E.P. Roe: Reminiscences of his Life Part 8

"One of the remarkable characteristics of the town is the large percentage of what is justly termed good society--a society not resting its claims on wealth or an ancestry long known and recognised in the vicinity, but on the much better qualities of refinement, intelligence, and cultivation. Search for health and a genial climate have brought people here from all parts of the Union, and not a few, after long residence abroad, prefer this Pacific slope to any of the world-renowned regions on the Mediterranean. One therefore soon discovers a marked absence of provincialism and is led to expect that the quiet lady or gentleman to whom he is introduced has seen far more of the world than himself. The small, unpretentious cottage facing the gra.s.sy sidewalk may be inhabited by a mechanic, or it may be the dwelling-place of people cosmopolitan in their culture and experience. Strangers are not wholly dependent on each other for society, as is so often true of health resorts, but find a resident population both hospitable and acquainted with life in its most varied aspects. Much of the abundant leisure possessed by many is spent in reading, and to this pleasure a large, well-selected free library contributes greatly."

Edward had the good fortune to arrive at Santa Barbara in time to witness its unique centennial celebration, of which he gives a detailed description.

"SANTA BARBARA, Cal., January 7, 1887.

"Few more interesting events ever took place in the quaint and quiet town of Santa Barbara than its centennial, and nothing resembling it in any true sense can ever occur again. The Indian element of this region receded and disappeared before the Spanish, and the latter population is fast becoming a minority among the still paler faces arriving from the East. The time perhaps is not distant when Santa Barbara may be known as a New England city. Even in its centennial the great effort made to recall the past and the old resulted in a large degree from the interest taken by new comers in vanishing phases of life. The success of the enterprise was due largely to the organization, young in age and composed chiefly of youthful members, ent.i.tled the 'Go Ahead Club.' The name itself suggests the East, and the opposite of the Spanish disposition to permit each day to be a repet.i.tion of a former day, yet the club had the tact and friendly feeling to co-operate with the best Spanish element, and to bring about a festival week which interested all cla.s.ses of people.

"For days even a stranger was impressed by a slight bustle of preparation. When riding up from the steamer we saw, in the dim starlight, that a great arch spanned Main Street. Observation in the bright sunshine of the morrow proved this arch to be a wooden structure and a fine imitation of the front of the old mission with its quaint towers. Busy workmen were draping the edifice with some variety of aromatic evergreen and with palm leaves, and it still remains as a suggestion to new comers of what they missed in not arriving earlier.

"The opening ceremonies of the week naturally centered at the Mission Church, and on Sunday the religious phase of the festival culminated. Even before we were through breakfast groups were seen pressing from town. Later there were the sounds of rapid wheels and the echoing tramp of horses. We soon joined the increasing throng wending its way up the slopes which lift the Mission above the town and place it against the grand mountain background. Spanish colors, red and yellow, hung from tower to tower, while American flags floated from the belfry arches. Within the long, narrow interior of the church the sunshine contended with innumerable candles flickering on the altar, at the shrines, and from the chandeliers.

The softly blended light revealed the beautiful decorations drawn from the abundant flora and plant life of the region.

"The elaborate service began, the fragrance of roses was lost in that of the incense, the rustle of dresses and tread of incoming feet in the mellow tones of the chanting priest and the responses of the choir. Every seat and all standing room was occupied, rich and poor sharing alike according to the earliness of their arrival.

Next to a dark-visaged Spanish laborer might be seen the delicate bloom of a New England girl's features. Beautiful lace mantillas were worn in several instances. In looking at them one sighed as he thought of the various monstrosities termed bonnets which disfigure modern women. The clergy were in their most gorgeous robes, strong contrasts in tone and color on every side, but above all was a sense of the past touching the present in many and unexpected ways; and this effect was enhanced by a sermon in English, giving an account of the founding of the Mission. Late one afternoon, on a subsequent day, I found the door of the church open and, venturing in, saw the western sun shining through the high narrow windows, lighting up shrines and images with the mellowest light and throwing others into the deepest shadow.

"No one was visible, yet in the silence and desertion of the place one felt more like worship than when, a part of the throng, he witnessed the ceremonials of the preceding Sunday.

"Later still, returning from a ramble in Mission Canon, I peeped into the old church once more. Twilight had deepened into dusk--all was dark within, except the faintest glimmer of a taper at the altar, where it was evident that some of the Franciscans were engaged in their devotions. As I crept noiselessly away the bells chimed out from the belfry. In the upper gallery of the long corridor stretching from the right of the chapel there was an immediate opening of doors and a shuffling of feet.

"Evidently the bells had summoned to some new duty,--attendance in the refectory at that hour, I trust,--and I could have cordially joined the venerable fathers then, however simple their diet.

"On Monday the festival pa.s.sed into its secular aspect. The morning was deemed most unfavorable in this climate, where a cloud, even in winter, is far more rare than roses. The sky was overcast with what the Spaniards call a 'high fog.' The sun soon proved, however, to be the victor, for early in the day the leaden pall was shot through and through with light. Not only from the most distant and well-to-do ranches, but from all the small adobe houses and huts that skirt the mountains, the people were on the way to town in the early hours. They appeared on the streets in almost every description of vehicle imaginable, and not a few looked as if they had trudged from a long distance. The majority, both of men and women, had apparently ridden in on their broncho horses, the hardy and often vicious native breed of the region. The townspeople had prepared a brilliant welcome, for the whole length of State Street was decorated with flags and streamers of many and varied devices, the Spanish and American colors blending most amicably. There was bustle and movement, life and color, with an increasing concourse throughout the whole length of the thoroughfare. To a stranger's eye, men in various costumes were riding aimlessly and often furiously to and fro, but as noon approached affairs began to culminate in the blocks above the Arlington Hotel. Here the procession was forming, and it proved to be the chief event of the week. Nature was now a.s.sisting to make the occasion all that could be desired. The clouds that had threatened now merely saved the day from an unredeemed glare. After the usual delay in processions, it began to pa.s.s the balcony of the Arlington Hotel, where scores of guests were a.s.sembled to witness the pageant. First came the grand marshal in a genuine Mexican suit and mantle. Following him were his aides, dressed in rich, various, and characteristic Spanish costumes, some of which were remarkable for their beauty and others were picturesque in the extreme. One young gentleman was habited in blue, lavishly laced with silver. It was the cadet uniform of the Spanish army, and had belonged to his grandfather. Another, clad in cream white satin and gold lace, with crimson sash and other accessories, made a striking figure.

"Indeed, each of the aides graced the occasion in handsome costumes which were, as I was told, no capricious and fancy affairs, but a reproduction of the gala habiliments of the past. They sat their fine horses in Mexican saddles which were in themselves marvels of old and curious workmanship. A like cavalcade in Broadway would draw out the town.

"Next in order came the Spanish division, men and women on horseback, and nearly fifty strong. It was evident that all heirlooms in dress had been rummaged from their receptacles and made to fit the descendants of remote ancestors. It would be hard to say how many different ages and how many provinces in Spain and Mexico were represented.

"To modern eyes the picturesque had the ascendency over other qualities, but all welcomed the man carrying a guitar. At any rate, this division pa.s.sed all too quickly, singing an ancient Spanish song. Close upon them were a band of soldiers clad in suits of antiquated buff jerkins, armed in old Mexican style with long pikes and muskets that may have been formidable once. It is doubtful whether a band so representative of the old Spanish element will ever appear on the streets of an American town again. Years hence such an attempt will be more of a masquerade than a reproduction.

In this instance the genuine Spaniards were too numerous and their traditions too recent and real to permit impositions.

"Many Spaniards and native Californians not in costume now followed, and then came an old-fashioned ox-cart, dating back a century and drawn by oxen yoked by the horns. Within the cart was a wooden plow that had turned some of the earliest furrows in this region, and would have been equally satisfactory at the time of Abraham. In this age of invention one wonders that people remained satisfied so long with such primitive methods and implements.

Appropriately following the cart, the like of which had been used by their ancestors, came the shrunken band of Mission Indians, the two foremost of them carrying a portrait, draped in Spanish colors, of Padre Junupero Serra.

"The good father pa.s.sed away centuries ago, and the Indians he sought to civilize are also nearly extinct, but the principles which actuated him have redeemed his name from forgetfulness and will crown it with increasing honor.

"The half-dozen Indians were chanting some wild song of their own when the fine band from San Luis Obispo struck up and the wail-like echo of the past was lost. Then came another significant and diminishing company, the Grand Army of the Republic. On every public occasion the ranks are thinner and the hair of the veterans grayer. They, too, will soon leave but a name, but it will not be forgotten.

"Driving away sad, if not gloomy thoughts, comes now a vision of beauty and youth; the joy of to-day and the rich promise of the future--an indefinite number of young girls who, in their two-wheeled village carts, or 'tubs,' as the English term them, drew forth rapturous applause. Well they might, for they were in harmony with the loveliness of the June-like day. Their little carts had been transformed into floral bowers. The flowers and greenery so festooned the horses that they were half-hidden, while wheels within wheels of smilax, roses, geraniums, daisies, and other blossoms revolved in unison with the outer circ.u.mferences.

Each little cart had its own distinctive character, and some had been decorated with rare taste and originality. Not a few of the girls carried parasols constructed entirely of roses, or of geraniums, pa.s.sion flowers, orange blossoms, etc. Greenhouses had not been stripped for them, nor, indeed, the open gardens from which they had been taken. Truly, no such visible and delightful proof could have been given to our Northern eyes that we had come to the land of flowers. Gardens, orange trees golden with fruit, formed the background for this charming part of the procession, while beyond and above all rose the grand Santa Ynez Mountains, softening their rugged outlines with half-veiling mists.

"Burlesque followed close upon beauty in the form of an old farm cart laden with the coa.r.s.er vegetables and driven by two young men in the garb of ancient females. The trades' procession came next, and spoke well for the business of the city, but our eyes soon dwelt lovingly on over a hundred school children, who made, by their unrestrained laughter, the sweetest music of the day, while two little girls riding on one much-bedecked donkey caused ripples of merriment as they pa.s.sed.

"A cavalcade of carriages and of ladies and gentlemen on horseback seemed about to close the procession, when there appeared one of the most interesting features yet seen--a train of pack mules, not merely ill.u.s.trating the former method of transportation, but that employed to-day by the owner of the train. I hastened to the director, whose dress indicated a rude mountaineer, and expected a half intelligible reply from a Spaniard. The accent of his first word led me to scan his delicate Anglo-Saxon features. I eventually learned that he was a New Yorker, a member of one of its best-known families, and not a native of a little-known wilderness.

"Nevertheless he is a mountaineer. Dressed for a Fifth Avenue company one would not suspect it, his form is so slight and complexion so fair. Dudes would not be abashed at his presence, yet they would expire under one day of his experiences.

"Only by a mule train, led over a scarcely practicable trail, can he reach his distant ranch, that is forty-five miles back in the heart of the mountains. Here, with another young man, a kindred spirit, he cares for an increasing herd of cattle, and if necessary is ready to protect it from wild animals. The grazing grounds are far within a region about as wild as it ever has been. How about the young men who whine when they can find nothing to do?

"The interest of the two closing days of the festival centered at the race course and at the pavilion. The chief attractions at the former place were to be seen on Tuesday, and they were of a mixed character. We were treated to what would seem to be a rather rare phenomenon in Santa Barbara--a genuine Indian summer day of the warmest type, as we know it at the East. A haze partly obscured the Santa Ynez Mountains, softened the outlines of the foothills and blended the ocean with the sky. The air was soft and balmy in the extreme, but one soon detected a slight chill in the shade. All sorts of vehicles, from stages of unwieldy height, open barouches, farmers' wagons of all descriptions, top buggies, down to the numerous little two-wheeled carts, rapidly converged toward the judges' stand. As on all gala occasions here, however, the number on horseback was very large, the ladies sitting their horses with perfect ease and grace. Not a few, like myself, were content to trudge to the rendezvous on foot. The grand stand was soon crowded, and the vast, restless concourse stretched far to the right and left on either side of the race track. The horsemanship of the Spaniards could only be surpa.s.sed by the fine action of their steeds, and all lovers of this n.o.blest of animals must have been delighted. In the effort to show how wild cattle were la.s.soed, thrown, and branded there appeared to be too much needless cruelty, and when a miserable little bull was tormented into savageness, and the semblance of a bull-fight took place, scores of people turned away in disgust.

"The finest equestrianism could not redeem the scene from brutality. The victims were the wretched bull, a fine innocent horse badly gored, and the people who could not endure to see animals suffer needlessly. So also in the afternoon great skill was undoubtedly manifested in la.s.soing the feet of the wild broncho horses, and in the process of subduing them, yet one pitied the poor creatures too greatly for enjoyment and soon turned away. The helpless beasts were checked in full career, often thrown upon their heads, turning a complete somersault. One animal, I was told, broke its neck in the operation, and so escaped further suffering.

Such scenes, no doubt, ill.u.s.trated much that was common in the life of the early settlers, but happily it is a past phase, and will scarcely be reproduced again in this region.

"It was interesting to observe the many types of people in festival costume, the Indian in his blanket, the Spaniard wearing the broad sombrero, and the belle from New York reflecting the latest mode.

There was movement, light, color, vivacity, and excitement.

"Every moment or two the eye caught glimpses of swift, spirited horses and their graceful riders, and yet one's glance was often lured from it all to the grand, mist-veiled mountains beyond. Many of the scenes and objects at the pavilion were very interesting to our foreign eyes and ears. Here Spanish and American life met and mingled in a far more agreeable way. Several ladies had taken charge of the large building, erected for horticultural purposes, and by the aid of greenery, flowers, flags, and a blending of Spanish and American colors, had transformed the s.p.a.cious interior into a decorated hall well fitted for a festival. In the centre of the hall rose a flower stand suggesting Moorish architecture, its arches making fitting frames for the young girls within. One might buy flowers, but his eye lingered rather on the fair flower-girls in their charming costumes. Among the booths was one in which some Spanish ladies had kindly permitted to be exhibited some of their ancient treasures--velvet mantles, embroidered shawls, etc. Even to masculine eyes they were marvellously beautiful, rich, and intricate in their designs. The ladies stood before them with clasped hands and expressed themselves in exclamation points. The chief attraction, however, was the stage, on which were tableaux and, above all, the genuine Spanish fandango. One of the dances was a waltz, with an intricate figure which you felt might go on forever, and that you could look on a good part of the time. At first it struck one as merely simple, graceful, and very slow, and guided by monotonous music; but while you looked and listened a fascination grew upon you hard to account for. The oft-repeated strain began to repeat itself in your mind; you felt rather than saw how it controlled the leisurely gliding figures--for there is no hopping in the Spanish dances--until at last, in fancy, you were moving with them in perfect time and step. In brief, the dance had the effect of a strain of music which, when first heard, is not at all striking, yet is soon running in your head as if it had a spell not easily broken. On the programme the dance was ent.i.tled 'Contra Danza.' Later a Spaniard who has a wide local reputation, I believe, appeared in what was termed 'Son-jarabe.' He certainly left nothing to be desired in his performance after his fashion, but the grace of the lady who accompanied was inimitable. From my somewhat distant point of view she appeared to be dressed in a simple black gown and wore no ornaments. She needed none. No bespangled dancer I ever saw so enchained my eyes. One would almost think that an orange, placed upon her head, would not fall off, and yet a more utter absence of stiffness in movement was never witnessed. She seemed ever approaching, yet ever receding from, her companion; a moment near, then far away, gliding to one side or the other, as if impossible to be reached in her coquetry of elusive grace. Each separate movement was called out in Spanish, and in a varied, half-musical accent not easily described.

"At the closing centennial ball like dances were repeated, the partic.i.p.ants wearing Spanish costumes. Here we had a nearer and more distinct view of the fandango. We again saw the 'Contra Danza,' and another, even more intricate, that was as odd as it was full of grace and unexpected action. If 'La Jota' is an old dance, it should certainly take the place of many that have little to redeem them from commonplace, if not worse.

"Son-jarabe was again repeated to the pleasure of all, and especially of the Spaniards, who, in conformance with an old custom, expressed their satisfaction by raining silver down upon the floor from the gallery. There was the same weird intoning by the master of ceremonies, calling off the different measures; the same constantly recurring strains of music that haunted one long afterward, and the same slow yet singularly graceful movement of the dancers. All were in Spanish costume, although many American young men and maidens were also partic.i.p.ants, yet had been taught so well by their Spanish friends that they were scarcely to be distinguished from them. The Spanish dances that I saw did not strike me as at all voluptuous, and no one appeared who was not dressed in accordance with the strictest ideas of decorum. The whole pageant pa.s.sed away with the ball, and nothing remains to remind us of the centennial but the green arch spanning State Street. The old Mission stands out gray and silent, except that its bells occasionally chime out for reasons unknown to me."

Writing again, in April, my brother describes the change wrought by the first heavy rainfall of the season.

"One of the drawbacks to Santa Barbara is the dust, and it is a disagreeable accompaniment of a dry climate which must be accepted.

Towards the end of January there were occasionally high, gusty winds which reminded one of March experiences at home. At times the dust rose in clouds and obscured the city, and to my taste the wildest snowstorm would be preferable to these chilling, stifling tempests. They were not frequent or long continued, however, and the old inhabitants said they presaged rain, the great bounty for which the whole State was longing.

"A rainless winter is a terrible misfortune, and when February finds the ground hard and dry there is deep and natural anxiety.

"In one dry season, years ago, forty thousand head of cattle perished. With present means of communication this probably would not happen again, but a check would be given to budding prosperity which would take several fruitful years to overcome. There were scores of people hesitating whether to buy or build who would decide favorably if the usual rainfall occurred. When, therefore, on the 5th the first storm of the season set in, rejoicing and congratulations were general. Seldom before have I so realized what a heavenly bounty rain is. The whole population were hoping, waiting, longing, and one would be callous indeed not to sympathize. For that matter, the interests of temporary visitors were also deeply involved, as may be ill.u.s.trated by the pleasure I had in watching from my study window the bare, brown foothills become greener daily. With intervals, designed, it would seem, to give the parched earth time to take in the precious moisture, the rains continued for about ten days. At last there was a steady down-pour for nearly twenty-four hours, and then dawned a morning that for brightness, clearness, and beauty left nothing to be imagined. The birds were fairly ecstatic in their rejoicings and nature seemed to be tripping forth like a young girl to her work.

It may be that she will have to perfect most of the products of the earth without another drop of rain, and she will prove equal to the task.

"A fruitful year in this section does not depend on seasonable storms and showers, as with us, but upon the number of inches of the winter rainfall, the soil retaining sufficient moisture to carry the crops through in safety. Many tourists came in the height of the storm and some had a hard time of it. The hotels were crowded; and not a few, miserably seasick, were driven from house to house in pouring rain searching for rooms. Except on State Street the highways of the city are little more than country roads, the bottom of which, as in Virginia, seems to have fallen out. One stage load was spilled into the mud and no doubt carried away sinister memories of "sunny Santa Barbara." The weather, which was the salvation of the country, was well anathematized by transient visitors, and one lady was overheard to remark that she had seen the first of the place and hoped that she had seen the last. Thus judgments and opinions are formed. Those who remained and saw the exquisite phases of spring rapidly developing under the vivid sunshine would be in no hurry to see the last of Santa Barbara, and a more perfect summer morning has rarely been seen than dawned on the last day of the month."

CHAPTER XII

RETURN TO CORNWALL--LETTERS

I spent the summer of 1887 with Edward and his family at Santa Barbara; and he left me there in September on his return to his home at Cornwall. He expected to come back during the winter of 1889; and just a week before his sudden death, while I was at the Western Chautauqua, near Monterey, I had my last letter from him, telling of his plans for a California story which he hoped to write when once more at Santa Barbara.

That evening, Major-General O. O. Howard gave a lecture upon the Battle of Gettysburg, and at its close I had some conversation with him, in the course of which I spoke of the letter just received. He had been well acquainted with my brother at West Point. I remember his saying at this time: "I gave a copy of 'A Knight of the Nineteenth Century' to a young man about whose course of life I felt great anxiety, and that book, he wrote me, was the means of his entire reformation."

This is but one of many similar instances that came before me personally during my sojourn in the West.

At the time of Edward's departure from Santa Barbara he had engaged to write a story for _Harper's Magazine_ which should be a sequel to "Nature's Serial," and which was to be fully ill.u.s.trated by Mr. William Hamilton Gibson. It was therefore necessary for him to be near the scenes of his proposed story and in easy communication with Mr. Gibson.

It may not be out of place to print here the following letters. Many of them are separated by long intervals of time and have no direct connection with each other, but they are expressive of the warm friendship that existed between my brother and the talented artist.

"SANTA BARBARA, July 17, 1887.

"MY DEAR MR. GIBSON,--The longer I remain here and the more I see of this region the oftener I think of you: and the more earnestly I am bent on your coming here with your sketch-book.