in the bar
rel heads and waiting for the seepage. The proceedings
were enlivened by cordial exchange of native mescal and
ship's grog.
For a third of a century this contraband trade flourished
to the great joy of the natives and the immense advantage of
shipping houses engaged in Pacific commerce. Finally,

THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 251
with the diversion of the famous Pious Fund, and the
achievement of Mexican independence and the passage of
the Secularization Acts, came the decadence of the missions
and the consequent ending of the halycon days of the Mag
dalena Bay contrabandistas.
But visitors of higher repute began shortly to frequent
the great harbor, for nations were not blind to its possible
strategic importance. In the late thirties and early forties
Admiral Du Petit-Thouars, Captain Sir Edward Belcher
and Captain Kellett successively investigated Magdalena
Bay. They reported it accursed by thirst.
Shortly before the middle of the nineteenth century the
bay region experienced its second period of prosperity for a
veritable fleet of whalers, sealers and guano gatherers made
it the center of their operations. New England whalers,
alone, were soon coining over a quarter of a million dollars
annually, from whales taken along the shores of the Penin
sula. Magdalena Bay rejoiced in the doubtful honor of
being the favorite spot for "trying out" the oil.
In the midst of these doings came the Mexican War.
This was in 1847-48. Upon its outbreak Commodore Sel-
fridge landed a body of marines and two companies of New
York volunteers at La Paz, one hundred and seventy miles
to the southeast of the great harbor. Late in 1848 these
troops were withdrawn.
Five years later Filibuster Walker anchored with his bark
the Caroline, in Magdalena Bay; subsequently he passed the
same harbor while en route to Nicaragua and the culmina
tion of his career.
Undisturbed by these various historic events the whalers
and sealers continued to make the bay their general head
quarters. But, despite its remoteness even this region was
destined to become a pawn in the political game. The first
move was made in the early sixties, when General Juarez,

252 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
hard pressed by Maximilian, shrewdly conveyed to an Amer
ican syndicate a large slice of Lower California territory,
including the section about Magdalena Bay. In 1867 the
syndicate engaged the late J. Ross Browne to examine its
bargain. In the course of his work Browne made this entry in his
journal: "Proceeding close along the shore of Magdalena
Bay some two or three miles toward the heads, we came to
a plateau or mesa, apparently formed by nature as the site
for a town. The extent of the mesa is about two miles in
depth by three in width. Probably a better point could not
be selected for a naval depot."
But though impressed by the magnificence of the bay and
its availability for naval purposes and charmed by the salu
brity of its climate, Browne reported adversely as to adapta
bility of the adjacent lands for agricultural purposes.
"Until within two weeks of our visit," he wrote, "it was said
by one person near the bay that rain had not visited this re
gion for fourteen years." Thirst, thirst, always thirst !
However, August Belmont, Leonard W. Jerome, Ben
Butler, Wm. G. Fargo, Ben Holladay, Caleb Cushing, John
A. Garland and John A. Logan, the active spirits of the
syndicate, were not men of a type to be deterred by a mere
report. Accordingly Baron Philippe de Rougemont, a
noted French engineer, was engaged to map and survey the
country about Magdalena Bay while a large party of pio
neers were sent into the interior to dig wells, build roads and
clear the ground. By May, 1871, it was reported that
there were five hundred settlers located about Browne's
"town-site." But these newcomers were oppressed by their
surroundings, the fear of thirst came upon them and they
fled the country.
Meantime the Mexican government had annulled the
grant and its officials had pounced upon the colony, dispos-

Magdalena Bay

THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 253
sessing its local agent. These latter proceedings caused the
U. S. S. Saranac to hasten to the rescue. By this time Gen
eral Butler, who had become president of the syndicate, be
gan complaining after his own peculiar fashion. So alarm
ing was his roar that the Mexican government offered a com
promise by which, as a salve to his injured feelings, the syn
dicate was accorded the privilege of gathering orchilla for a
period of six years. This orchilla is a lichen which grows
on the stems and branches of the shrubs and cacti along the
coast of the Magdalena Bay region. In appearance it re
sembles drooping tufts of gray moss. Dyes of valuable
properties are produced from orchilla.
In 1874, and prior to the expiration of the Butler exten
sion, there appeared in Magdalena Bay the U. S. S. Narra-
gansett, a vessel engaged in the survey of the west coast of
Mexico. This important undertaking had been confided to
the commander of the Narragansett, a quiet young naval
officer by the name of George Dewey. According to the
1880 report of the U. S. Hydrographic Office, compiled
from data gathered by Commander Dewey, it would appear
that the American Jackies found the water problem at Mag
dalena Bay as vexing as it was in the days of the Spanish
navigators. Says this report:
"In the summer season the only regular supply of fresh
water is obtained about 40 miles from the bay, near one of
the northern lagoons. Small vessels make regular trips for
the express purpose of bringing it to the settlement. . . .
At the time of the NarragansetVs visit there were about ten
houses near the beach on the west side of Man-of-War
Cove, one of which was used as a Custom House and the
others chiefly occupied by men engaged in collecting and
shipping orchilla. . . Magdalena Bay is one of the
most spacious and safe harbors in the world."
A decade after the visit of these naval surveyors, a Cali-

254 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
fornia company secured a grant of land adjoining the bay.
Probably to their own surprise as much as any one's, these
new speculators made a fortune from the concession. This
came through unusually large crops of orchilla which
brought to the bay region a third period of prosperity.
Subsequently the concessionists transferred to a Boston and
New York syndicate the Magdalena Bay grant which may
be described as a four million acre farm embracing a belt
of land reaching fourteen miles inland from the bay and
extending along the coast north and south some hundreds of
miles. Though this grantee, at least in 1906, gave small
heed to orchilla, it developed a fine well at Matancita, with
a cistern and a steam pump capable of supplying many thou
sand gallons per day. Matancita, the local headquarters of
this immense rancho, lies immediately to the north of one
of the northern lagoons.
Though these commercial matters have been mere inci
dents to Magdalena Bay, bringing with them no steady rush
of settlers, they have had their immediate bearing on recent
events. Commander Dewey, become an Admiral, was
thoroughly conversant with the entire west coast of Mexico ;
he knew that with abundant water at Matancita Magdalena
Bay was useful. Presently, therefore, through the courtesy
of Mexico, the United States was accorded the privilege of
sending her men-of-war to the great harbor for target prac
tice. Since then, at periodic intervals, the resplendent
fighting machines of the White Navy have glided into Mag
dalena Bay, their grim cannon breaking the calm of the
silent waters and rousing the echoes above the rugged shore.
Thus again the bay has awakened to such life as it had not
known since the passing of the contrabandistas and whalers ;
only now it is a less continuous and more superb manner of
living. Though the modern visitor to this ancient harbor is im-

THE STORY OF MAGDALENA BAY 255
pressed by the magnificent expanse of its waters, the clear
ness of the atmosphere and the absence of commerce, he
finds its shores practically deserted. The only settlement is
at Man-of-War Cove where there are some seventy-five
Mexicans, a handful of them port officials, the others en
gaged in turtle fishing and the gathering of abalone shells.
Immediately inland there are no residents, except the local
manager of the American grant with his vaqueros and their
families, forming the small cluster of houses at Ma
tancita. Magdalena Bay has little inland intercourse. In fact the
region is not rich in roads. From Matancita trails run
north to the beautiful valley of prosperous Comondii, and
south to the gardens of Todos Santos and thence to La Paz
or San Jose del Cabo. But on these caminos there are
stretches where water-holes are forty miles apart. San
Luis, to the east, is the junction of many of these trails,
relics of mission days, which wind through the sierras and
across the plains with springs or water-holes every twenty
miles or so. Corrals and shacks of rancheros mark these
oases. Despite their impoverishment the rancheros are an hos
pitable, kindly people. But though careless of the mountain
lions that deplete their flocks, and heedless of rattlesnakes
and tarantulas, they have an inherent dread of the Plains
of Magdalena. "The shores of the great bay are accursed
by God," they say, "and therefore many men have died in
the region after the Devil's favorite fashion of taking them
off, and that is by thirst, thirst, THIRST."
I believe this dread is contagious. And yet, after ascer
taining what slight labor has sufficed to develop the verdant
huertas, or gardens and orchards, at Matancita and about
the wells on Don Benigno's Hacienda, the traveler is
disposed to conclude that the curse might have been lifted

256 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
these many moons, except for the glaring lack of system and
energy which seems to have characterized the various
schemes to develop the Magdalena Bay region.

Part III
LA FRONTERA AGAIN

CHAPTER XX
A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS
EARLY in July I was again in Ensenada, having had,
in the meantime, a glimpse of San Francisco. En
senada is a rather recent American-Mexican-English
built town with a population of fifteen hundred, a delightful
climate and a beautiful situation above the curved white
beach of Todos Santos Bay. It is at once the headquarters
of an English colonization company and the seat of govern
ment of the Northern District of Lower California. Six
months earlier, on Christmas evening, just before entering
the country of the Catarina Yumas, Juan, my two Ameri
can friends and I had reached the town in time for a late
and well appreciated dinner at the foreign hotel. We had
at that time come overland from Tia Juana. The next day
I had observed two usual signs of English occupation, golf
links — rather neglected — and a portable tub!
After leaving Magdalena Bay in the Curacao, I had
visited Ensenada a second time and been introduced to the
"Governor" of the District, Sr. Coronel Celsa Vega, a
courteous, well groomed, rather good looking individual.
Now, in July, my list of local acquaintances was extended to
the Post Master, to Sr. Luis Fernandez, of the Customs
House, and his associate, the Collector, to Sr. Oymart, a
most obliging local merchant, and to various other gentle
men. Without exception they showed me most generous
consideration. Indeed, whatever his shortcomings, the civility of the
259

260 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
average Mexican is superb. He inherits it from his Span
ish forefathers, he acquires it at his mother's knee, he learns
it at school. In January, Eloisa, the pretty child of the
Sefior of San Vicente, showed me her Mexican primer and
this was the first lesson therein: "Albert's mamma gave Al
bert a piece of cake. Albert, greedy boy, without a word
began eating the cake. Albert's mamma took the cake
away and gave it to the cat. The cat said 'Meow, meow'
(Thank you, thank you.) Albert's mamma thereupon gave
the cat a second piece of cake."
With such training is it at all surprising that the Mexican
is an individual of rare politeness ?
The evening of the ninth of July, after bidding my new
acquaintances good-bye, I returned to the St. Denis, a small
coasting steamer on which I had come to Ensenada, and the
anchor hoisted, we turned southward. The following after
noon I disembarked at San Quintin, possessed of vividly
amusing recollections of previous adventures in the little
pueblo — and with liberal expectancies of additional experi
ences to be had. I was not disappointed. After dispatch
ing a messenger southward for my former mozo, Timoteo,
and for the now recuperated Pedro Ximenez — having given
out months before, he had been left at Rosario — I took
notice of the people about me.
Some fifteen or sixteen men had landed from the steamer,
two of them being accompanied by their wives, plucky, un
obtrusive women. The entire company seemed interested
.in mining, either as promoters or investors. For the most
part they were wide-awake Americans, with just a leavening
of well-bred young Englishmen. Immediately after our
landing, activities focussed about a frame building, part
Customs House, part hotel and altogether the largest struc
ture in San Quintin. Here I again met Sr. Victoria, now in
charge of the Customs, here I found two hustling, agreeable

^HmHL.

* " J? .-S3»*™=-

-til"'^"*0"

:"- U'

Reproduced from The Mother of California," by
courtesy of the publishers, Paul Elder & Company.
Ensenada
A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 261
Americans, sometime whalers and, according to ever uncer
tain rumor, smugglers as well, now peaceful storekeepers
and proprietors of the hotel.
But the first individuals that I especially noted, as I grew
observant, were two swarthy fellows with the treading-high
air of those homeward bound and well pleased thereat. I
made their acquaintance forthwith. They were scientific
men, just in from Cedros Island where they had been col
lecting for Harvard University and the John Thayer In
stitute. Until their departure, via the northward bound
St. Denis on the 1 2th instant, we passed the time pleasantly,
even enjoying several close bridge games with one of the
Englishmen as fourth man. My attention was also early
drawn toward an elderly, quiet-mannered wanderer. As
he proved to be a miner just in from four months' prospect
ing on San Pedro Martir Sierra, whither I was bound, I
questioned him freely. He was a kindly old hermit, ready
to laugh heartily over the recollection of his chilly spring
near the snow line and his panic in March when awakened
by a severe earthquake. Of the general topography of the
sierra he was frankly ignorant. In fact, though the store
keepers and several of the local residents had hunted or
mined on its southern and western slopes none of them knew
it as a whole. Moreover, as it was unsurveyed and un
charted, people who ventured upon it would surely get lost.
So insistently did they make this declaration that my interest
in the not infrequently visited Sierra was increased imme
diately. If there was a fair chance of getting lost in such
a region of game and water, I was anxious for my chance,
for to be lost under such circumstances would surely be
fascinating. On the St. Denis I had met an energetic, vivacious pro
moter, Brown by name, a man long associated with the
Northern District, and one whose very vitality made him

262 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
interesting. Through his initiative, keenly seconded by one
of the proprietors of the store, a baile grande, or grand ball,
was given the evening of the ioth. The scene of the func
tion was the hotel dining-room. At San Ignacio and other
southerly pueblos I had attended bailes, but this one was a
more cosmopolitan affair, not unlike an American frontier
social event. The dancers consisted of eight Senoritas, two
American women, wives of San Francisco "refugees"
stranded, Heaven knows how, at San Quintin; a dozen
American and English mining men, five Mexicans, the scien
tists and myself. A wheezy phonograph provided music,
while beer and mescal were on hand for the thirsty. A na
tive audience of mothers and babies, grandmothers and lit
tle children, sat on chairs and benches close against the wall
and in blissful content silendy enjoyed the succeeding hours.
The women dancers were dressed in simple, attractive
gowns, but the English and American men were laughable
to behold. A stocky, middle-aged mine owner, wearing
great goggles over his small, near-sighted eyes, presented
himself attired in a black frock coat, very baggy khaki rid
ing bags, gaiters — and no stockings ! Two of the English
men wore dark green puttees, swathed close about their
bulging calves, while three of us Americans appeared in rid
ing clothes with leather leggins and heavy shoes. It was a
bizarre scene. Here a handsome young mining engineer glid
ing over the floor with a swaying, graceful little muchaha,
his thoughts perhaps harking back to some collegiate cotil-
•lon; there an erect young Britisher, with Oxford yet fresh
in mind, soberly footing the mazes of a rollicking waltz
and primly holding at arm's length a brown little muchacha,
all a-fire with the excitement of her first baile grande; here a
sturdy American miner galloping with a swarthy Sefiorita,
her flashing eyes and striking features betokening Apache
ancestry; there a Harvard scientist, bravely seeking to de-

A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 2631
spoil a native dandy of half a dance. One of the American
refugees and three of the little Senoritas — mere girls of
fourteen — were really excellent dancers, far and away above
the others, and for their favors there sprang up a gay rivalry
between a young English mine owner, an American mining
expert, one of the scientists and myself. Furthermore, each
of the little Senoritas had a particular native cavalier, vainly
claiming monopoly and effervescing with frenzied jealousy
at sight of our attentions.
At midnight heaping baskets of cascarones (blown eggs,
stuffed with many colored confetti) suddenly and myster
iously appeared, and in an instant eggs were cracking on
dark and fair heads alike and the room was a-glitter with a
shower of brilliant confetti. In another hour some of the
miners grew uproarious and in wild glee and with most un
certain aim began shying bottles at a serious beetle, leisurly
intent on promenading across the ceiling. Even amid this
excitement the shy little Senoritas would venture upon no
more extensive conversation than "Si, Seiior," or "No,
Senor." By two A. M. the men were growing weary.
Three of us, however, doffing our coats heroically kept on.
An hour later a thoughtful miner jammed a mescal bottle in
the phonograph. That ended the baile grande.
For two days thereafter San Quintin was agog with the
bustle of departing outfits. Then, with much shouting of
mozos and sharp tinkling of bells, a long line of riders and
pack trains swung out upon El Camino Real en route for
the southern mines, while the balance of the prospectors,
under the leadership of Brown, embarked on a schooner
bound for Cedros Island. Meantime the St. Denis had de
parted for the north, leaving San Quintin to slumber once
again and its hungry hordes of accursed fleas to devote their
exclusive attention to me. Fortunately for my peace, my
temper and my soul, I had an invitation from one of the out-

264 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
ward bound passengers* to visit his mines at Valledaras on
the west slope of San Pedro Martir Sierra. Accordingly,
goaded to desperation by the greedy tormenters, I hastily
loaded my camp equipage and supplies on the Valledaras
four-mule freighter and upon the arrival of Timoteo, the
two of us climbed up beside the Indian driver, thankful to
escape from San Quintin without further delay. At the
same time mounting a Mexican boy on Pedro, I dispatched
him northward with instructions to secure five burros at the
Rancho of San Antonio del Mar, where my faithful Ca
brillo had been reared, and to bring them to Valledaras.
The first evening out, after having covered twenty-one
miles, we made camp beside a stream near the Dominican
Mission of Santo Domingo. As two of their friars resided
here as late as 1854, this establishment may be regarded as
the last stronghold of the Dominicans in Lower California.
Moreover, as the ruins even yet boast standing walls and
one room intact, Santo Domingo may be looked upon as the
best preserved of the Dominican foundations on the Penin
sula. An Indian showed me the contents of the one room :
some candle-sticks, figures of Our Lady, of Santo Domingo
— quite a dandy — of San Rafael, of San Antonio and of
San Pedro Martir. This last image had suffered special
martyrdom of its own, having been pierced by a rifle ball.
In the earliest days of Santo Domingo Mission, the worthy
friars said Mass in the caves of a lofty red cliff, a mile be
low the mission site, and this cliff the natives still refer to as
the Old Mission.
Almost in the shadow of this Mision Viejo there is a
pretty flower- and vine-clad cottage, surrounded by orange
trees. Here two elderly Canadians, a brother and widowed
sister, make their peaceful home. As this gentle couple
had shown me extreme kindness in February, I now called
* The lamented C. J. Young, since then foully murdered.

A FRONTIER BALL AND AGAIN THE SIERRAS 265
to express my appreciation, telling them that I had not for
gotten their homelike attentions given at a time when I was
sick and dispirited. Vigorous in the aggressive health of
continued outdoor life, I was distressed to find the sister's
daughter suffering with erysipelas. Concerning the gravity
of her misfortune — there was no physician to be had — the
young invalid was silent. She made eager inquiries, how
ever, about various portions of the Southern District and
then spoke with sweet enthusiasm concerning her "neigh
bor," an American born girl residing at San Antonio del
Mar, forty-five miles to the north.
"In January you visited San Antonio del Mar and Miss
Bertie was then at Socorro," said she. "Now you are
going to Socorro and she is down by the sea. It's a shame !"
"It is too bad," I replied, smiling at her ardor. "She
must be a marvelous young woman to win the praise that
natives and foreigners alike lavish upon her very name."
"You must not laugh," said the invalid, in a hurt tone.
"She's the most interesting personality in all this country
side — and yet I can't describe her. Though she has lived
in these wilds since babyhood, she has the gentle traits you
may find in the girls at home. And I must tell you about
her pluck. Once during the absence of her men folks, she
heard that some marauding Indians and Mexicans were
about to make off with a bunch of her father's range
cattle. Without pausing for rest or giving thought to
the risk, she rode for thirteen hours; indeed, using up two
saddle horses, the range riding was so rough. She saved
all the cattle. Another time she was in San Diego with her
father. A man of considerable means, he coolly pointed out
a magnificent eastern residence to her, saying, "Bertie, you
girls mustn't remain Amazons. I think I'll buy that place
for you." She knew that he might be in earnest. "Oh,
you wouldn't make us live in a city," she cried. "Town life

266 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
must be so crowded. Can't we always live in the sierras?
There we can breathe."
"Good for her," I cried, applauding. "I am converted,
without even having seen your heroine."
The ensuing day we passed the rancho of Camalu, camp
ing in the foothills at Burro Spring. Early the following
morning we were awakened by a wild yell from our stal
wart Indian driver. A gopher had rubbed against the pow
erful chief's spear hand ! The sixteenth found us up among
the spurs of San Pedro Martir Sierra, where quail, coyotes
and rabbits were plentiful, the air crisp and the nights dewy.
The seventeenth we attained an elevation of over four thou
sand feet, then, with squeaking wheels and brakes and drag
ging chains, slid down into a deep arroyo by the sheerest
pitch I have ever heard termed a wagon grade. Crossing
a clear, willow-bordered stream, we followed a good road
which shortly brought us to the gold placers of Valledaras.
Here, set in an amphitheater of the mountains, was a sway
ing field of green alfalfa, bordered by fine oaks, a water
ditch, hydraulic rams, miners' cabins and picturesque Indian
shacks. Well up among the mountain spurs, we were now
at the end of the wagon road and in the very shadow of the
heights of San Pedro Martir Sierra, the "Top of the Penin
sula."

CHAPTER XXI.
THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA*
THE day after our arrival at Valledaras I rode north
ward through the sierras ten miles to a giant scoop
amid the ridges where a water ditch, reservoirs,
gold placers, adobes and miners' cabins stood out in sharp
contrast against the unchanging olive green of the surround
ing chemise brush. This was Socorro, the mining property
of an American family, the proprietors of Rancho San An
tonio del Mar. Certain of these good people I had met in
January at their rancho, quickly recognizing in them the
highest type of American frontiersmen and women. Now,
with added pleasure, I made the acquaintance of the re
maining members of this sturdy family, including a dark-
eyed fine spirited young girl of barely twenty. This latter
was "Miss Bertie." Possessed of quiet dignity and a certain
(direct manner quite in accord with the strong character writ
ten in her face, she seemed worthy of the characterization,
given her by the invalid at Santo Domingo, of being "the
most interesting personality in all the countryside."
Twenty-four hours after my arrival at Socorro, Timoteo
rode in from Valledaras with news that the Mexican boy,
unsuccessful in his mission, had arrived with Pedro Ximenes.
Accordingly, accepting four burros proffered by my
kindly host, early the ensuing morning Timoteo and I re
turned with them to Valledaras where we loaded on our sup-
* Republished, in part, from the Bulletin of the American Geographical
Society for September, 1907. 267

268 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
plies. Then we traveled easterly until we arrived at the
rancho of Santa Cruz.
The real ascent of San Pedro Martir Sierra was now
hefore us. This was the 20th of July. Thereafter, and
until the 13th of August, we traveled steadily up and down
and about the craggy mountain. No chart or complete de
scription of this magnificent sierra has ever been published,
a rather surprising circumstance in view of the fact that in
recent years its inviting glades have become the most fre
quent goal for visitors to the interior of Lower California.
Perhaps the very grandeur of the views off the eastern slope,
defying description as they do, may, in part, explain this
seeming neglect.
San Pedro Martir Sierra is not an isolated peak, essen
tially distinct from the mountain chain of the Peninsula. On
the contrary, it is a plateau section of that chain, a lofty
region where the mighty back-bone of the Lower California
cordilleras have attained to their supreme height. Doubt
less some of the admirals of the brilliant Conquistador, Cor
tez, in their voyages up the Vermilion Sea in search of a
Northwest Passage, were the first civilized men to behold
the mighty mountain hulk, while Cabrillo, sailing northward
along the Pacific coast, perhaps first studied its white out
lines from the west. In the year 1702, Padre Kino, the
famous Jesuit explorer, made note in his journal of seeing
the Sierra, and sixty-three years later Padre Link, the
founder of San Borja Mission, came within a few leagues
of its southern spurs. If I have read correctly one of the
old chronicles of San Borja, he was only saved from death
at the hands of a vast multitude of mountain Indians by the
Intervention of a woman who, although she accompanied
the savages, was decently clothed, of regal bearing and keen
understanding. After founding his Lower California Mis
sion of San Fernando, good Padre Junipero Serra traveled

CALIFORNIA, J 
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BAM CALIFORNIA, MEXICO.
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OUTLINE 01 THE SURROUNDING REGION
AW. NORTH.

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1ZVALU0ERAS;13,S.HA«T0N!0:W.5«N ISIDRO
 CREST OF SIERRA
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J* RANCHES ORTOWNS
 PRINCIPAL STREAMS
 ROADS"
n ¦" UNUSED ROADS
* SPECIAL PEAKS
Sc.le .fMi/ei

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oRosanto

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San Juan de Dios

Rosario

Crosses show route taken by author

The uncharted Sierra of San Pedro Martir

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 269
around the southern and western spurs of the Sierra on his
historic journey northward to San Diego and the field of
his famed mission work in Upper California. Later Padre
Cayetano Pallas established the Dominican Mission of San
Pedro Martir de Verona on the southwestern crest of the
Sierra and twelve leagues east of the Mission of Santo Do
mingo. Two years thereafter, in 1796, Lieutenant Gover
nor Arrilliga made an official visit to the new mission, only
to find that the neophytes had fled in a body and were un
willing to return until a new Padre was conceded to them.
So much for history.
The trend of the California peninsula is southeast and
northwest and so, also, is the trend of its greatest sierra.
Approximating from the coast line charting of the little
known territory, the geographical bounds of San Pedro
Martir Sierra are as follows, viz.: at the north, 31 ° 5' lati
tude, north, and 115" 40' and 115" 5' longitude, west; at
the south, 300 25' latitude, north, and 115" 20' and 1150
longitude, west. Out in long sweeps from the western crest
of the Sierra, reach a series of rugged spurs, some of them
only breaking against the shore line of the Pacific Ocean
over fifty miles distant; to the east, with appalling sublim
ity, sheer precipices and sharp granite ridges bridge the im
mensity of space between the crest and the San Felipe Desert
reaching back from the barren hills down against the Gulf;
to the south the main ridge breaks, merging into hills only
to rise again, later, in the vicinity of the heights of Matomi
and San Juan de Dios. To the north, also, the sierra range
lessens until at Valle Trinidad (Trinity Valley) it loses its
identity. The main crest of the Sierra is approximately fifteen
leagues in length by three and a half in breadth. This lofty
area is occupied by grassy meadows, timber covered swales,
cross ridges and picachos. There are perennial springs,

270 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
cold streams, and at the meadow of La Grulla (the Crane)
a small lake. The sierra is snow clad in winter and early
spring, while summer thunder storms feed its hurrying
streams. Beginning at the south and passing northward along the
crest the successive meadows are known as Sant' Eulalia,
Santa Rosa and Santo Tomas, El Mision or San Martir,
La Grulla, L'Encentata (the Enchanted, so called on ac
count of the ease with which, owing to its secluded position,
it seemingly eludes the traveler), and Vallecitos (Little
Valley.) These meadows, each containing from one to
two thousand acres of verdant plain, are connected by in
distinct and broken cattle trails which criss-cross the sierra.
Scattered broadcast along the crest lie massive white and
gray granite boulders, while here and there stately white
granite picachos loom upward spurning haughtily the level
of their surroundings. To the immediate north of L'Encen
tata three of these picachos, the Tres Palomas (Three
Doves), are ranged side by side. Farther north a mighty
peak, El Providencia (The Divinity, Providence) — also
known as El Picacho Blanco (The White Peak) — rises high
above the clouds, the jagged summit of all Baja California,
the unchallenged retreat of lions and mountain sheep, the
unsealed lookout of eagles and mighty condors. The glit
tering granite sides of this majestic peak glisten in the sun
as though robed in purest snow and even from the banks of
the Colorado, a hundred miles away, its jagged white pin
nacle juts boldly above the sky line. La Corona (The
Crown), a high, timber-capped ridge to the southwest of
El Providencia, vies with the latter in height, attaining an
altitude slightly in excess of ten thousand feet. A third,
and almost equally lofty ridge, lies to the north of Corona
and is unnamed. A small, rock-bound meadow is concealed
below the summit of this ridge and here the ruins of an old

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 27 1
shack with a stone foundation indicate the one-time retreat
of a notorious gang of horse thieves who occupied the sierra
some years ago, their operations extending from Baja Cali
fornia over into California and Sonora.
Pines are a rarity on the peninsula. On the crest, how
ever, of San Pedro Martir — from a distance apparently a
gigantic mass of barren white cliffs — spruce, cypress, tama
rack, fir, incense cedar, yellow pine and sugar pine, the pitch
pine and the pine that bears the pinons beloved by the
Indians, flourish and fearlessly invade the meadows and
the granite ridges. About the streams the aspen and the
willow, ferns and wild flowers cluster, forming cool enticing
nooks, and yet the awful chasm which primeval forces
gashed into the northern and western sides of the sierra,
shaping courses for these same streams to rush down and
lose themselves in the San Felipe Desert, are grim and for
bidding. In making an ascent of the sierra, either from Valledaras
or Socorro, the traveler rises slowly for a league, then, with
a sharp upward pitch, the trail zigzags nerve-rackingly sky
ward two or three thousand feet, winding in and out of the
white granite boulders and cliffs and leaving behind the
mines and the Mexican and Indian ranchos of Santa Cruz,
San Antonio, and San Isidro. Finally, mountain benches,
six or seven thousand feet above the sea level are reached,
pines and grass bound streams appear unexpectedly, the
lower world becomes a vista of distant peaks — and the crest
of San Pedro Martir Sierra is attained. The traveler now
finds himself in a new world, totally unlike the balance of
Baja California, a world where he may wander at will; for
condors and eagles, wild ducks, mountain quail, deer, wild
cats, lions, coyotes, half wild horses and cattle — descendants
of the herds of the Frailes — alone dwell on the crest. Dur
ing short periods native vaqueros occupy shacks at the mea-

272 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
dows of Santo Tomas and La Grulla, but the crisp nights
and mornings, most invigorating to northern blood, are little
relished by the Mexicans.
Throughout Lower California the deer are rapidly dis
appearing. On San Pedro Martir Sierra they will soon be
a tradition; and yet, in the open forest glades, they add
wonderfully to the charm. They are too easily killed, how
ever, to long survive professional hunters and amateur
butchers. Until the middle of the nineteenth century large
gray wolves roamed over the great sierra ; the last one seen
was killed in 1903. In the early eighties a lone bear took
up his temporary abode on the mountain crest, doubtless en
joying himself hugely, for the native hunters fled in dismay
before his tracks, reporting that the Devil was at large on
the Sierra. In even the most remote regions of the penin
sula bears are unknown. The mountain sheep is the best
protected variety of game on San Pedro Martir Sierra.
Among the barren crags along the well nigh inaccessible
eastern and southeastern sections of the sierra, numbers of
these magnificent creatures live almost in undisturbed con
tent, lending an additional picturesqueness to the majestic
scenery. In prehistoric times a race of people drew petroglyphs
on cliffs in the deep canons about San Pedro Martir Sierra
— and drew them where men of modern stature may not
reach. They were succeeded by a tribe of Indians who were
also of magnificent physique, for six feet is but an ordinary
height among the Kaliwas, the descendants of these old-
time red men. The Kaliwas are stalwart, dark-skinned,
people. They live in the rancherias of Arroyo Leon,
Janook and San Antonio, small clusters of thatch and pole
shacks situated upon the northern slope of the sierra and
within easy journeying of the pinon trees. Mixed bloods
from this tribe are found at many of the Mexican ranchos

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 273
north and west of the sierra. According to the old Jesuit
Link, the Indians on the southern slopes of the mighty sierra
that blocked his northern explorations lived in houses of
wood, but he may have used "houses" relatively, referring
merely to shacks.
The Dominican Mission of San Pedro Martir de Verona
was erected on rising ground at the northern edge of a well
watered meadow. The walls are now nearly level with the
ground. The buildings were of adobe, built around the
usual court. They faced slightly east of south and covered
a space eighty-five paces by fifty-seven, with entrances at the
north and south. From the outline of the ruins there were
apparently two small forts near the southwest corner of the
mission, and a stock enclosure, with an area of eighty-five
by twenty-nine paces, adjoined the walls at the north. There
was also a defensive wall of some sort extending southeast
erly from the northeast corner of the main court. As I found
pieces of old red tiling about the ruins, I assume that tile
roofs were in use at San Pedro Martir Mission, although the
Lower California establishments were usually roofed with
cement and gravel, or with thatch.
According to tradition, three-quarters of a century ago
this mission suffered so frequently at the hands of the Kali
was that soldiers and armed Indian converts from the mis
sions of San Vicente and Santo Domingo were sent forth to
subdue the troublesome ones. As the Indians all delighted
in warfare and as each tribe considered the others its ene
mies, one may imagine the holy joy with which the Indian
converts ( ?) entered upon the pursuit of the "broncos." Be
fore the dread firearms the latter eventually capitulated and,
bound hand and foot, they were carried down from the
mountain crest, tied behind their mounted conquerors.
Later, the captives were put to work at the Missions of
Santo Tomas, San Vicente and Santo Domingo, where lung

274 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
infirmities shortly decimated their numbers. At this time
brief visits to the crest of the sierra in search of pinons or
venison mark the utmost extent of any Kaliwa's interest in
the old haunts of his tribe.
Written references to San Pedro Martir Sierra have been
so rare during the past century that one might count them
upon the fingers of one hand. In the "Historical Summary
of Lower California History", written by the early Cali
fornia historian, A. S. Taylor, and brought out forty years
ago by J. Ross Browne, a lone paragraph appeared concern
ing a lofty, snow covered peak lying between the Missions
of San Fernando and Santa Catarina. In 1894, Mr. George
Gould hunted mountain sheep along the northern spurs of
the sierra and his experiences are recorded in a publication
of the Boone and Crockett Club, brought forth in the nine
ties by Colonel Theodore Roosevelt. Eight years later,
Mr. Edmund Heller, of the Field Columbian Museum of
Chicago, collected mammals along the western half of the
sierra and a report of his doings is on file in the archives of
the museum. The ensuing account of San Pedro Martir
Sierra, giving it an unwonted name, is quoted from the
"West Coast of Mexico," prepared by the Hydrographic
Office of the United States Navy from data furnished during
the seventies by Commander George Dewey of the U. S. S.
Narragansett. This book was published in 1880 and in
subsequent reprints the same improper designation has been
given the sierra; moreover, in consequence of this govern
mental error, recent French and Mexican writers have com
mitted the same blunder.
"Calamahue Mountain," says the account, "sometimes
called Santa Catalina Mountain, from the Mission of that
name near its foot, lies 28^ miles S. 84 W. (W. by S. tf)
mag.) from Point San Felipe. It has a whitish appearance
with a jagged top, and is the highest mountain in Lower

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 275
California, having an elevation of 10,126 feet above the sea
level, and can be seen in clear weather a distance of over
100 miles. Strange as it may appear it was never set down
on any chart until those of the Narragansett's survey,
1873 to 1875, were published. Father Kino speaks of it,
in 1702, as being covered with snow during the winter and
spring. "There is said to be in the vicinity of Mount Calamahue,
a large mountain lake, which feeds the various small streams
that flow toward the Pacific coast.
"The Cocupa Indians, who inhabit some parts of this
region, report the existence of gold there, and they occa
sionally come to the Colorado River bringing nuggets of
pure gold with them, which they trade off. They do not per
mit white men to enter that part of the country which they
inhabit, and thus far have succeeded in keeping undisputed
possession of their treasure, .
"The coast from San Felipe Point to the mouth of the
Colorado River, a distance of about thirty miles, trends
nearly due north."
To my numerous inquiries made throughout Lower Cali
fornia concerning the mountain's name, San Pedro Martir
Sierra has ever been the unfailing response. Survivors of
the once numerous tribes of the Pais, Kaliwas, Santa Cata
rina Yumas and Cocupa Indians, who, from time imme
morial, have visited the mountain in war and for game,
pifions or gold, invariably say that San Pedro Martir has
been the sierra's title for a long, long time and that they
have never known the names of Calamahue or Santa Cata
lina to be associated with it. In this the Mexican and for
eign residents concur. Moreover, the Mission of San Pedro
"Martir de Verona was established upon the crest in the year
1794, and this was full three years prior to the foundation
of the Mission of Santa Catarina, or Catalina — which, by
the way, is fifty miles to the north of and not "near the foot"
of the mountain. Unquestionably the sierra derived its
name from the Mission of San Pedro Martir. "Calamahue

276 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Mountain" is a misnomer, a name entirely without authority.
In the days of the Frailes, as the Dominican Friars were
termed by the Indians, mountain crest and mission were
reached by four different caminos. The Sierra Camino
Real passed directly through the mission grounds, coming
in from Agua Dulce, San Fernando and the Ranchos of San
Juan de Dios and Rosarito at the south and continuing along
the sierra crest and down its northern slope whence it crossed
Valle Trinidad making straight for Santa Catarina Mission.
A branch trail of the Gulfo Camino crossed a dozen leagues
of arid hills and desert swale from the Bay of San Felipe
to the mouth of the Santa Rosa Arroyo, thence by an ascent
rapidly increasing in dizziness, bore upward to the crest
whence it wore along nearly due west to the mission. A
third trail — and an excellent one — approached the mission
from the west, heading at Santo Domingo Mission, down
on the Pacifico Camino.
By this last trail Timoteo and I reached the mountain
crest on the 25th of July. From the mission ruins — in recent
years even the ghostly walls were put through the gold pans
of treasure hunters vainly searching for the traditional
buried wealth of the Frailes — we crossed and criss-crossed
the crest, following old trails which invariably died out and
left us to the guidance of my compass. Finally, the mag
netic needle was put out of commission by a fall which I
had. Thereafter we roamed at will. But while this method
of traveling was giving me an absolute familiarity with the
sierra, it was wearing upon the nerves of my mozo. I had
engaged him not only because he was a good packer but
more especially because he was a good packer who had never
been on the San Pedro Martir Sierra, for to my mind when
one really wishes to explore any section of country the or
dinary guide is an abomination, being ever ready to cook
up most alarming stories in opposition to any route other

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 277
than the cut and dried one with which he chances to be
familiar. On the evening of the 29th of July, we made
camp in a particularly eerie gorge and my man lost his nerve.
"Seiior, where are we?" he asked, in trepidation.
"On top of San Pedro Martir Sierra."
This simple response failed to calm him. "Sefior, are not
you afraid?"
I laughed. "What is there to fear?" And as elements
of security I pointed successively to my fire-arms, the provi
sion packs, two freshly killed deer, my outfit and the clear
stream flowing not ten feet away.
"We are alone, Seiior, in a wild place which neither of
us has ever before seen !"
Had I told him that these very elements doubled
the interest of our camp, he would not have understood me.
I therefore asked, "Do you not know that until our time
comes, nothing can injure us ? that when it comes there will
be no escape? that there is only one death?"
The Mexican pondered a moment over this fatalistic
view that is so quieting for those who venture into danger
ous places. Then, as a lion screeched inanely in the crags
above, he made response, "Seiior, that may be well for a
single man. I have a family to consider."
Certainly there is an uncalled for dread of the recesses
of San Pedro Martir Sierra, and with equal certainty the
proper companion for the mountains is hard to find. Fi
nally, Timoteo expressed a willingness to travel about the
Sierra, provided there was a third man in my party ; but he
would not follow me on my proposed trip across the deserts
to the Colorado River.
Two days later we left the crest by the Santa Cruz
Camino, a steep but plain trail leading westward from La
Grulla, and returned to Socorro. In vain, however, did I
inquire among the Mexicans and Indians about the mines

278 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
for a mozo willing to cross the deserts to the Colorado.
They did not know the way, they said; one man knew the
route but considered such a trip in August certain death.
Ultimately, when I stated my determination of continuing
though I went alone, even the good Americans remon
strated, advising me to reconsider my course.
Then upon the scene appeared the "Colonel." We had
met in January at San Antonio del Mar. Of long locks
and matted beard, sharp-eyed, slight, wiry and agile, part
and parcel of his steed: such is my friend the "Colonel."
An orphan early thrown on the world, he entered, at the
age of twelve the Confederate Secret Service. As a Rebel
spy, his sense of duty to his cause became so a part of his
nature that deep contrition marked his confession to me
'that, on one occasion, he had let slip a clear opportunity of
bagging a Union cavalryman — merely because he feared,
the trooper being a sister's husband, that the man's death
might bring tears to her eyes! The feeling that this un
sportsmanlike omission savored of treason and mawkish
susceptibility still rankles in the mind of the Colonel ; indeed;
as he naively explained, except for this most regrettable
case of youthful weakness, he has always made a point of
never allowing his sentiment to interfere with his shootings.
The war over, he drifted to the cow trail in Texas; later,
Indian fighting in Colorado claimed his attention ; for a time,
gambling at Deadwood enthralled him. Eventually, how
ever, the south and the west alike became too tranquil for
a man accustomed to an active life and, in 1887, the Colonel
crossed the Border. Though he carries over fifty years
and has, at various times, gone down before pistol bullet
or rolling mustang, his energy is unimpaired, as I early dis
covered when he held me even in a sprint after runaway
burros, notwithstanding certain and numerous hours which
I had devoted to the cinder path in the nineties.

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 279
My New Year's experiences with the Catarinas had
reached the Colonel's ears and he pined to be with me now
that I had planned revisiting that predatory tribe. I did
not deny him the pleasure. In fact, had there been occa
sion for urging, I would willingly have drawn upon my
entire reserve of persuasion.
"  it," he began, greeting my invitation with
sulphurous sincerity, "if none of the  Mexs
and Indians '11 go with you, an' you're so Hell-fired set on
goin', I'll make the trip.  me, if I'll see
a white man tackle a  ride like that alone.
An' from what I hear there's like to be somethin' doin'
when we meet them Yumas."
"Colonel," said I, warmly, "you're a gentleman."
"An' no offense, but you're a  fool, that's what
you are, goin' onto them deserts in August. An' you're a
man of my own kind. An' before we start, I'd appreciate
your fixin' up my will for me for those deserts '11 be 
 thirsty."
That evening Lettie and Lollie, the youngest members of
the pioneer family, besought me to write down for them the
words of some song. To their delight I immediately gave
them the lines :
"I went to the animals' fair,
"The birds and the beasts were there," etc., etc.,
the monkey refrain of which had served many times to put
life into my depressed or wearied mozos. I then wrote out
for them that classic, the "Spider Song," the one that runs
thus: "Oh, the blooming, bloody spider went up the water spout,
The blooming, bloody rain came down and washed the
spider out,

280 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
The blooming, bloody sun came out and dried up all the
rain,
And the blooming, bloody spider came up the spout again."
This so delighted Lollie that as a reciprocal favor she vol
unteered to visit certain old Indian friends of hers and ob
tain for me specimens of their songs.
The following morning, reinforced by the Colonel and
an American mining man from South America, Timoteo
and I reascended the sierra by the Socorro Camino. This
time we found camped at Vallecitos a plucky American
woman, surrounded by her boys and girls. I invited one
of the young fellows, a sturdy looking chap, keen for
a good shoot, to accompany us to the Colorado, but either
my rough appearance or the statement of his alarmed San
Quintin guide ( ?) that the Cocupas would scalp us, caused
him to decline.
On this trip I completed my examination of the sources
of the various immense canons that swing out from the sides
of San Pedro Martir Sierra. Beginning at the southeast
and continuing to the east these arroyos are known as Agua
Caliente, Santa Rosa, Providencia and Arroyo Diablo — in
its fearful majesty well earning this name; Arroyo Copal,
Arroyo Esperancia and Arroyo San Mattias which trend
northward; Arroyo Leon, Arroyo Weeks (Lizard),
Arroyo San Rafael and Arroyo San Pedro take westerly
courses, while Valledaras and San Antonio Arroyos at the
west and southwest ultimately unite, forming Santo Do
mingo Arroyo, which empties into the Pacific leagues dis
tant. San Antonio Arroyo, formed by the junction of the
water courses from the old mission and from La Grulla — i
which, at its headwaters, is called La Zanca (The Shank)
— is the one trout stream in Lower California.
Well supplied with venison, we shortly returned to
Socorro, following the Corona and Concepcion Caminos

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 281
that we might leave at the Concepcion Rancho a supply of
fresh meat with a married sister of Miss Bertie. This
energetic matron was busily looking after a ranch while her
husband was managing a mine leagues distant. Except for
her three little children and a faithful Mexican girl, she
was alone and unprotected in the mountain wilderness.
"Madam, are you not in continual fear?" I ventured.
"I and my little people are in continual good health," she
answered, amused at my amazed expression. Then, be
coming serious, she added, "I was born in the States. There
I would not have dared live so alone. Here, there are few
wanderers and no tramps. The Indian and Mexican women
consider me their friend — I give them medicines and treat
them kindly. The men keep their distance. They know
that my hound would notify me of their approach, and that
I am armed. They realize that while father has taught my
brothers to be slow in using arms mother has always cau
tioned us girls to shoot at the first provocation. Moreover,
they know that even though they escaped my revolver, they
could not escape such indefatigable trackers as my husband,
my father, my brothers, the Colonel and my native friends
who would follow them down and shoot them like dogs.
No, here I am safe from insult."
At Socorro I returned the borrowed burros and bought
three in their places. These I named "Padre Hernando
'Consag", after the great Jesuit explorer; "Guillermo
Walker", after the American filibuster, and "James O.
Pattie," in honor of the early American trapper. Having
approved of this christening, Lollie confided to me her store
of original Indian philology which she had acquired from
certain ancient native friends. "I had quite a time, at first,"
said she, "they wanted to show me that they understood
Spanish, but I held them down to their own lingo."
Spelling the words phonetically, I submit the following

282 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
as examples of Pais and Kaliwa words, a la Lollie, viz.:
"Hu-pa ma hup; sing ye, a mi wai-sa," (repeat).
"A no-che, cheu spili pow-wow, cheu spili pow-wow,
"Yu-i, myu-mai, chi-wamai ka-ka, chi-wami kaka."
The first line constitutes the old war song of the Pais, the
second and third an ancient love song, still in use among
that tribe. From the Kaliwas come these jaw breaking
words: Pahamehamakaipa (An American); Marashree-
pahachahamakaipa (An American Girl) ; Chibiskwi-kwiro
(wire) ; Mezai (Good), and Mahd (Meat).
With my new burros, together with three of the Colonel's
picked broncos — one of which, Winnie, I soon purchased —
the Colonel and I were now prepared for our venturesome
trip. After some hesitancy my mozo decided to accompany
us as far as Valle Trinidad. Poor fellow, the Mexicans
and Indians had told him such terrifying yarns that his
fears were not surprising! Immediately prior to our de
parture Miss Bertie baked for us a choice batch of biscuits
and an entire haunch of venison. Lettie and Lollie, mean
time, introduced me to a nest of "yellow-jackets" from
which I fled, ingloriously; their father cautioned us to keep
our canteens and barrel filled against thirst and their mother
privately instructed the Colonel, and later on admonished
me, to be kind to the stock and good-tempered to each
other. As I bade the kindly matron good-bye, I said, "Let me
take back to civilization your receipt for bringing up sons
and daughters. I've met seven of your children and more
industrious or happier young people I have yet to see. Here,
for instance, at the end of the world, you have three attrac
tive young girls. They cook, milk cows, round up cattle,
sew, wash dishes and clothing, iron, "break" stock, 'tend
store, look after the mining reservoirs; they work from

THE TOP OF THE PENINSULA 283
daylight to darkness; they are always running or trotting,
they never drag listlessly about. They sing at their work;
they find odd minutes in which to read books and maga
zines; they are happy without company and retire early
without complaining. Such contented girls I never have
seen elsewhere. How have you done it?"
At first surprised, then amused, the mother listened to
my long inquiry. "Well," said she, "I was married at six
teen. Some of the women in my family — my father was a
minister of the gospel — suffered from ill health. Upon
marrying I decided to live an out-door life. Only twice
since then have doctors entered my home. I have borne
ten children. Nine live. I have taught them to respect the
law, be honest, avoid going into debt, be industrious and
be thoughtful of each other. In childhood each one of them
at some one time thwarted my will ; in each case, first care
fully explaining why I was right, I have absolutely insisted
on my stand. Every one of them has been given his chance
to make some money individually. That's all. I guess
they've just come up in the fresh air."
Reascending the sierra by an unnamed suggestion of a
trail, I quickly crossed the crest with my outfit and came to
a halt at the head of the Santa Rosa Arroyo. The Camino
Real at the south, and the Agua Caliente Camino at the
southeast, were so distinct as not to require exploration;
here, however, was the beginning of the ancient and for
gotten Santa Rosa Camino. Taking a brace on ourselves,
we started downwards. The Santa Rosa is one of the two
most diabolical caminos in all Lower California ! More
over, and with my compliments, the San Felipe Desert is
a mighty bad place to visit in summer. Thus after a frosty
morning on the crest we found ourselves at night stretched
out on burning sand with the thermometer registering 112
degrees.

CHAPTER XXII
WHEREIN I WITNESS A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP,
REVISIT THE CATARINA YUMAS, AND
SEARCH FOR TREASURE
WITH August now well advanced, the Lower Cali
fornia deserts were vast, broiling sand-spits,
catching the fullness of the sun's rays and sullenly
holding their heat during the short, breathless nights. Even
the craggy sierras glistened and baked under the great,
glaring, unveiled eye of fire. Those who venture into such
an atmosphere grow chary of words, bowing before the
heat by day, and cursing it and their own foolhardiness
when the horizon puts away the sun for the night.
Thus had the day passed with the Colonel and myself,
descending the sierra slope, and thus, as we sought rest in
the evening, he burst forth, "Curse it, curse it, curse this
heat," he cried, wildly, "the cursed earth is a-fire burning
through my blanket. With nothin' over me I'm burnin'
up. The near way down's been the way of the sun to-day.
How damn hot is it, anyway?"
"It's 112 dgrees, and 7:45 P. M.," I replied shortly,
after consulting both thermometer and watch.
"Don't wonder your mozo didn't want to tackle the San
Felipe and Colorado Deserts this time o' year."
We were silent a few minutes.
"Colonel," I then queried, "my head's bad. Do you sup
pose this heat has phased me ?"
285

286 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
The old frontiersman grunted. "Dunno, it's main queer
for a man to see things. Better git some sleep. I'll bet
that desert '11 be hell-fired hot to-morrow."
Half an hour earlier, as we were unsaddling on the edge
of a tinaja in the frightful arroyo down which we had come
eastward out of San Pedro Martir Sierra, I had vainly en
deavored to point out to my companion what seemed to be
a large black animal moving among the white boulders on
the mountain side, half a mile distant. There are no bears
in Baja California, and the Colonel was certain that there
could be no such large dark animal as I described.
His sleeping advice was good. Nine hours later I sat
up in my blankets, feeling much refreshed, hauled off the
jacket of my pajamas, slipped on a thin undershirt, then
seized my carbine and half a dozen extra cartridges, leaving
the completion of my dressing until a later time ; for there
had come to my ears from up the mountain side a quick
succession of snorts and pig-like grunts followed by a great
crashing as of giant boulders falling upon one another.
Again my eyes had seen the large dark animal. This time,
however, there were two of them and each had bulky shoul
ders and great rams' horns extending outward. If the heat
has affected both my sight and hearing, I thought, as I
slipped on a pair of Mexican slippers and hurried down the
arroyo, I may as well see what will come of a little shooting.
Fifty yards from camp I crouched down in the conceal
ment of a mesquit and for fifteen minutes watched a
knightly combat. High up on the steep granite mountain
side two rams were fighting a desperate duel. Backing off
ten or fifteen paces, they would rush forward grunting and
snorting, their mighty heads bent low and when they crashed
together their great horns resounded like rolling boulders.
Doubtless, to a disinterested observer the scene would have
Been amusing: high among the cliffs the two big rams in

A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 287
tournament engaged, butting each other, oblivious of all
else; and down in the trough of the arroyo, a wild-eyed
hunter in undershirt, pajamas and teguas, rubbing the sleep
out of his eyes and wishing the sun were on the mountain
so that he might see the game distinctly through his carbine
sights. Finally, an ordinary sized ram, seemingly a referee or a
peacemaker, appeared on the scene and endeavored to sep
arate the combatants. Then the shooting began. At the
second shot the "referee" dropped in his tracks. The others
scattered for the moment, then returned and renewed their
contest. By this time my cartridges were exhausted and I
called for more. The Colonel quickly appeared with an
unbroken box and I climbed upon a boulder and resumed
firing while my companion expostulated, saying that if the
sheep were allowed to fight I could creep closer. But, crude
though it may seem to the polite hunter, to me "shelling"
is far more interesting than stalking, and my carbine was
soon blistering my hands. One ram quickly rushed away to
the right, the other to the left. The latter, as he seemed to
be wounded received attention for full a dozen shots during
which time he fell three times.
We soon had the "referee" in camp though I didn't do
the carrying. He had a short mane and except for his light
rump and nose, was of the darkest mole color; perhaps he
was one of Clavijero's berrendos negros, certainly there are
no hides of like color in our museums, although that tireless
sheep hunter, Sheldon of New York, secured one, not un
like it, in Chihuahua.* By the time the ram was in camp
and the pack train ready, the thermometer registered 114
degrees in the shade with higher promises that did not en
courage us to scramble after the wounded duellist, although
we were certain of his whereabouts owing to the devoted
*Note C: Appendix.

288 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
attendance of a ewe that appeared upon a cliff just above
where he had fallen at the last shot. As we journeyed
toward the mouth of the arroyo, she looked fearlessly down
upon us and we, on our part, watched with keenest interest
the ease with which she moved up and down the almost per
pendicular sides of her lookout point, seeking the best van
tage ground for observing our movements.
I left the arroyo realizing that I was losing a wonderful
ram, but with the increasing heat and the necessity of hasten
ing across the San Felipe Desert, not even a gold mine
would have been an incentive for delay. Indeed, at 10
o'clock, A. M., as we crouched in the poor shade of a palo
verde waiting for the distant night that might bring a tem
perature possible for traveling, the Colonel gave brusque
expression to his thoughts, "There's no dyin' till your time
comes, but ourn may not be just far off."
Even now as I write, the memory of the next ten days
is a kaleidoscopic nightmare of privation and tense strain,
of simmering deserts, tawny Indians and alluring treasure.
Up the San Felipe Desert we fought our way, contending
against frightful heat and the impending danger of yet
more frightful thirst. Once around the northern spurs of
the sierra, Timoteo turned homeward, taking an easy south
westerly trail and leaving the Colonel and me to venture by
ourselves among the Catarina Yumas and the Cocupas.
Later as we two huddled close around a grouchy camp
fire in the Valle Trinidad, drying out after the drenching of
an unexpected thunder storm, an intelligent looking mestizo
appeared before us. Receiving the usual invitation, he
crouched beside our fire and, after accepting a proffered
smoke, entered into friendly conversation in the course of
which he met my inquiry about jeroglificos by asking
whether I had ever seen "las jarras viejas" (the ancient
jars) — as I understood him — in the Arroyo Grande. Then

A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 289
our eager questioning brought out the statement that even
a century ago, in the days of his grandfather's youth, these
jarras were in a secluded niche in a high cliff which suc
ceeding generations of Indians had vainly endeavored to
scale. With the advance of the tale the Colonel became as
breathlessly interested as I. Knowingly squinting one eye,
he whispered quiedy to me, in English, "Aztec treasure! I
oncst made a great haul that way over in Arizona." The
same thought already possessed me. To our delight, upon
an offer of ten pesos, the mestizo readily agreed to show us
"las jarras."
Our minds instantly aflame with alluring mental pictures
of fantastic ancient jars overflowing with Aztec gold and
jewels, we brooked no delay. Pushing on rapidly to the
little mining pueblo of Alamo through which I had passed
seven months before, we halted there just long enough to
purchase such spikes and additional rope as might be useful
in cliff climbing — not forgetting a supply of lemons and an
extra canteen for use on the desert near the Rio Hardy —
then we had hurried back a few miles to the Rancho Viejo
where the mestizo awaited us. That name, Rancho Viejo,
looks and sounds excellently well, though it means, simply,
Old Ranch, a most frequent designation for premises on the
Peninsula. From the rancho we followed an indistinct and ancient
Indian trail, once a part of El Camino Real. By nightfall
we were within a quarter of a mile of the ruins of the Santa.
Catarina Mission, and near a green vale where a hill shut
us off from the Indians and where a brook of cold water ran
close by. Here we made camp. Though dogs were bark
ing and we could see lights shining out from the shacks at
the further side of the valley, we refrained from making
any visits. After picketing the animals, in place of turning
them loose with hobbles, and throwing his blankets near the

290 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
more valuable portion of the outfit, the Colonel seemed to
have no further concern about surroundings. For my own
part I slept little that night. A cooling dew soon fell, and
as we had just left the dry, burning desert, the dampness
was refreshing. After over two thousand miles of travel
in Lower California, I was ready to give the Mission of
Santa Catarina the palm for cool weather.
Early the following morning, we left our outfit in camp
and rode up to the rancheria where I observed more shacks
than before. Two of the new ones were in front of an old
oak cross, a relic of the days of the Frailes in whose time
it had served to support the mission bells. From these
shacks we received friendly greetings and the mestizo
stopped for a chat while the Colonel and I rode on to the
ex-chief's residence.
I found that the old fellow had not forgotten me. At
sight of my camera, Anita, too, smiled in recognition. Of
the incidents of New Year's day they seemed in ignorance
and I made no mention of their tribe's misdoings but at
once proceeded to show the family pictures which I had
taken of their shack and of other Indians and of game. The
ex-chief was much pleased at a picture of a mountain sheep
while Anita and her sister gazed with interest at a picture
of a Pais Indian girl. It was soon arranged that I should
photograph the entire family, a blind patriarch — father of
the ex-chief — the ex-chief himself and his squaw, Anita and
her sister and Anita's parents. As a thunder shower was
thinking seriously of breaking loose, I was dubious of re
sults. After two snaps, I tried smaller groups and then
asked Anita and her father, a big, dark, burly buck, in no
way like her, to pose together; but no, Anita would be taken
alone, but not with "him".
She was not quite thirteen years of age and her youthful
figure was as straight and slender as that of a boyish cadet

A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 291
captain. Her bright eyes were the modest eyes of a child.
The sister had a stolid expression like the father's, but
Anita's clear-cut features were more Gallic than Indian.
Both girls, with their simple gowns, their conventional shoes
and stockings, their air of fresh, wholesome neatness,
seemed far removed from the wonted squalor of the ran
cheria. The old man, the only beggar in the group, asked for
tobacco. Later, in response to questioning, he told of the
mission days, and, with a senile boast, stated that his tribe
had always been "very fierce," that they had quarreled with
the Frailes and with the Cocupas, Kaliwas, and neighboring
Indian tribes. Rambling along, he related how he and his
braves had fought first with and then against Filibuster
"Guillermo" Walker, and how they had, at another time,
joined their relatives, the Yumas, along the Gila, in haras
sing the caravans en route to the Sacramento Placers.
"I have killed many men," said he, with a grin on his
toothless old visage, "but the best was when I killed women
and children from those caravans — they had such fine, long
scalps." Raising his wizened old arms, he imitated the
drawing of a bowstring and the handling of a scalping
knife, the meantime chuckling reminiscently. As I looked at
the sputtering old villain and thought of the helpless women
and children that had died to make up the "best time" of
his life, I felt a most ardent desire to turn my six-shooter
upon him.
Anita's father now volunteered to show me the old mis
sion bell, though the grandfather seemed doubtful and made
some remark which I could not understand. Following
three of the Indians, the Colonel and I proceeded to a brush
shack about a hundred paces distant. Our guides opened
the door of the shack and we found within a large, heavy
bell. It was inscribed, "Santophe 1757." As I was endea-

292 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
voring to make a favorable impression on the Indians by
raising the old relic from the ground, we heard guttural
exclamations and quick hoof beats. I put down the bell
and stepped out from the shack just in time to meet an angry
Catarina Yuma.
He was the Capitan, or chief, it seemed, and as such he
objected to a stranger's entering the precincts over which he
was guardian. He was mounted on a fiery, black stallion.
He carried a knife, which did not look friendly, rode bare
back and wore no clothing save a breech-cloth and a serapa.
My friends made some explanation, the Colonel offered
cigarettes and we left the Capitan with his bell. As we re
turned to the other shack, Anita's father explained that this
man had supplanted the old chief because the latter drank
too much mescal, and now this fellow was drunk all the
time while the ex-chief had become temperate. It would
seem that the excitement of office goes to the head of even
a Catarina Yuma. We observed as we rode away that the
Indians had a field of over a hundred acres of fine corn and
melons. We traveled hard that day; late in the afternoon we
rested a few minutes before the brush camp of a Mexican
vaquero. Tanned hides were stretched about in wild con
fusion, and the Mexican, noting that they attracted my
attention, remarked that he intended to have them made
up into "shaps" and leather pantaloons.
"As you stopped down there by the Catarinas," he con
tinued, "you doubtless saw the well dressed little squaw,
Anita. She sews well, she cooks well. In a few days I go
to the chief and get her. I am lonely and I have much sew
ing here to be done."
Somewhat astounded, I looked at him rather cynically.
"She is but a child," I explained.

A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 293
"The better," he answered, "the chief will sell her to
me for half a beef."
Before leaving the rancheria we had endeavored to per
suade the ex-chief to accompany us to the Colorado River.
Vain our efforts. In August the Arroyo Grande was well
nigh impossible, said the veteran, while, as for the deserts
beyond, his people never had ventured upon them in mid
summer. Then they were too much like el Inferno! Unde
terred by these well-meant warnings, we three rode east
ward over into the barren country about the spring of El
Tule, known among the old Pais Indians as Jacal or Run
ning Water, thence we hastened onward past Eagle Peak,
across thirsty mesas and over rocky ridges. Finally, the
third day after our departure from the rancheria, down in
the narrow depths of the Arroyo Grande, where the slant
red cliffs rise to dizzy heights skyward, three swarthy, rough
appearing men, reining in their mules, stared upward at a
niche fifty feet above the sandy arroyo bottom. The swel
tering day was far advanced and in consequence of a vain
scramble after an illusive band of mountain sheep two of
the men were short of temper and reeking with perspiration.
"Alli (there) las jar as!" exclaimed one of the two, with
an upward jerk of his right hand.
"No lo veo las jarras" (I don't see the jars), said the
other, impatiently.
"Alli, alli las jaras" (There, there, las jaras), repeated
the first speaker, emphasizing his final word.
"Hell, man, them aint jarras," cried the third rider, in a
sudden blaze of anger. "  y'u, have y'u bin play'n
us?" As I, the second speaker, caught sight of feathered arrow
ends protruding from the rocky niche and realized that
these were the "ancient jars" over which the Colonel and I

294 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
had waxed enthusiastic, the indignation of the imposed took
possession of me and I was ready to join the Colonel in
roundly cursing the mestizo for "playin' " us. Meantime
the latter had become so astounded by our non-appreciation
of his services that cooling down I paid him the agreed ten
pesos. I am glad that I did so, for, though "la jarra"
means "the jar" and flecha is the usual Spanish word for
"arrow," I have since learned that "la jarra," Spanish for
"the cistus," has an idiomatic meaning of "the dart." The
mestizo had been honest; we, however, had mistaken his
"las jaras" for "las jarras."
Out of curiosity and a desire to show the fellow how
much superior we were to Indians, we presently turned our
energies toward reaching the arrows. By placing a fallen
mesquit upright against the cliff and by jamming horseshoes
in cracks still higher up, I managed to climb to a consid
erable height. Then, with a long pole made by splicing two
maguay stalks together with raw-hide and affixing a fish
hook to the tapering end, I managed, after numerous weari
some failures, to yank out ten ancient war arrows, together
with an old fashioned, twisted, fire-hardened spear
shaft. As soon as we had accomplished this feat, the mestizo
remarked that he must leave immediately, for his mule was
thirsty and he was satisfied that all tinajas east and north
where we were going were dry. Following this cheerful
statement with a hearty buenos tardes, he spurred away in
the direction of Valle Trinidad while we journeyed silently
down the arroyo. At eight o'clock that evening we found
well-filled tinajas. In the middle of the night a brown scor
pion stung me above the right knee. The following day
while I nursed my wound — the poison had spread out form
ing an angry red and yellow spot, as large as my hand and
extremely painful — the Colonel rounded up our straying

A COMBAT BETWEEN MOUNTAIN SHEEP 295
burros and killed a mountain sheep. That night we dis
lodged from our blankets an immense green scorpion over
three inches long!

CHAPTER XXIII
IN AND OUT THE REGION OF THE COLORADO
LOATH to leave water and wondering what fate we
were tempting, we broke camp the twenty-fifth,
bound for the junction of the Hardy and Colorado
Rivers. By one o'clock in the afternoon we found ourselves
beyond the mouth of the Arroyo Grande and on the south
eastern edge of a desert which seemed to extend for forty
or fifty miles to the northwest. Halting at this point for
lunch, we rested our heated animals. The sand-swept Sierra
del Pinto was opposite us, distant, perhaps, ten miles. In
these mountains there is no known water. Fortunately
they seemed to break entirely away toward the northeast,
leaving a desert sweep of ten or twelve miles intervening
before the rise of the Cocupa Sierras, a northwesterly con
tinuation of the range. For this gap we were bound. Some
where beyond it lay the Hardy, a tributary of the Colorado
River. Just how far beyond was a question for our per
sonal solution, this being a region not exemplified on the
maps and frankly dreaded by Mexicans and Indians, be
cause of its extreme heat and absolute lack of water-holes.
Eight months earlier I had spent a night burning a signal
fire to save the hunter lost on this very desert, and the ensu
ing afternoon had been advised by the ranchero Juan, an ex
perienced guide, that it was so dangerous a region that he
had never dared venture upon it; his friend Denton had,
indeed, made the passage successfully, in four days' time,
but Denton had been favored by rainy, wintry weather.
297

298 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Although this four-day story had seemed fishy, I recollected
that Pattie, the noted trapper, had nearly succumbed to
thirst somewhere in this section, which he afterwards char
acterized as the most dangerous portion of his ten thousand
mile ride from Kentucky to the Californias and return. On
the other hand, across this desert in former times stretched
the war trail by which the Catarina Yumas reached the
Colorado and Gila River country; moreover, over these
very sands Filibuster Walker and his tall warriors had
marched in April, 1854, and sixty years earlier, Arrilliga,
the adventurous Spanish Governor, had made the trip in
safety. Furthermore, I was satisfied that native vaqueros
had occasionally done the distance, and in less than four
days. The time of the year was all that really disturbed me, for
we were thoroughly well prepared. The Colonel's life had
been a succession of hardships that fitted him for such a
venture as this. I was in superb condition. Our stock —
two riding mules and five young pack burros — were fairly
fresh, and with only two hundred and sixty pounds of cargo
among them the burros had the lightest of packs; in fact,
each day some one of them was permitted to travel without
any load. Of water we had ten gallons, contained in three
covered canteens and in one five gallon wine cask. More
over, I had tucked away a yard and a half of rubber tubing
with which, in case of supreme urgency, I hoped to be able
to distil salt water. Of every drop of the ten gallons, we
were most chary, however, for, doubdess, three days would
elapse before we could replenish our supply. . And without
water? Well, south of the Imperial country they say that
on an ordinary August day along the Colorado Desert a
pedestrian can last perhaps eight hours without water — then
come insane delusions, harbingers of death by thirst. In
his deluded stage, the wretched sufferer, divesting himself

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 299
of all clothing, seeks to plunge into splashing pools just
beyond his reach.
After an hour's nooning we resumed our journey, travel
ing due north across the desert. Though four hours of
this course brought us to the point of the Pintos, we found
to our alarm that we could neither cross the ridge nor
swing immediately around the point. We had come upon
an encrusted bed of sand so completely undermined and so
thoroughly honey-combed by burrowing creatures that our
stock stumbled and sank to their bellies. Alarmed, unable
to advance, they balked and floundered helplessly. Retreat,
also, became difficult, for the sand had already begun to
cave in about the deep trail which we had made. To add
to the confusion, the obscurity of the twilight limited the
range of our vision, while frequent angry whirrings from dis
turbed "side-winders" admonished us to avoid dismounting
and searching too curiously. After floundering hopelessly
about, we swung well out to the left, but even there the trav
eling was so heavy that by 8 :30 in the evening we were
forced to consider our animals and make camp as best we
might in the scorching sand. This upset our plans for cov
ering a goodly distance in the cooler temperature of the
night. After scratching over a level spot with our cleaning rods
so as to dislodge any possible "side-winders," tarantulas,
scorpions or other local residents whose company might
prove undesirable, we stretched out with our blankets be
neath us and had a light, non-thirst producing supper of
hard tack, cold broiled mountain sheep and lemonade. Our
poor beasts, meanwhile, were quick to sniff the water. In
deed, crowding about us they made such pitiable efforts to
tell of their thirst that we had not the heart to carry out our
intention of giving them no water until morning. During
our journey across the San Felipe Desert, they had learned

300 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
to drink from a sauce-pan and now, with glad subdued
whinnies, each sought eagerly his small portion and then
plead for more. We dared not humor them, however, for
on the following day water would be more absolutely nec
essary for them and, careful though we had been, the
Colonel and I had already consumed two gallons in the
fourteen hours since leaving the tinajas. Truly, the dry
heat on these southern deserts has a wonderful way of
bringing the perspiration from a traveler, leaving him so
parched that his whole system calls constantly for great
gulps of water.
Though we found immediate sleep our slumbers were
frequently disturbed. Winnie, a wayward, silver gray
burro, at once the youngest and tallest in our train, was the
offender. Again and again did she rub her soft nose against
one or the other of us, pleading for a chance at the water
cask which rested between us. About midnight a slight
breeze sprang up. An hour later the air grew fresh enough
for a thin blanket to be acceptable. Yet even in the last
hours of the silent desert night the mighty waste of sand
retained the heat of the evening as though the desert were
some huge ash-covered bed of embers only waiting the first
breath of a new day before breaking forth into flames.
We were in the saddle by 6 A. M. Even then the mer
cury registered 78 degrees, giving us grim warning of what
to expect at mid-day. For the first league we traveled over
a succession of sand dunes which were so honey-combed
with underground run-ways of burrowing creatures that our
animals again and again broke through the upper crust and
became engulfed in the treacherous sand. Then the wel
come sight of a lake dead ahead and extending far to the
northwest gave us new life. Alas ! on nearer approach the
sheet of water receded and we rode upon damp salty flats,
the scene of some recent overflow. To the northwest we

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3° l
could still see the glimmering sheen. Presently, close to our
right, appeared a small pond. As a family of curlew were
disporting along the shore, we concluded that this was no
delusive water. Dismounting, therefore, I hurried over
with the intention of having a long drink. A single taste
sufficed. The pond was as salty as the ocean! While I
stared about in disappointment, the curlew approached
within a few feet, studying with every evidence of wonder.
After resuming our march, we shortly found the softness
of the ground to be such that our animals could not travel
over it. "Lordy," ejaculated the Colonel, as I led off on an
easterly tack, "in figurin' on the desert I warn't countin' on
mud!" More of these bogs soon made it necessary for us
to change our course to the northeast. In this direction we
continued until early afternoon.
The intervening hours were desperately trying. Nature,
herself, seemed bent on our undoing. The fiery shafts of a
relentless sun beat down upon our heads. The hot, saturated
earth again and again gave way beneath our feet. The air
was stifling, murky. Mirages concealed the true horizon.
Thickets and strange weird objects arose at either hand
only to disappear in the twinkling of an eye. The glassy
surface of a broad lake glittered in the sunlight before us,
its unstable shore-line ever receding, while a shimmering sea
crept stealthily in our wake. Deceived by our eyes, hemmed
in by the unreal, we came to doubt the stability of our
minds. For a day and a half the very heat had made us un-
wontedly uncommunicative. Now I felt an inclination to
shriek out meaningless nothings, while the Colonel, who had
over-taxed his strength in securing his last mountain sheep,
began to voice half delirious recollections of the days when
he rode with Moseby and Quantrell. As he was unconscious
of his rambling, it is possible that I, too, talked queerly.

302 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Splendid horseman though he was, several times my com
panion reeled in his saddle until I feared that he would fall.
Once I inquired concerning his condition, but, though he
admitted that his head and stomach were troubling him, he
uttered no complaint, nor did he once blame me for bringing
him into such a region. For my own part I slouched for
ward in my saddle and endeavored to keep control of my
mind; for the hot air pressed close about my head like a
tightly drawn iron band until I felt that the very sutures
must soon fly apart.
The ground over which we were passing was thickly
strewn with glittering salt. Save for pools of salty water,
patches of salt grass, infrequent bushes and occasional
heaps of driftwood, it was a barren, unbroken plain of sand
and sediment. The natural situation was easy to compre
hend. We were close on the heels of an overflow of the
Hardy River, a stream usually impregnated with salt from
the mud volcanoes at its source and from the tidewater
running up from the Gulf of California. With the advanc
ing hours I became alarmed, fearing that we might find our
way blocked by a large body of this overflow, which would
so delay us that our water supply might become exhausted
ere we could discover more.
At noon we called a brief halt and, having broached the
water cask, gave each animal a half pint drink from a
saucepan. They whinnied and begged for more, but we
had become sternly inexorable. An hour later the thirsty
creatures, breaking from the line of march, rushed over
toward a small pond a few rods distant. Their instinct was
correct. The water was fresh, brackish certainly, but none
the less acceptable to them. A thunder storm had passed
that way. Finding a thicket of mesquit a league farther
on, under its shade we rested until five o'clock — with the
thermometer registering 120 degrees!

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3°3
On resuming our march we pursued a northwesterly
course which shortly brought us to a corral, a shack and a
wire gauze frame house. Raised above the level of the
ground both buildings were protected by a small levee. Be
yond them flowed a sluggish, muddy stream a hundred yards
in width. We had reached the Hardy, the largest river in
all Lower California ! Also, though no one was at hand to
greet us, we had stumbled on the "Salada" cattle camp.
With a feeling of relief we removed saddles and packs
from our exhausted animals and prepared supper. Pres
ently a vaquero appeared, and from him we gathered that
the junction of the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers was but
a league and a half to the southeast; that the last overflow
of the Hardy was just receding, and that at the time of
these periodic floods, tidal bores or waves from four to five
feet in height came rolling up from the Gulf of California,
inundating the entire country. Furthermore, he stated that
he had come in from Yuma via Sonora and that we could
not get out by any other way.
The ensuing morning, Sunday, August 27th, we left our
outfit at the Salada and rode down to the junction of the
rivers. Here we dismounted, and while the Colonel prowled
about in search of an old boat of which the vaquero had
told us, I contentedly seated myself on the high bank of
the Colorado and enjoyed my surroundings.
Twenty feet below me flowed a muddy stream not over
a hundred and fifty yards in breadth. Beyond this, on the
Sonora side, glistened a wide stretch of mud flats reaching
back to a low grass-grown bank, a quarter of a mile be
yond. Over these flats, long-horned Mexican cattle and
snorting mustangs were coming and going in continuous pro
cession. One by one they would halt at the water's edge,
drink deeply, then face about and flounder eastward
again. Meanwhile, circling overhead and dotting the shore

304 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
line, myriads of raucous sea fowl and long-legged waders
were making a veritable Bedlam with their quarreling and
squawking, while leaping silver-hued fish incessantly dis
turbed the surface of the river. Heedless of the stock and
undisturbed by our presence, no less than nine coyotes pa
trolled the flats, running in and out among the larger birds
in restless search for food. Frequently they would all
congregate in a snarling crowd about the remains of a half
grown whale. The vaquero had told us that this leviathan
had strayed up from the Gulf, lured on by the sweet voice
of a wild burro. In this story the Colonel expressed entire
belief. Said he, "That whale wanted a choice meal. Burro
meat is the sweetest flesh there is." On this statement I
can offer no comment, as yet having had no occasion to in
vestigate the merits of burro steak.
To the south and southeast lay the Sierra del Pinto.
Early in January I had stood on a southerly point in these
mountains and looked down upon the mouth of the Colo
rado River with its broad, glistening, reddish-white shores.
Now, as then, I could but marvel over the fact that while
this was one of the first sections ever explored on the Ameri
can continent, it is to-day one of the least known. In 1539,
centuries ago, Francisco de Ulloa, an admiral of Cortez,
discovered the mouth of the Colorado while searching for
the Northwest Passage! A year later Hernando de Alar-
con, admiral to the Spanish Viceroy Mendoza and compan
ion of Francis Vasquez de Coronado, arrived at the head
waters of the Gulf. "And when we were come," de Alarcon
wrote, "to the flats and shoals ... the pilots and the
rest of the company would have had us do as Captain Ulloa
did, and have returned back again. But because your Lord
ship commanded me that I should bring you the secret of
that Gulf, I resolved that I should not cease for anything.
. . . After this sort we came to the very bottom of

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3.0^
the bay, where we found a mighty river which ran with
so great fury of a stream that we could hardly sail against
it." And small wonder that the old rover found the sailing
difficult, for the tide here ascends full twelve leagues up the
river, battling — until the recent diversion of the Colorado
into the Salton Sea — with the furious current of the mighty
Colorado and producing a marvelous tidal bore, the lowest
thereof being three feet and the highest some twenty.
In 1 72 1, Juan Ugarte, the Jesuit Padre, sailed into these
waters in his Triunfo de la Cruz and noted with awe the
terriffic velocity of the bores of the river. A quarter of a
century later the illustrious Padre Consag passed close to
certain reddish marshes, probably the ones which I observed
in January, and continuing onward in canoes, ascended the
river until forced back by the tidal bore, some seven leagues
up stream. His report served the map makers until near
the close of the nineteenth century !
In the month of January, 1826, the intrepid Pattie party,
their horses stampeded by the Yumas, recklessly descended
the Colorado in dugouts, trapping beaver on the way and
setting the first fashions amongst the Cocupa squaws by
offering them their hunting shirts and modestly intimating
that it was not good form for woman to go unadorned!
[Finally, their camp was flooded by "a high ridge of water
over which came the sea current combing down like water
over a mill dam. . . The fierce billows shut us in from
below, the river current from above, and murderous sav
ages on either hand on shore." About the same time Lieu
tenant R. W. Hardy of the English Navy discovered the
False, or Hardy's, Colorado. Thirty years later Lieuten
ant Ives, an American officer, passed up the Colorado
on a voyage of exploration, giving no attention, however, to
the Hardy. If I have correctly welded together Indian tales
and old records, the California and Sonora filibustering

306 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
expedition of William Walker went to pieces in April, 1854,
immediately after its disastrous attempt to cross the Colo
rado just below its junction with the Hardy.
Notwithstanding this list of noted visitors with its hall
mark of olden days, modern knowledge of the lower delta
region of the Colorado is so limited that the Hardy River
is rarely found on even the more complete maps. Indeed, it
does not appear even on the recent charts of Lower Cali
fornia prepared by the Hydrographic Office of the United
States Navy. As a matter of fact the Hardy carries a large
body of water and winds along a tortuous course over fifty
leagues in length. The distance from its junction with the
Colorado River to the mouth of the latter is — the mean-
derings of the river considered — full fifteen miles. The air
line distance is vastly less.
After the Colonel had found the boat and a long limb, a
drift-wood board and a tin can, we boldly embarked upon
the turgid Colorado. While I paddled vigorously with the
board, he alternately bailed and poled. In this manner we
attained the Sonora shore in safety. Our landing, however,
so annoyed the coyotes that three of them waded — a possi
bility consequent upon the diversion of the Colorado at this
point — across the river just above its junction with the
Hardy ! Amazed at this sight my companion suddenly de
cided that it would suit him to be able to say that he had
waded the Colorado. Unfortunately for his ambition, he
chose a place below the junction of the rivers where mid
stream developed a seven-foot depth that called for the ex
ercise of his swimming abilities.
In the afternoon we returned to the Salada and, after
packing our burros, set forth for the Cocupa Indian settle
ments up the Hardy. The remainder of the day and the
major portion of the ensuing forenoon — nine hours, in fact,
of steady travel — wore away, however, before we had so

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3°7
much as reached the Indian trail along the high lands off the
northeastern slope of the Cocupa Sierras. The distance
covered amounted, perhaps, to fifteen miles ! Ordinarily
we would have had an easy wagon road every rod of the
way. As it was we had a close shave getting through at
all. Again and again our animals bogged. Here thickets
of thorny mesquit barred the way, there tangled weeds and
stinging nettles defied us; now we strode through dense
masses of tules growing five and ten feet above our heads,
and again we found ourselves compelled sullenly to make a
wide detour to avoid some swamp or lagoon. Riding was
out of the question after the first few miles, but our animals
'followed our lead right gamely, even when called upon
to wade in water to their shoulders.
Monday afternoon tried our endurance to the limit.
Gradually, under the oppressive, stifling heat of the biting,
tropical sun, our minds ceased to consider poise and pro
portion and to exercise self-control. Sullen, overheated,
lacerated by thorns, we were quite ready to see a malignant
personal animosity in each tangled growth that opposed
our passage. From querulous ill-temper, we passed to
smouldering anger that lent a viciousness to every slashing,
brush-cutting blow of our long Mexican blades. Vindic
tively we hacked and tore through the thickets with the
savagery that marks the advance of the wounded tiger as
he malevolently rips and tears each vine and shrub that bars
retreat to the jungle. Finally, at n o'clock we came out
upon a plain trail at the base of and paralleling the sierras.
For a moment we paused and stared at one another. We
were plastered with mud to our waists, while arms, necks,
chests, hands and faces were bleeding profusely from fre
quent contact with thorns and the jagged ends of broken
branches. Our appearances were not prepossessing. The
Colonel was the first to speak: "That  vaquero,"

308 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
he sputtered, "said we couldn't get through this way for
a week. Seems ter me we look like we'd gotten through
somethin' already,  him."
Though the Cocupa Sierras are a barren range of moun
tains, rising to a height of over three thousand feet without
any soil save crumbling reddish-yellow rock, along the wel
come trail at their base we noted willows and green grass.
This growth is due to. the proximity of the Hardy, which,
in places, even crowds close up against the mountain spurs.
Very shortly we found deserted Indian remadas or arbors
and then shacks, some of which were the most substantial
Indian dwellings I had seen upon the peninsula.
At one o'clock, thoroughly exhausted, we camped near a
group of these shacks and enjoyed a three hours' siesta.
Then we pressed on again. Our trail at once developed into a
wagon road, but we quickly lost interest in roadways. While
resting we had noted a yellowish haze hanging over the
mountain tops to our left and heard the pelicans complain
ing loudly along the river. The Colonel had even remarked
on our fortune in being off the desert, since it was doubt
less in the throes of a dangerous sand storm. Now, in five
minutes' time, a terrific gale came sweeping over the sierras
driving down a yellowish sandy mist which totally hid the
sun and placed us in obscurity. Breaking from the road, our
animals stood cowering in the brush. Only with the stimu
lus of spurs and heavy curb-bits could we force our riding
mules to breast the storm. Meanwhile, a yelling, half
naked Indian, his long locks whipping his bare neck and
brown shoulders, unexpectedly appeared in a meadow be
fore us. Bending low over his half-crazed mustang, he
wildly dashed after a stampeding herd of terrified horses.
Joining their shrill cries to the general alarm, the water
birds, that had been circling high above the river, closed
their wings and dropped downward like great white stones.

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3°9
The air became icy. With this the situation grew beyond
my comprehension. The sudden change had been too com
plete. The very air, discolored, heavy, grating, had become
possessed with strange, uncanny moanings as though Nature
were rousing herself to some weird, unwonted action. Tin
gling with cold, whipped by the wind, cloaked in depressing
yellow gloom, moving in the midst of a setting appalling
beyond that of any storm or earthquake I had ever expe
rienced, I could only blankly wonder what further play of
the elements we were about to witness. I had not long to
wait. Suddenly the world seemed a-quiver. Then the
heavens resounded with a whirling, deafening crash of
thunder. Even as the last reverberations died away, jolt
ing and rumbling into the far distance, a blaze of brilliant
white light flared weirdly down through the cloaking ob
scurity. Another instant and a drenching torrent of rain
swirled upon us as though the very clouds had ripped
asunder. For two hours the violence of the storm in no wise abated.
During that time we did not advance a league. With diffi
culty we kept our mules on the highway and rode against
the burros, urging them from their shelters in the brush.
We lost sight of one another. We could not hear each
other's voices. Finally, passing through bars in a brush
fence, I arrived at three shacks built of upright posts and
thatched with tule. Within were gathered a crowd of long
haired, hideously painted Cocupa Indians. Dismounting, I
sought the protection of the largest shack for my camera
and saddle-bags. In five minutes the Colonel joined me.
In half an hour the rain ceased, the clouds vanished and
we saw the setting sun sink behind the Cocupa Sierras.
As the only one of our new acquaintances who possessed
any knowledge of Spanish accepted the storm without com
ment we stifled our curiosity, and upon the cessation of the

3IO CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
downpour, calmly pitched our tents, a few rods from the
shacks, made a fire and began to dry our blankets and cloth
ing. In consequence of a severe kick from a burro the Col
onel was suffering painfully.
In thinking over the strange storm I decided that it was
possibly a combination of a sand and thunder storm; that
the fierce current of the former had come over the sierras
laden with yellow sand and had been, in crossing, deflected
upward to a chilling altitude from which it had swung down
ward in the van of a thunder storm. This is but a surmise.
While gathering firewood I saw another sight peculiar
to the Hardy country, a toad as large as a "cottontail" rab
bit! As I neglected to follow the Colonel's advice and
"rope" the batrachian, it disappeared during the night. His
further suggestion, "Since you haint got its pictur, don't talk
about that critter in the States. Folks there'd say you wuz
an infernal liar," shall therefore receive due respect and I
will leave the toad for some scientist to find and classify.
Tuesday forenoon we traveled northward and northwest
erly, exploring the country of the Cocupas. We found a
great number of Indian shacks, half of which were deserted,
the occupants having gone either to the southwest for pifions
or northward to work for the whites along the Border. All
of these shacks were built in fields enclosed by brush fences.
Although the soil — alluvial bottom land along the Hardy — ¦
seemed as fertile as the most productive acres in the valleys
of the Sacramento or Mississippi, only small portions of the
fields were under cultivation. Except for occasional patches
of melons or corn, we saw no growing crops. As the Col
onel remarked, "With fishin' handy an' corn a-plenty, why
should they plant more'n they need?"
Although the Indians we had seen Monday evening were
clothed with the overalls and calicos of civilization, these
that we now saw evidently had forgotten the admonition of

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 311
Pattie and his trappers, for the children and the old men
and women displayed the most limited wardrobes. A khaki
coat — frequendy with two or three gaudy buttons — a
breech-clout and a smile sufficed for the grandfathers while
their helpmates wore a narrow girdle supporting three or
four short, triangular flaps of rags — and entirely dispensed
with coat and smile. The little children made the most of
the smile. It was all they had! But no, I am doing an
injustice to the sartorial adornments of these youngsters,
for nearly all of them wore bead necklaces so arranged as
to fall in three successive loops, the lowest one reaching
almost to their plump, brown little stomachs. Although
to my great delight, we met several slender, erect, copper-
hued braves as fierce looking and as handsome as any Indian
warrior of the story books, the greater number were dark,
thick-set, heavy featured people, duplicates of other Cocu
pas whom I had met about Calexico and Yuma a year or
two before. All wore their hair long. Several of the older
and apparently leading men kept their locks drawn about
the crown of the head like a turban.
To my extreme regret, men, women and children pro
tested so vigorously against the use of my camera that a few
old people and some retreating figures were the only
"snaps" I could secure. We came across one couple re
puted to be over a hundred years old. Their reddish-brown
skin hung in folds, their flesh had worn away until the
lower thigh bones were visible ; their eyes were sunken. The
brave was totally blind. And yet, on our arrival at their
shack, the old fellow tottered forward, protectingly, before
his mate, while she, poor, shrivelled, doubled up ancient,
turned her dim eyes tenderly upon him, ready to guide his
faltering steps.
Although innumerable water fowl congregate along the
Hardy and Colorado and some few "mule" deer and wild

312 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
hogs live in the cane-breaks of the delta, the Cocupas are
practically without fire-arms. They are well enough sup
plied, however, with two kinds of bows. With the smaller
they kill birds and rabbits, while their long bows will send a
shaft through a "mule" deer. Tuesday morning I engaged
in an archery contest with a Cocupa. We each discharged
three arrows at a board two feet square set upright one
hundred paces from us. Using a small bow, he scored two
hits ; my own record I refrain from recording !
Finally, after seeing forty-seven different Indians, and
having learned that few of the tribe* were at Pozo Vicente,
the rancheria a half a league farther up the river, we pur
chased two dozen plump ears of green corn and turned
away to the southwest with the intent of finding a salt lake
to which the Indians had frequently referred. In this corn
transaction we ascertained that the Cocupas are "sound
money" people, counting the Mexican peso as half a dollar !
We traveled steadily, gradually leaving the lowlands and
climbing into the Cocupa Sierras, where we found an old
trail of which the Indians had advised us. Following this
we wound through a mountain pass and down upon the
Cocupa Desert beyond. In the late twilight we halted,
abruptly. A long narrow body of water barred our farther
advance. We had found Laguna Maquata, the Laguna
Salada, or Salt Lake, of which the Indians had spoken.
After dismounting we perceived to our amazement that
we had chanced upon the best camping ground either of us
had ever seen on any desert. Numerous bunches of galleta
or desert grass awaited our hungry stock, a small, inviting
pool of clear water marked the passage of the thunder
storm, the sand was firm and clean while the air had that
rare sweetness only known to those who have wandered
upon the desert immediately after a fall of rain.

*Note D: Appendix.

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3*3
"When you rekolect," muttered the Colonel, staring
about in pleased surprise, "that after '96 all this country
seen no rain for seven year, you'll allow we're in dead luck."
While my worthy comrade picketed the animals, I pre
pared a supper of steaming hot corn on the cob, potatoes
boiled with their jackets on, broiled "jerked" venison, flap
jacks and wild honey. His work finished, the Colonel threw
himself down on his blankets, observing, with interest the
progress of my culinary operations. Presently he chuck
led, softly. "Out with it, pardner," I ventured, by way of
encouragement. "I wuz jest a-thinkin'," he began, "oncst in the seventies
when I wuz with a cattle outfit in Wyoming, we hearn tell
of a whoop up dance that wuz comin' off at Cheyenne. Us
fellers wuz great hands at dancin' — even usto learn the
squaws to polkey. So we figgered on goin' in a bunch, an'
when one of the new boys, a shy young feller, said he wuz
no hands with ladies and wouldn't go, we told him ter git
a starch collar an' come along pronto. So all hands went,
but at the dance the shy un set 'round too skeered to
pound the floor. Then I fixed it with a young school marm
I knew, and took him up an' give him a knock down. Well,
a-try'n to waltz he trod all over her, shameful, an' never
said a word sociable like, but jes looked so glum you'd a-
thought he'd lost his best horse. So she up an' says, 'Mr.
Harvey,' says she 'what's you thinkin' about?' At furst
he didn't answer. Then he sees how sympathetic like she
looks, an' he busts right out, 'Oh, mam,' says he, 'I do feel
so solemcully like in here. I miss my "chaps," "taps" and
"latigo straps" !' "*
The Colonel paused a moment, then continued, "When I
?These three — chapparejos, or leather riding breeches, tapaderas, or
leather stirrup covers, and latigo straps, the straps with which a saddle
*V:inch" is tied to the iron rings of the saddle— are essentials to the
frontier cowman.

314 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
see you in January, you looked thin and wuz way off on your
feed. At the table I passed you the onions and you said
you didn't eat onions. The other day on the desert you
wuz munchin' away on a raw onion like it was an apple.
Jest now I was a-thinkin' that when you get back to the
States a-dressin' up, a-sleepin' indoors on a bed an' a-goin'
to an orfice, you'll think on life along the trail an' pretty
soon you'll get mighty solemcully for you'll miss your
'chaps'  "
The sentence was left unfinished. For an instant the old
trooper raised one hand warningly, the next he rolled over
behind the fire. Out from the distance came the faint jolt
ing of a loping horse. "Some one's on our trail," muttered
the Colonel, ominously.
The prospect didn't please me. Why should any one be
trailing us? Presently we could hear the hoof beats of a
considerable cavalcade; at this the Colonel growled sav
agely and reaching over among his blankets drew out his
Leuger from its holster. Already we could make out a gray
horse with darker animals following in single file. They
were not a hundred yards distant.
"Buenos noches," roared the Colonel, rising to his feet.
Instantly the approaching line swung off to the right,
then halted. I shouted a "good evening," first in Spanish,
then English. There was no response. "Cocupas," grunted
the Colonel, slipping his revolver into its holster. "But we'd
better bring in our stock." Within five minutes they were
tied immediately about us. Meantime, fifty steps to our
right, flickered up a tiny flame. "Huh," said my companion,
"three bucks, with long huntin' bows, two squaws an' two
kids. Jest a pifion party. I'm goin' to turn in."
Five minutes later an erect, middle-aged brave appeared
before us. His proportions were superb ; his features clear
cut and strikingly handsome. Unarmed and practically un-

THE REGION OF THE COLORADO 3i£
clothed, his peaceful intent was further evidenced by the
gift of a melon and by his attending companion, a small,
wide-eyed boy. I gave them each a flap-jack which they ate
with relish. They were soon followed by a buxom squaw
leading a pretty little girl. Later, a dark, sturdy, sinister-
looking young buck drifted in upon us. Squatting close
about the fire, they enjoyed such supper as I gave them. A
few lumps of sugar made the little people happy. However,
not a word of English or Spanish could we get from any of
our visitors. Presently we cut the melon. In shape it re
sembled a water melon, in taste the "nutmeg" variety of the
canteloupe. The Colonel grimly declined a slice, but as
soon as the Indians began nibbling theirs, I fell to.
We must have made a queer scene there on the edge of
the great desert! The stolid, bright-eyed, copper-hued In
dians crouching by the fire, my grizzled frontier companion
lying on his blankets, his revolver close at hand, our
shadowy stock munching at the grass about us, the clear sky
high above with the pale moon and glittering stars. Sud
denly, our visitors arose. Then, without a word having
been said, they slipped away in single file. The Colonel,
long accustomed to and little interested in Indians, fell
asleep at once. With me it was different. I had enjoyed
the visit — and I felt a trifle nervous over the close proximity
of our neighbors.
Finally, at eleven o'clock, after building up the fire and
opening my blankets, I examined my six-shooter, prepara
tory to sleep. The cylinder refused to turn. The storm
had wet and rusted the mechanism. Reaching over to my
saddle, I jerked my carbine from its sheath and throwing up
the muzzle before me, jammed a cartridge into the chamber.
The effect was instantaneous — and unexpected. At the
sharp click of the lever, there was a wild commotion among
the bunches of galleta grass toward which the muzzle

316 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
chanced to be directed and a dark figure threw itself into a
depression of the sand beyond. The rest of the night I had
insomnia. Anyway, I didn't sleep.
In the early morning the dark young buck paid us a brief
visit, leaving without a word. As he walked away, I saw a
revolver projecting from his hip pocket. Commenting on
this, I made brief mention to the Colonel of the evening's
occurrence, "and that was the chap, I expect," I said, in
conclusion. To me the experience now seemed interesting
and I spoke without thought of the disregard of an early
frontiersman for Indian life when his outfit is concerned.
Instantly my warrior companion whipped out his deadly
Leuger and with repeated curses, drew it down upon the
Indian. "The dirty coyot'," he muttered, coolly, "he'll
never try to cut out stock again !"
I threw myself forward, just in the nick of time. "For
God's sake, Colonel, let him go," I cried.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE END OF THE TRAIL
WITH much flourishing of their long bows the In
dians were under way five minutes later, the
buxom squaw in the lead. She was on foot.
Well mounted and strung out in single file, the others fol
lowed close in her wake. Immediately at her heels, plodded
an old gray mare, bearing a large net-work sack bulging out
with camp supplies. On top of this load was perched the
pretty litde girl. The boy rode a wild young burro. The
fine looking brave possessed the only saddle and bridle in
his outfit, the others riding with blanket and hakemore. As
my volcanic companion still rumbled defiance, I did not
regret the departure of the Indians.
After allowing them an hour's start we followed in their
tracks — presumably they would lead to fresh water and no
other trail was in evidence. The body of water which had
seemed to bar our advance the preceding evening we found
to be merely the lower end of the Laguna Salada and easily
fordable. As our course for the day was northwest and
west we had every opportunity to observe this most strange
lake. It reaches out into the barren desert for eight or
nine leagues with a width of from one hundred to several
hundred metres. According to Indian report, it gains depth,
width and saltiness from the overflows of the Hardy; when
there has been no rain storm and no recent overflow, it is
almost drinkable ; at other times, lured to its shores by thirst,
men have died miserable deaths. 317

318 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Shortly after fording the Laguna Salada I caught sight
of a pair of nice looking young porkers rooting along the
shore. Though presumably property of the Indians, they
looked so inviting, that I readily found in recent events,
acceptable justification for extreme action. Accordingly,
my mind pleasingly filled with toothsome visions of roast
pig, I hastily dismounted, carbine in hand. But alas! my
companion interrupted me, even as I was drawing a bead.
"Say, them aint wild hogs!" he exclaimed, excitably. "Them
must belong to the Cocupas. You haint got any right or call
to kill them shoats." And this, in all earnestness, from the
man who a few hours earlier was about to shoot down an In
dian, without a tremor ! Utterly bewildered, I desisted and
we moved on. Gradually, slowly, out of a confused maze
of thoughts I began to appreciate the Colonel's frontier
code of ethics. "Alius kill a rattlesnake an' a thievin' In
dian," it would run, "but don't never hanker arter live stock
that aint yourn. No, not even arter an Indian's hog."
We found the desert near the Laguna so barren and salty
that I rather doubt whether it would be passable in summer
except immediately after a shower. Even as it was my
mule Pedro gave out early in the afternoon and I had to
mount Chappo, a large, stalwart Socorro burro, which we
had rescued from the Kaliwas near Valle Trinidad. At six
o'clock in the evening we arrived at the base of a lofty range
of rocky sierras which marked the farther side of the desert.
Here, in the mouth of an arroyo, we made camp, but no
sooner were we comfortably settled than we heard the shrill
cries of Indian children at play, from which we rightly con
cluded that we were in the vicinity of some encampment.
The Colonel, therefore, brought in the stock while I pre
pared supper. Soon a number of mounted Cocupas passed
us. One, a man of forty, addressed me in broken Spanish.
Over twenty of his people, he explained, were camped

THE END OF THE TRAIL 319
nearby. In a day or two a larger party would join them
after which they would ascend the sierras for pifions and
deer. Meantime, would I give him meat, tobacco, coffee
and sugar? Wholly dissatisfied with the small gift which
I graciously handed over, the buck fell into a somber study.
Presently, with deep guile, he again addressed me : His wife
was a wonderful cook, he explained. Why should a stalwart
white hunter cook? The wife should do the white hunter's
cooking for two weeks, and in return the white hunter
should pay him ten dollars for her services. The Colonel,
coming into camp at this moment and understanding the
buck's proposition, roared with laughter, whereupon the
Indian rode away in high dudgeon.
Early the following morning we were in the saddle.
Without any preliminary dilly-dallying we rode plump into
the Indian encampment and with a proper and judicious dis
tribution of tobacco began to make inquiries concerning the
nearest white man's road. As one of the bucks responded
by waving a hand toward the south and southwest and then
successively pointing to the rising sun and to the we6t where
it would set, we interpreted this sign play as meaning that
a southwesterly course would bring us to a road by night
fall. Following this theory we ascended the face of the
sierras by an indistinct and fearfully abrupt Indian trail.
As we arose above the plain a magnificent view unfolded
below us: at our feet the broad gray desert with its long
shimmering salt lake, farther to the north and east the yel
lowish Cocupa Sierras and the parti-colored Sierra del
Pinto ; over beyond these the delta of the Colorado and the
Hardy. High up among great cliffs and mid barren surroundings
we clambered, suffering the meantime intensely from the
unrestrained rays of the fiery sun. Soon the Colonel's mule
gave out, then Chappo became sullen. Not only did we have

320 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
to walk but our mules were so determined to move no fur
ther that all our reserves of energy were required to urge
them on. Five hours of this sort finally brought us to the
crest of the sierra, an elevation of at least a mile in an ascent
no more than seven times that distance. During this climb
we had each drunk over a gallon (eleven three-quarter-pint
cups) of water! On a short allowance I do not think that
either of us could have managed for in the dry intense heat
of a Baja California summer, heavy exercise, except in the
timber country, produces such violent perspiration that fre
quent and copious draughts of water are absolutely essential.
On the crest we found a region of white granite picachos,
scrub oaks and pifion trees where criss-crossing trails ad
vised us of the recent presence of cattle. When we had
advanced perhaps a mile into this country, a heavy storm of
rain suddenly burst over us. Quickly the air grew chilly,
and amidst crash on crash of thunder and vivid flashes of
lightning, a shower of hail stones, the size of pigeon eggs,
beat upon us. For twenty minutes the storm raged wildly,
completely soaking us and our outfits. To add to our
vexation every cow path became a hurrying stream so in
distinguishable from its neighbor that, after losing time fol
lowing various water courses, we had to admit that we had
lost our trail. The balance of that day and the ensuing
forenoon were spent in vain search north, south and west
for some pass through the cliffs and brush. I would not
want to say how many picachos we climbed in determined
effort to locate our bearings. Finally, we worked into the
open timber country to the southwest and in the late after
noon made camp on the edge of a beautiful fresh water pond
which we assumed to be Laguna Hanson.
A wagon road was near at hand and upon this we set
forth the ensuing day, northward bound. For thirty-five
miles we traveled through a delightful pine forest where the

THE END OF THE TRAIL 321
nights were frosty and the morning air sharp and bracing;
then we descended to the lower altitude of scrub oaks, brush,
warm weather and dust. After passing a succession of
jewel diggings, ranchos and gold mines we found ourselves
face to face with the American border town of Campo.
Swinging off to the west, we passed through Tecarte Valley
and hugging the Line closely for two days, rode into the
little town of Tia Juana on the 6th of September, 1906.
Twenty-five days had elapsed since our departure from
Socorro ; twenty-two of them had been spent in the saddle, a
driving — and most appropriate — finish for the seven months
of my explorations.* The Colonel estimated the distance
covered in the twenty-two days at five hundred miles, an
altogether respectable figure ; my own notes show forty less.
But the time of year, the untrod wilderness, the changing
temperatures and the varying altitudes had been the most
trying elements of the experience. Inured to hardships
though we were, we both realized that we had been trav
eling. The mules seemed to have a similar view. The
burros, however, came through in marvelous form.
Tia Juana ! Nine and a half months earlier, as the mel
low light of the dying day, the shortest lived day in all the
year, flickered along the horizo'n, I had made camp near
this forlorn little border pueblo for the first night of my
wanderings on the peninsula. As my journey began at
Tia Juana, there let it end.
As I write these closing lines there comes over me a
flood of recollections — of gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, of
evenings about the camp fire with copperhued brave or
swarthy Mexican telling of days that are gone, of nights
on the lone deserts with the glittering stars and white moon
close overhead. Once more with Seiior Dick I am riding
southward along the King's Highway. Again I see the
*Note E: Appendix.

322 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
lordly big-horn and hear the sharp crack of the carbine.
Again the Laird and I read Kipling and Balzac while with
out the tent storms the Madame. Once more I gaze over
the desolate wastes of the Llanos de Ojo Liebre while Cas
tro in hollow tones presages impending doom. This gloomy
picture fades and before me now are the lovely valleys of
San Ignacio and Comondu. Again I hear the soft melodies
of the sweet voiced muchachas of Mulege. Again I am
resting in the orange groves by the regal Mission of San
Xavier. Once more is Praemundi calling and I half rise,
ready to mount, as I hear his crisp, "Seiior, listo cami
nando." But what wild memory is this that now seizes me ? Ah,
the intrepid Colonel with his ingenuous prof aneness ! What
are you saying, comrade of the wilds? What? Your
prophesy! Well — mayhap, now in office confines, may
hap I do long for the trail, mayhap I do feel "solemcully
like." Yes, you are right I do "miss — my chaps, taps and
latigo straps." Perhaps, yes, God willing, I'll come again.

[finis]

APPENDIX i. NOTES.
Note A, Chapter IV. Lower California is the least
known and most unsettled section of all Mexico. Over seven
hundred miles in length, it varies from thirty-five to one
hundred and forty miles in breadth. Its total population is
not in excess of thirty thousand. Take out the dozen largest
towns and less than five thousand persons remain; they are
scattered over nearly forty million acres of territory. More
than three-fourths of this great area is mountainous. For
the benefit of those desirous of further information con
cerning conditions in Lower California, reference is here
made to the author's "Mother of California" (1908,
Paul Elder & Co., Publishers, New York and San Fran
cisco. Price, $2.00), from which, through the courtesy of
Paul Elder & Co., the following chapter is here reproduced.
"Physical Lower California.
"Geographically, Lower California is a long, jagged
peninsula, lashed on its western and southern shores by the
booming waves of the Pacific Ocean, and separated from the
mainland of Mexico by the restless Colorado River and by
the opalescent waters of the Sea of Cortez, or, as that body
is termed with less grace but greater frequency, the Gulf of
California. With a general trend from northwest to south
east, this strange territory attains a maximum length of
some two hundred and fifty leagues, although its breadth in
places is a scant ten and nowhere exceeds fifty leagues. _ In
round numbers the area of Lower California exceeds thirty-
eight million acres, and of these, seventeen and a quarter
million are north of the twenty-eighth parallel of latitude.
In calling the gulf the Adriatic of the West and in likening
the Peninsula to their beloved Italy, the Jesuits made an
excellent general comparison, both topographically and cli
matically. Lower California is a hundred miles the longer,
however, while the Italian peninsula has the greater breadth.
323

324 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Also, the latter enjoys more moisture and has more level
land. "From the American boundary on the north to Cape San
Lucas, shouldering high above cactus-clad plains, small
oases and parched deserts, there extends throughout the
California Peninsula a mighty range of grim mountains,
sloping away to the west, breaking off to the east in abrupt,
awe-inspiring cliffs. Of these sierras, five thousand feet is
but an average height, and he who explores their lofty ridges
is rewarded by views of majestic grandeur which some day
will be heralded among men. Rich in boulders, cliffs, min
erals and cacti, the entire Peninsula is strangely devoid of
trees and springs, except about the timber plateaus of
Laguna Hanson, San Pedro Martir Sierra and in the
Laguna Sierras above San Jose del Cabo. Few passes bisect
the main range. In one section of these sierras mesas are
the rule, in another lofty peaks are outlined sharply against
the sky. Truncated cones are frequent. San Pedro Martir
Sierra, in many reports and without valid ground therefor,
termed 'Calamahue Mountain,' attains an altitude of 10,126
feet and is the highest peak in Lower California ; certain of
its unsealed heights should appeal to the daring of the more
intrepid members of the Sierra, Mazama, Alpine or kindred
mountain-climbing associations. Throughout the main
peninsula range the soil is usually shallow; frequently there
are massive, beetling shoulders of rock, devoid of any earth ;
again and again long white scars mark where sudden tor
rents of prehistoric or modern times have torn aside the
thin covering and exposed a granite heart; and yet within
sight of this poverty of soil there is found at times an arroyo
bottom where a spring bubbles out beneath the shadow of
a palm and waters marvelously rich acres of sandy loam.
"Sections of this sierra have local names. The mountains
back from San Jose del Cabo are known as the Laguna —
and also as the San Lazaro — Mountains, those immediately
south of La Paz are called the Cacachilas ; the grim ridges
and peaks back of Loreto were known, even among the an
cient padres, as the Sierra Giganta; the sierras, southwest
of San Ignacio and separating the llanos of Ojo de Liebre
and Magdalena, are called, indiscriminately, the Sierra Pin-
tada and the Santa Clara Sierras ; San Pedro Martir Sierra
is a range by itself, extending for fifty miles northwest and

APPENDIX 325
southeast and having a plateau width of nigh ten miles : the
timber-covered mountains northwest of Santa Catarina
Mission^ are spoken of, locally, as the Laguna Hanson
Mountains, and north of them lie a group of sharp peaks
referred to as 'The Picachos'; immediately west of the
mouth of the Colorado River lies a weird range of barren,
sand-swept mountains called the Sierra del Pinto, and a few
miles northwest of the Pintos lie the Cocupa Sierras.
"Part and parcel of these sierras are their deep and tor
tuous arroyos, immense, long and winding gorges slashed
deep into the sierras and frequently containing springs or
water-holes and spots of alluvial soil.
"The sierras and the arroyos tell of their prehistoric life.
The vast stretches of lava formation, the sea-shells on the
lofty ridges and peaks, the mud volcanoes at the headwaters
of the Hardy River, the spark of life that still throbs rebel-
liously within the lofty Tres Virgenes towering above San
Ignacio, the not infrequent temblors, the mighty chasms,
rent asunder by the awful convulsions of nature; these all
bespeak the volcanic origin of the land. Geologists class the
sierra back-bone of the Peninsula as a continuation of the
mountain ranges in eastern San Bernardino and Riverside
Counties and in central San Diego County in the State of
California. They parallel the range with submarine sierras,
evidenced by a series of islands and rocks fifty leagues off
the western shore of the Peninsula and separated therefrom
by great depths of water. These scientists say, further, that
the region about and immediately above San Jose del Cabo
is the remnant of a formerly existing tropical peninsula that
extended southward along the Mexican coast, taking in the
Tres Marias and other islands and separated from the bal
ance of the present California Peninsula by a channel pass
ing westerly from the Bay of La Paz to the Pacific Ocean.
They proceed with their theory and make another prehis
toric island of the territory between the Cape Region and
the twenty-ninth parallel of latitude north. Certainly, along
the line of each of these supposed channels the sierras dip
downward and the Peninsula is extremely narrow.
"Examined from a modern topographical standpoint,
Lower California consists of four natural subdivisions, viz. :
the Cape Region, embracing the Cape San Lucas section and
extending northward slightly above the latitude of La Paz

326 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
to, say, 240 20' north; Central Lower California, extending
northward from the Cape Region to the twenty-eighth par
allel north; the "Waist," the narrow, rugged region from
the twenty-eighth to the thirtieth parallel of north latitude,
and La Frontera, including the territory from the thirtieth
parallel to the international boundary (lying just north of
the thirty-second parallel of north latitude and defined, by
the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, as a straight line run
ning from the junction of the Gila and Colorado Rivers
to a point one marine league south of the port of San Diego
as located by a survey made in 1782). Climatically, and
from their flora and fauna, Central Lower California and
the Waist are intermediary between the Cape Region, which
is semi-tropical, and La Frontera, which is not unlike Sonora
and the southern part of the State of California.
"The large sections of the Peninsula which are not sierra
regions are usually either wide deserts or hot barren llanos,
or plains. Guadalupe Valley, above Ensenada, in La Fron
tera, is an exception, being vastly similar to the great farm
ing valleys so frequent in the State of California. Scat
tered here and there about La Frontera are excellent tracts
of farming land, such as the valleys of San Telmo and
Rosario, and along the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers
there are thousands of acres of fertile and level land, which
by reclamation would become extremely productive. The
land of the Colorado Desert also is alluvial and produces
heavily after irrigation, as does that about San Quintin.
The desert back of the Cocupa Sierras and bordering on the
Laguna Salada and the San Felipe Desert, further south,
are excellent grazing districts, but the title of 'desert' well
describes them.
"The Waist is practically devoid of level lands, excepting
mesas or llanos, floored with lava. In the neighborhood
of Los Flores, however, there are some rather large valleys.
"In Central Lower California are found the most exten
sive llanos on the Peninsula, those of Ojo de Liebre and
Magdalena; they border on the Pacific Ocean and contain
hundreds of thousands of acres of level or rolling land.
Could these be cleared of cacti and reached by water, they
would make good agricultural land, unless alkali material
ized. "The Cape Region is the most productive portion of the
Peninsula, the San Jose Valley and the country about San

APPENDIX 327
Jose del Cabo and Todos Santos being beautiful garden
spots. "But while La Frontera has greater known level tracts
of land, suitable for farming purposes, than have the three
southern sub-divisions, throughout the sierras, in the latter
there are immense arroyos, floored with fertile soil and
watered by small streams; these arroyo spots are unsur
passed for their productiveness and support the greater part
of the population of the Peninsula. The good soil in these
three sections of the country is usually of an ashy volcanic
loam. "The Colorado and the Hardy are the only rivers that
touch Lower California. The so-called 'rivers' of Tia
Juana, San Vicente, Santo Domingo, Rosario, Mulege,
Comondu, Purisima, Todos Santos, San Jose, etc., are small
streams except in time of exceptional storm or of cloudburst.
Of these last named 'rivers' the Purisima carries the larg
est volume of water; accurately speaking, it is a long chain
of broad water-holes, scooped deep in the rocky bottom
of a great arroyo where rain- and spring-water alike
gather. The San Jose and Todos Santos streams are in
the Cape Region; the Purisima, Comondu and Mulege
streams in Central Lower California; and the Rosario,
Santo Domingo, San Vicente and Tia Juana, together with
the Hardy and the Colorado Rivers, are in La Frontera.
The Waist boasts no streams.
"The Hardy River and the Colorado River are in
classes by themselves. Books have been written concern
ing the Colorado: its romance has been published, its
tragedy is being enacted. For generations its tidal bore
caused men to marvel and to fear to approach its mouth,
and yet, in September, 1906, burro deer, coyotes and a
man waded across the river just above its junction with
the Hardy, passing, in their journey, the carcass of a
whale left stranded high and dry! Formerly, when the
snow began to melt in the high mountains where it headed
and spring rains fell, the Colorado poured down into the
Sea of Cortez with a mighy torrent, and then, before the
powerful tides of that sea, its waters were forced back,
only to return as a tidal bore close in the wake of the re
treating tide. Doubtless the river will return to this course
now that it has been brought back to its bed again. In this
play of ocean and sea the Hardy, too, had its part, over-

328 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
flowing into the desert by the Laguna Salada when the
Colorado overflowed, and then draining back into the
Colorado at its leisure. After its overflow the Hardy is
from fifty to a hundred yards in width and, its snaky course
considered, doubtless fifty leagues in length. Its head
waters are among a group of some sixty mud volcanoes,
situated about eight leagues south of the international
boundary and an equal distance west of the Colorado
River. These 'volcanoes' have been described as 'circular
holes containing boiling mud and exhaling a naphtha-like
odor. Many of them are encrusted with mud forming
cones three to four feet high, from the apex of which pro
ceed mingled vapors of water, sal amoniac and sulphur.'
Between the brackishness of its source and the incoming
tide, the Hardy is a murky, salty stream.
"North of the Hardy River there is a considerable
laguna, or lake, and several smaller ones. Laguna Salada
(sometimes termed Laguna Maquata) is a long, narrow,
brackish lake southwest of the main ridge of the Cocupa
Sierras ; reinforced by the overflows of the Hardy, at other
times this lake dwindles down into two sloughs. Eight or
nine leagues further southwest, surrounded by pines and at
an altitude of over five thousand feet, lies Laguna Hanson,
a crystal gem of water. At the meadow of La Grulla on
the heights of San Pedro Martir Sierra there is a very
small pond. All of these bodies of water are in La Fron
tera. In the Waist of the Peninsula there are two small
lagunas, one known as Lake Chapala while the other has
no known name. In the Cape Region there is a laguna in
the sierras above San Jose del Cabo. These lagunas are
nothing more than ponds.
"With a coast line so indented that its full length is over
six hundred leagues in actual measurement, the Peninsula
is richly endowed with harbors and bays. Fleets might
search the seas for more magnificent retreats than Magda
lena Bay on the Pacific and Playa Los Angeles on the Gulf.
The first of these is described in the publications of the
United States Hydrographic Office as 'one of the most spa
cious and safe harbors in the world, (it) is about fifteen
miles long, northwest and southeast, and twelve miles wide.'
The actual length of this great sheet of water, however, is
nearer forty than fifteen miles, but points making out from
the mainland and from Santa Margarita, a long narrow

APPENDIX 329
island crowded in shorewards, divide it into two bays of
which the northerly one is termed Magdalena and the
southerly Almaca, or Almejas, Bay. Among the old-time
whalers these bays were known as Weather and Lee Bays.
Numerous large lagoons branch out from Magdalena Bay.
Although there is a small settlement on Margarita Island,
the only really excellent water is brought from the Rancho
of Matancita, on the mainland, leagues distant. Through
the courtesy of Mexico, the United States is permitted to
send her men-of-war to Magdalena Bay for target prac
tice, and the booming cannon of the great white ships
awaken, periodically, the echoes about the lonely harbor.
Playa Los Angeles is a superb sheet of water, covering an
area of nigh twenty-five miles. Protected on the east and
the northeast by no less than fifteen islands and islets, it is
a tranquil, land-locked harbor where whales are wont to
bring forth their young, undisturbed by clanging bells, es
caping steam or the splash of anchors. The majestic curve
of its shore lines and its inviting stretches of sandy beach
call forth the admiration of the few strangers who chance
to behold them. The Bay of Sebastian Viscaino on the
west coast is full sixty miles in width and over fifty in its
inland reach. Puerto San Bartolome, also on the Pacific,
and Pichilingue, Puerto Escondido and Santa Rosalia on
the Gulf are magnificent, well-protected harbors, while the
entire coast line is notched with small bays and open road
steads at least a dozen of which are noteworthy, though
they remain practically unvisited.
"The islands adjacent to the coast are as numerous as its
indentations. Indeed, their aggregate area has been esti
mated at one-fifteenth that of the Peninsula. Few of them
are inhabited, however, save by sea-fowl, rabbits and goats,
sheep or deer. The more important are Cedros, Nativi
dad, Guadalupe, and Margarita Islands off the west coast,
and Ceralbo, Espiritu Santo, San Josef, Santa Catarina, Car
men, San Lorenzo, Angel de la Guardia, and Montagu in the
Gulf. Of these Angel de la Guardia, forty miles in length and
with an extreme width of ten miles, is the largest; Cedros,
twenty-nine miles in length and with an extreme width of
nine miles, is second; the others named are from six to
seventeen miles in length. The majority of all these islands
are mountainous; Guadalupe boasts a peak with an eleva
tion of 4,523 feet, the heights of Cedros approach 4,000

33° CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
feet, while a range nigh to that elevation runs the length
of Angel de la Guardia. Though of volcanic origin many
of these islands have more or less vegetation, several of
them have been noted guano fields ; Guadalupe and Cedros
possess considerable timber; Angel de la Guardia is abso
lutely barren.
"There is excuse enough for barrenness in Lower Cali
fornia, however, for there rain is capricious: sometimes it
may fall in every season of the year, sometimes it may forget
to fall at all. In this strange country rain is an event and
even happens without clouds. Snow is somewhat regular
in the northern sierras, dew comes with the midnight in the
Waist of the Peninsula, and fogs are not infrequent along
the western coast above the Cape Region. It may be safely
said that the Cape Region and the country bordering on the
Sea of Cortez receive their rainfall from the tropical sum
mer rains originating in the Gulf of Mexico, the heaviest
and surest rainfall being precipitated along the sierra back
bone. It may also be said that the west coast of La Fron
tera, or that portion of it above San Quintin, is subject to
most uncertain winter rains, the tail end of storms which
originate in the far North. Throughout the country the
rain-water disappears almost as soon as the rain is over.
"Of springs, Lower California has a strangely limited
number. The majority of them are found in the sides or
heads of the sierra arroyos. Some of these, such as Agua
Dulce and Youbai in the Waist of the Peninsula, the springs
of Comondu and Purisima in Central Lower California
and the spring at San Bartolo in the Cape Region pour
out immense bodies of water. The absence of springs on
the great deserts and llanos is so complete that deaths by
thirst have been numerous, and yet it is quite probable that
artesian water might be found by boring either on the
llanos above San Quintin, or along the more extensive
stretches in Central Lower California near the Pacific
Coast. Water has been readily found on these llanos by
sinking wells of from forty to one hundred feet in depth,
but no one seems to have been possessed of requisite energy
to try for the liberal government reward offered to him
who first obtains an artesian flow. There is a fine bubbling
soda spring at the old Mission of Calamyget, arsenic and
borax springs have been found, and aguas calientes, or hot
springs, are not infrequent. Peculiar to the country, how-

APPENDIX 33 1
ever, and the most frequent watering-places in Lower Cali
fornia, are the tinajas, or natural cisterns. These are
water-holes found in the rock-bottoms of arroyos where
rain collects. In some of these tinajas there are thousands
of gallons of water, and in them small fish and water-terra
pin are found. These tinajas are the salvation of those
who travel about the Peninsula.
"Considering its immense coast line, Lower California
is not a land of many or severe winds. Off the northeast
ern portion of the Cape Region there occurs, at intervals
of several years, a local hurricane known as El Cordonaso.
While this hurricane has an ill reputation, it is of amusing
interest from the tradition surrounding its name. Accord
ing to the residents, Oliver Cromwell ravaged the east
coast of the Peninsula during the seventeenth century as
a buccaneer, and so severe were his depredations that the
hurricane was named for him. Even residents of education
are thoroughly satisfied that the doughty Oliver visited the
land during his time! Heavy winds occur periodically
along the twenty-eighth parallel, and in the winter cold
winds sweep across the northern portion of the Sea of
Cortez and acquire added iciness from the snowy heights
of San Pedro Martir. On the Gulf northwesterly winds
prevail from October to May and southeasterly winds from
May to October. The prevailing winds throughout the
Peninsula are from the northwest and the southwest. The
magnetic variation of the compass in Lower California
reaches from six to fourteen degrees.
"The air of Lower California is dry and pure and the
atmosphere, except on the fog-swept western coast, is mar-
velously clear. Southward from the thirty-first parallel
one may easily read in the white light of the full moon, and
in the Cape Region the Southern Cross adorns the heavens.
South of the mouth of the Hardy River and off Ojo de
Liebre treacherous mirages in many and varied designs de
ceive the vision and vex the traveler. Perhaps the very
narrowness of the Peninsula gives to its atmosphere a touch
of the bracing air of the sea, or perhaps the dryness of the
land gives the air an intense purity : whatever the cause, the
result is that there is probably no more healthful climate in
the world than that of Lower California. This was the
verdict of the Jesuit missionaries who were in touch with
the "uttermost parts of the earth"; this was the verdict of

332 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
the New York Volunteers who occupied the country during
the Mexican War and whose officers likened the climate to
that of Persia or Arabia, reporting in a year but two deaths
from natural causes among fifteen hundred people ; this has
been the verdict of those who have resided in or explored
the land. Certainly it is a country where disease is infre
quent and wounds heal readily, where extreme age is no
rarity and physicians are practically unknown. Probably
from a standpoint of health the most favored sections are
along the line of the high sierras and throughout the Waist
of the Peninsula.
"The mean temperature of Lower California is not
known. The coldest region is along the line of the San
Pedro Martir Sierra, Valle Trinidad, the country about
Santa Catalina Mission and through the Laguna Hanson
range in La Frontera. Throughout this high plateau region
there is an abundance of ice during the winter months and
the nights are always cold. The Colorado and San Felipe
Deserts in La Frontera and the llanos back from Magda
lena Bay experience as great heat as any sections of the
country, but it is not a moist heat. For balmy air the
Cape Region and the east coast of the Waist are unsur
passed. "In so summery a clime the least rainfall is sufficient to
deck the land with a profusion of wild flowers and only an
absolute drought destroys the abundant good grass, varie
ties of which haunt even the deserts. But the most fre
quent form of vegetation throughout Lower California is
the cactus. It has its blooming time, too, for in the spring
it sends forth blossoms of the deepest and most gorgeous
hues. The mesquit and the attractive palo verde hover
near the arroyos, the former attaining to immense girth
in Central Lower California and in the Waist Region. In
La Frontera pines are practically unknown until the Cape
Region with its pinons and scrub-oaks is reached. The
cacti flourish everywhere. The useful viznaga, the vicious
cholla, the ocotilla, or its cousin, the Palo Adan, the
maguay and the tuna : these thorny growths greet the trav
eler as he crosses the international boundary, and he parts
with them only at the Cape. The giant cardones and the
prized pithaya thrive south of the thirty-first parallel,
while the graceful cirio or milapa is indigenous to the
Waist. In La Frontera there are few palms, but in the

APPENDIX 333
other sections of the country they stand guard above the
springs and water-holes."
Note B, Chapter XIX. In the fall of 1907 Mexico
granted to the United States the right to establish and main
tain coaling stations at Magdalena Bay for a period of
three years. Thereafter and on the 16th of December,
1907, sixteen ships-of-the-line, flying the Stars and Stripes,
left Hampton Roads, Virginia, bound for the Pacific Ocean.
After brief visits at Trinidad, Rio de Janeiro, Punta Arena
and Callao, the fleet put in, on the 12th of March, 1908,
at Magdalena Bay, having made a cruise unprecedented in
the naval annals of the world. A month's rest was had at
Magdalena Bay to permit the gunners to engage in target
practice. While thus occupied these superb marksmen,
aided by the clearness of the atmosphere, promptly made
innumerable new records for big gun shooting.
From Hampton Roads to California the 16,000 ton
Connecticut bore the flag of Rear Admiral Robley D.
Evans, U.S.N., the commander in chief of the magnificent
squadron, who thus fitly crowned a splendid career of nigh
half a century in his nation's service.
Note C, Chapter XXII. In his "Noticia de la Califor
nia" (Madrid, 1757), the old chronicler Miguel Venegas
presented a crude wood-cut of the California mountain
sheep, probably the earliest recorded likeness of the species.
Hornaday's "Camp-Fires on Desert and Lava" gives recent
and entertaining account of Mexican big-horn as found in
Sonora. It is of interest to note that the suggestion con
tained in this latter work and in the "Mother of California"
has borne fruit and that these noble animals are now pro
tected by federal enactments. In passing^ I have^ not seen
any of the specimens collected on the Mexican mainland by
Mr. Hornaday.
Note D, Chapter XXIII. In numbers the Cocupas are
the most considerable Indian tribe in Baja California. So
many of them, however, pass back and forth across the
Colorado visting their kinsmen in Sonora that an accurate
enumeration is impossible. I should consider three hun
dred a close estimate of the Baja California members of
the tribe. The reputation of the Cocupas for peace has
always been excellent and in sharp contrast to that of their
neighbors, the Yumas and Yaquis.

334 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Note E, Chapter XXIV. I had traveled some twenty-
five hundred miles in the saddle besides an equal distance
on the Pacific and the Gulf. Accepting local estimates,
thirty-five hundred miles would be more accurate for the
land journeying; the value of such estimates, however, has
been commented upon in Chapter XV. Though I crossed
the Peninsula eleven times, six days at the old Mission of
Santa Maria and an equal time in Santa Rosalia were the
longest rests made along the way. An idea of the arid
nature of Lower California may be gathered from the fact
that out of two hundred nights spent in the open, seventy
were "dry camps."
As the reader of investigating mind may be interested
therein I submit the following data not direcdy noted in
the text, viz. : Beginning my wanderings in poor health, I
experienced occasional periods of indisposition and dizzi
ness during the first six weeks; after that I "got my second
wind," concluding my adventures twenty pounds heavier
than at the outset. Despite sleeping in rainstorms, numer
ous drenchings and sharp and sudden changes of tempera
ture, I did not suffer from a single cold. And yet upon my
visit to San Francisco in June, I was "sniffling" after the
first night, sleeping indoors !
The varying, and not infrequently alkali, waters of the
country seem to have no injurious effects on the system.
Of foodstuffs I found broiled meats (whether fresh or
dried), hardtack, flour-and-water tortillas, boiled rice with
wild honey, stewed apricots, prunes and peaches, the most
satisfying and wholesome. Of beans and cereals I shortly
tired, while rice, which I rarely eat at home, was always
acceptable. Not infrequently I experienced a childlike long
ing for candy or lump sugar. On the deserts I had little
appetite, though I continually craved fresh fruits and vege
tables and astonished myself by enjoying raw onions; in the
sierras I greatly appreciated fatty meats and was always
hungry. As I never care for tea, coffee or milk, I lived
without such beverages. Moreover, I carried neither
canned goods nor ham. Between antelope, bighorn and deer,
native dried beef and the superabundance of ducks, doves,
rabbits and quail, I ate but little bacon.
Finally, I used forty revolver and one hundred and ten
carbine cartridges and nine hundred .22's. Of three cam
eras one, only, came through uninjured.

APPENDIX 335
2. LOWER CALIFORNIA BIBLIOGRAPHY.
Anon. Voyage of Mons. Chappe D'Auteroche to Cali
fornia to Observe the Transit of Venus. London,
IA_ I7?8--
Anon. Lives and Voyages of Drake, Cavendish and Dam-
pier. New York, 1832.
Anon. Lives and Voyages of Early Navigators, with a
History of the Buccaneers. New York, 1835.
Anon. Historical Outline of Lower California. San
Francisco, 186 — .
Anon. Lower California, Its Geography and Character
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Anon. A Real American. "Bentley's Miscellany," Vol.
LI, p. 210.
Anon. Christian Work in the "Barren Peninsula." "The
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Baegert, Jakob, Nachrichten von der Amerikanischen
Halbinsel Calif ornien. Mannheim, 1772. (English
rendition, in part, by Dr. Charles Rau, published in
Smithsonian Report, Washington, D.C., 1863.)
Bancroft, H. H. North American States, Vols. I. and
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San Francisco, 1884.
Bartlett, John R. Personal Narrative of Explorations
and Incidents Connected with United States and Mexi
can Boundary Commission. New York, 1854.
Beechey, Capt. F. W. Narrative of a Voyage to the
Pacific in the "Blossom," in 1825-8. Philadelphia,
1832.
Belcher, Capt. Sir Edward. Narrative of a Voyage
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Bowers, De Moss. An Island of Mystery. "The Wide
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Browne, J. Ross. A Sketch of the Settlement and Ex
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Browne, J. Ross. Explorations in Lower California.
"Harper's New Monthly Magazine," October-De
cember, 1868.
Buffum, Lieut. E. Gould. Six Months in the Gold
Fields in Upper and Lower California. Philadelphia,
1850.

33 6 CAMP AND CAMINO IN LOWER CALIFORNIA
Burney, James. Chronological History of the Dis
coveries in the South Seas. London, 1803-17.
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INDEX

"Adriatic of the West," 127.
Augua Caliente, 41, 117.
Ag-ja Dulce, 80, 276.
Aguaje San Juan, 126.
Alacran, 133, 294.
Alamitos, 24.
Alamo, 19, 31, 289.
Alarcon, Hernando de, 128, 304.
Alforcas, 33.
Almaca Bay, 297.
Americano, 31, 216.
Angel de la Guarda Island, 126.
Anita, 20, 290.
Annexation, 55.
Antelope, 90, 106, 136, 144, 146, 152,
209.
Antelope of the Sierras, 208, 287.
Antidote, 202.
Arnes, Padre, 85.
Arrilliga, Governor, 20, 269, 298.
Arroyes, 38, 204, 231, 280.
Arroyo Grande, 57, 66, 293, 297.
Arsenic, 102.
Audubon, 113. B
Baegert, Padre Jakob, 113.
Baile, 167, 262.
Bancroft, 56, 65, 215.
Bay of Los Angeles, 127.
Bears, 271, 286.
Bells, m, 118, 207, 215, 221.
Berrenda, 90, vide Antelope.
Bewener, 133.
Ben, 32, 58, 61.
Big-Horn, 25, 90, 113, 209, 286, 29s.
Big-Horn Meat, 30, 95.
Birds, 104, 190.
Black Warrior Lagoon, 147.
Books, 99, 106, 170, 198.
Borrego, vide Big-Horn.
Bouchet, Mayor, 175.
Boulbon, Count Raousset, 50.
Browne, J. Ross, 146, 252, 274.
Buried Treasure, 19, 86, 170, 221,
222.
Burros, 32, 82, 120, 158, 197, 199,
226, 228, 281, 299, 304.

Cabeza de Vaca, 18, 25.
Cabrillo, Juan, 172, 224, 243.

Cacachilas, 237, 242.
Cacti, 23, 62, 103, 189, 228.
Callaitte, M., 187.
"Calamahue Mountain," 274.
Calamajuet, 97.
Calamyget Mission, 85, 102.
Calmalli, 70, 138, 139, 153.
Camalu, 266.
Camino, 160, 171, 208, 229, 276.
Campanile, 135.
Campo, 321.
Canal de Ballenas, 127.
Carbajakaamang, 85.
Carmen Island, 216.
Caroline, so.
Castro, 138, 141, 147, 158, 172.
Catarina Yumas, 18, 20, 290.
Cedros Island, 150, 261.
Children, 118, 161, 177, 217.
Chiquita Pithaya, 155.
Chivos, 90.
Cholla, 104, 189.
Clavijero, Padre, 65, 112, 209.
Cochimis, 72, 101, no, 118.
Cocupa Indians, 27s, 309, 318.
Cocupa Sierras, 297, 308.
Coffee, 115, 227.
"Colonel," 278, 314.
Colorado Desert, 298.
Colorado River, 18, 297, 303.
Comondu, 202, 204.
Condor, 26, 271.
Consag, Padre, 90, 126, 305.
Contentment, 96.
Contrabandistas, 126.
Cookery, 34, 89, 201, 227, 313.
Coronado, 32, 172, 197.
Correo, 33, 175.
Cortez, 32, 199, 239.
Courtesy, 217, 230, 259.
Coyotes, 22, 231.
Credulity, 99.
Curacao, 214, 223, 239.
Currency, 131, 135. D
Dancing, in, 142, 167.
Deer, 106, 230, 271, 311.
Dewey, Commander, 274.
Diaz, President, 179.
Dominicans, 76.
Distances, 189, 214, 223.
Doves, 155, 190, 218, 231.
Drinking-bout, 61.

343

344

INDEX

El Aimal, 131.
El Providencia, 270.
El Boleo, 176.
El Camino Real, 22, 44, 75, 79, 101,
188, 203, 211.
Endurance, 63, 307.
Ensenada, 259.

Fiesta, 141.
Fleas, 57, 263.
Flowers, 123, 128, 207, 217, 222, 271.
Fog, 150.
Fort McKibben, 51.
Frailes, 19, no.
Fruit, 166, 168, 222.

Gabb, Wm., 192.
Gamuza, 90.
Gandia, Duchess of, 85.
Garyzar, Rudolfo, 175, 179.
Girls, 161, 167, 193, 194, 231, 265,
282.
Goats, 90.
Gringo, 216.
Guadalupe Mission, 192.
Guarachas, 19, 183, 203.
Guiacuras, 72.
Gulfo Camino, 75, 131, 132, 276.
Gun Permits, 140, 230.
H
Hall, 140.
Hardy, Lieut, 193, 305.
Hardy River, 297, 302, 303, 306.
Heat, 285, 288, 300, 302, 307.
Heller, Edmund 274.
Hieroglyphics 64, 65, 288.
Highways, 75.
Honey, 38, 109.
Hospitality, 167, 176, 217.
Howard, Charley, 98.
Humboldt, Alexander, 113.

Iglesia, 78, 83, no, 135, 206, 220.
Iguana, 118.
Indian Life, 39, 62, 109, 118, 129.
Indian Trail, 37.
Insanity, 181, 184, 343.
Irrigation, 78, 112, 218, 233.
Isla de California, 169.

Jesuits, 72, 76, 168, 191.
Jaceles, 168, 230.

Jack-rabbits, 24, 136, 191.
Jesiis, 79, 174, 224.
Josefa, 141.
Journals, 146.
Juan, 18, 23, 297. K
Kadakamann, 168.
Kaliwas, 61, 272, 282.

La Corona, 270.
Ladrones, 20, 41, 271.
La Grulla, 270, 277.
Laguna Hanson, 320.
Laguna Salada, 312, 317.
"Laird," The, 98, 101, 123.
La Paloma, 177.
La Paz, 173, 223, 238.
Lario, 131.
Lawrence, 16.
La Yerba, 131.
L'Encentada, 270.
Link, Padre, 79, no, 273.
Lions, 37, 231, 271, 277.
Llanos de Ojo Liebre, 136, 144, 146.
Llanos de Santa Maria, 96, 106.
Llorente, Padre, 21.
Longevity, 39.
Loreto, 188, 214, 253.
Los Flores, 128.
Los Parros, 218.
Lost Mission, 169, 336.
Lower California, 17.
Luyando, Padre, 168.
M
Magdalena Bay, 214, 223, 247.
Maguay, 64.
Man-of-War Island, 255.
Mala Zorea, 202, 228.
Maps, 37, 228.
Marco Polo, 114.
Mar de Cortez, 63, 82, 211.
Marriage, 139.
Marron, Praemundi, 183, 226, 243.
Marseliano, Padre, 194, 201.
Matancital, 223, 232.
Matomi, 79, 269.
Mayorga, Padre, 205.
Malendrez, 54.
Melons, 40, 310, 315.
Mescal, 107, 167, 200, 201, 218, 292.
Mexia, Mauricio, 194.
Mexican War, 47, 303.
Mines, 97, 138, 174, 182, 241, 266,
267, 321.

INDEX

345

Mirages, 147, 300.
"Miss Bertie," 265.
Missions, 75, 169, 213, 218, 222, 225.
Mountain Sheep, vide Big-Horn.
Mozo, 31, 79, 198, 224.
Mulege, 192.
Municipal Court, 182.
Music, in. N
Nature, 79, 93.
Nelson, E. W., 114. O
Ojo Liebre, 146.
Olives, 112, 166, 192, 195.
Onyx, 80.
Orchilla, 253.
Osuna, Don Jose, 201.
Otera, Rita, 101, 109.
Outfit, 31, 224.
Oymart, Sr., 309. P
Pack Rats, 98.
Paintings, no, 171, 215, 217, 220.
Pais, 38.
Palms, 150, 161, 166, 168, 195, 204,
224.
Panoche, 168.
Paraiso, 132.
Parson, 32.
Passport, 140, 232, 270, 275.
Patio, 83, 201.
Pattie, James O., 21, 48, 298, 305.
Pearls, 238.
Pedregal, 103.
Pedestrianism, 203, 228, 229.
Pericues, 72, 91.
Pestilence, 72, 91.
Petroglyphs, 65, 272, 288.
Piccolo, Padre, 221.
Pichilingue, 244.
Picturesqueness, 135.
Pines, 271, 320.
Plains of Buenos Ayres, 79.
Plank%Dr., 128.
Portola, Don Gaspar de, 69.
Primera Clase, 180, 194, 244.
Presentacion Mission, 225.
Purisima, 201.
Purisima Rio, 198.
Purisima Mission, 201.

Quali, 24.
Quarries, 80, 248.
Railroad, 57.
Rain, 75, 132, 235.

R

Rattlesnakes, 191, 227.
Rancheros, 200, 230.
Ravens, 94.
Reavis, Frank, 137.
Rebozo, 167, 203.
Romero, Don Amadeo, 216.
Roosevelt, Colonel, 115.
Ropa, 122, 123.
Rosand, M., 174.
Rosarita, 276.
Rothschilds, 62.
Runaway Couple, 81, 242.
Rurales, 174, 229, 275.

Salamankaser, 100, 202.
Salt, 192, 216.
Salto Los Reyes, 235.
Salvatierra, Padre, 168, 205, 213.
San Angel, 149, 156, 160.
San Antonio Real, 241.
San Augustine, 80.
San Borja, 85, 109.
San Felipe Desert, 67, 269, 285, 288.
San Fernandines, 76, 77.
San Fernando, 64, 69, 75, 77.
San Francisquito, 96.
Sanginez, Coronel, 237.
Sangue, 94.
San Ignacio, 156, 161, 164, 165, 167.
San Ignacito, 112.
San Joaquin, 68, 70.
San Juan de Dios, 79, 269, 276.
San Jose del Cabo, 44, 245.
San Lorenzo Island, 133.
San Luis Gonzaga Mission, 234.
San Pedro Martir Mission, 269.
San Pedro Martir Sierra, 17, 37,
68, 261, 266, 267.
San Quintin, 57.
San Sebastian, 133.
Santa Catarina Mission, 19, 289.
Santa Gertrudis Mission, 135.
Santa Lucia, 192.
Santa Margarita Island, 247.
Santa Maria Mission, 83, 85, 89.
Santa Maria de la Magdalena, 191.
Santa Marita, 132.
Sant' Augada, 173.
Santa Rosalia, 173, 174.
Santiago', 66.
Santo Domingo, 264.
Santo Tomas, 34.
San Vicente, 43.
San Xavier, 218.
Scorpion, 294, vide Alacron.
Skunks, 241.
"Sefior Dick," 59, 69, 79, 97.

346

INDEX

Seri Indians, 126, 128, 133.
Serra, Padre Junipero, 69, 76, 78,
213, 268.
Sheep, Mountain, vide Big-Horn.
"Shelling," 94.
Side-Saddles, Native, 166.
Side- Winders, 145, 228, 299.
Siemper Vivens, 155, 159.
Sierra de la Giganta, 209, 216.
Sierra del Pinto, 297.
Sistiago, Padre, 168.
Skulls, no, 126.
Snow, 22.
Socorro, 265, 267.
Soladeros, 119.
Solecuati, 202.
Song Birds, 123, 190.
Starvation, 81.
St. Denis, 260.
Surgery, 100.
Sugar-Cane, 196.

Taje, 114.
Tarantula, 130, 202.
Taravel, Padre, 150.
Tecarte, 321.
Teguas, 115, 198.
Thirst, 149, 157, 159, 166, 172, 198,
248, 298.
Thunderstorms, 309, 320.
Tia Juana, 321.
Tiburon, 128, 133, 190.
Timoteo, 79, 89, 260, 276, 288.
Tinajas, 66, 132, 159, 294.
Toasts, 142, 187.
Toba, Don Benigo de la, 234.
Toothache, 115.
Tortillas, 140, 148, 109, 204, 228, 230.
Tower Castle, 147, 157.
Trails, 37, 102, 228, 255, 276.

Trees, 174.
Tres Palomas, 270.
Tres Virgenes, 170, 173.
Triunfo, 241.
Turtles, 126, 127, 255.
U
Ugarte, Padre Juan, 305.
Ulloa, Francisco de, 249, 305.

Valdellon, Tomas, 21.
Vallecitos, 270.
Valledaras, 264, 310.
Valle Trinidad, 63, 269, 288.
Valley of Palms, 82.
Vega, Coronel Celsa, 259.
Victoria, Sr. Gabriel, 59, 260.
Villavacensio, Sr. Fidel, 115.
Villavacensio, Sr. Guillermo, 166.
Viznaga, 64, 154. W
Walker, "Filibuster," 29, 49, 239,
291, 298.
Weather, 17, 23.
Wild Flowers, 123, 128, 153, 189.
Wine, 112.
Whales, 126, 304.

Ximenes, Pedro, 25, 31, 71, 260.

Yaquis, 47, 109, 120, 126, 177, 185,
217.
Ybarra, Don Emaliano, 137, 143.
Youbai, Agua de, 104.

3 9002 05348