At the Home of ‘Ramona’

At the Home of "Ramona" By Alfred Lambourne OUR stay at the Camulos Ranch, or the home of "Ramona," as it will henceforth be more generally called, was a pleasant one. The place gives a perfect conception of an old-time Mexican-Spanish homestead, such as were once quite common throughout this part of the country, but which are now fast disappearing from the land. The ranch is situated in the Santa Clara Valley, which opens out onto the shores of the Pacific Ocean, in the most delightful semi-tropic region of Southern California. Quite attractive enough in itself is the place, apart from the tinge of romance Mrs. Jackson's book has necessarily thrown around it. The pastoral scenes and incidents that may be witnessed there are highly suggestive of other lands, and one can scarcely believe himself within the limits of the United States while looking upon them. As may truly be said of many other visitors, we were attracted to the place by the ideal joys and sorrows of Ramona and her Indian lover. It was a preliminary visit to the port of Monterey with its historical associations and picturesque buildings and quaint graveyard on the mossy tombstones of which might be read names that suggested such loves as those told in the prelude of the romance. And the days we had just passed at the old mission at Santa Barbara, taking note of the drowsy life there, and those days we had spent in watching the play of the soft, blue Pacific from the low, stooping cliffs of the Rincon, had sufficiently weaned our thoughts away from the affairs of every-day life to enable us to thoroughly enjoy a stay at this quiet, sequestered spot. The charm of Mrs. Jackson's story of Ramona lies in the subtle power with which she links the actual, the physical features that may be seen there, with her imaginary persons and incidents. Now, whenever I shall think of the old mission at Santa Barbara, it will bring up an image of Father Salvadierra, in the closing hours of his life, and certainly a flock of sheep pastured

AT THE HOME OF "RAMONA" 5 near an orange grove, will recall the exploits of Alessandro and his band of dark-skinned shearers. Our visit was fortunate in regard to season. The amorous breath of spring was wafted through the pleasant valley. The wild mustard plant, "with its stems so small as to be almost invisible," was in full flower, and still suggested the simile of a golden snow storm. The willows along the banks of the Santa Clara were as light, as vividly green, and the orange trees as glossy and dark; the pepper trees waved their long pendant branches as quickly to the slightest breeze, and the "curves, hollows and crests" of the Sierra de San Rafael were as iridescent, The Mission at Santa Barbara as thickly covered with verdure and bloom, as in the springtime of the years gone by. Those who have read the charming novel will remember that the story deals with the wrong, the injustice done to the Indians during the early settlement by Eastern people of Southern California. Perhaps in several instances these wrongs are over-stated, although in the main they are probably correct. Much injustice, no doubt, occurred; many gross violations of truth and right. The California Indians were of a very peaceful nature, from all accounts, grateful for the smallest favors, and their trouble with the white settlers fully justifies the general tenor of the book. Cabrillo, one of the earliest explorers of the coast, if not the very first (his bones now rest somewhere on the Island of San Miguel, the most westerly of the group of islands visible from the coast), bears witness to their simplicity in his diary (1542), and later on we have the statements of Drake, from his memorable piratical voyage of 1579, of the perfect

6 IMPROVEMENT ERA confidence the natives placed in the superior knowledge of the invaders and their good intentions toward themselves. According to old Fuller, the scenes enacted between Drake and the Indians were something similar to those with Columbus at Hispaniola. Drake and his party were worshiped as superior beings; "baskets of tobacco and presents of boiled fish came daily to the English ships from the conical huts on shore, and in return for these the English sent lotions and ointments to such of the natives as had sores or wounds." Under the Mexican Senors the Indians enjoyed certain and liberal privileges, and by the mission fathers they were treated with the utmost kindness. Not until after the acquisition of Southern California by the United States, at the close of the Mexican War, did their trouble begin. Then their eviction from the lands they had so long enjoyed began to occur. Throughout the story the character of Alessandro is skillfully portrayed. His Indian blood and Indian nature assert themselves in spite of all early training. Fierce is his love for Ramona, and deep his hatred of his oppressors. He is morose. Even the gentle patience of Ramona could not make him shake off the sometimes sullen, the sometimes fierce resentment that he felt at the sight of the downfall and gradual extinction of his race. Had there been, says a recent writer, commenting upon the plot of the story, many Alessandros among the Indians, the chances are that much that was blamable would not have occurred. A determined movement on the part of those holding land would have brought some recogitions, at least, of their rights to the land they had tilled. By many this resurrection of dead issues, this recital of the wrongs of a race who were certainly most inferior, will be considered as useless. But the author of the book has thought otherwise, and, indeed, as she intended, the story points a moral, indicates the better course to pursue in many a quarter yet, and then genius must have a theme, a central thought to work upon, and around which to weave the colors of romance. Truly the work is better done if from the heart of the writer there wells up true indignation at injustice suffered, and the hope that her words may have some power to avert such injustice again in the future, even if only to the fast dwindling remnant of the red man. Within a few moments of our arrival at the Camulos Ranch, our ears were greeted by the sounds of a bell. This bell, we afterward discovered, formed one in a set of three, all of which were imported from Spain, as told by the inscriptions running around their rims. They are very ancient-looking, and are most likely relics of some one of the old missions falling into decay in the neighborhood, probably San Luis Rey. The bells are

AT THE HOME OF "RAMONA" hung in a stout wooden framework hard by the little chapel, which is one of the distinguishing features of the Camulos Ranch, and not more than a rod from the south veranda of the house, where so many of the more interesting episodes of the story take place. One of these performs the office of summoning to meals all persons at the ranch, and another assembles them for worship and prayer. The one whose voice we first heard was sounding for the evening meal, and, judging by the number and heterogeneous nature of the crowd of persons that responded •-' ^4F^m^0&£+ 11 t3sS _ & '; IfjJ W i Jl :l ^'^wmKLsMM*Mi 1 W m '^^HfafiS 1 K - j&ffl m J^SsffisEaSSfr Mi Home of Ramona, Camulos to its call, the hospitality and patriarchal character of the place have in no ways declined. One of the most interesting as well as novel sights at Camulos is the morning prayer. I have already mentioned the little chapel. It is embowered amid the orange trees, and although only just large enough to accommodate the family circle the — attaches of the place kneeling in the long arbor adjoining the — altar is quite elegant, and on the walls are several old paintings of saints, reputed to be of considerable value. The Senora at Camulos, as can be imagined, is a most devoted Catholic, and the chapel was erected for entirely private use. Many a priest has officiated within its narrow space. On the hilltops overlooking the valley, are placed a couple of large, white crosses, for the purpose, perhaps, which the Senora Morena mentioned, "that the heretics may know, when they go by, that they are on the estate of a good Catholic; and that the faithful may be reminded to pray." At an early hour of the morning several of the young misses

8 IMPROVEMENT ERA of the house, senoritas, I suppose I must call them, appeared in the garden and gathered a number of large bouquets to decorate the chapel altar. At the third warning of the bell the priest emerged from the house, followed by the greater number of its inmates. Of course some curiosity is naturally felt by visitors to sec the lady of the house, and to detect in her, if possible, any traces of the Senora Morena. Outwardly there is certainly none, except that she evinces the shrewd, business-like tact of the ideal creation. We had ample evidence of this when she gave directions to the men engaged in trimming the orange trees, and to those transferring to boxes for shipment the loads of golden fruit that hung upon them. I am possessed of a peculiar dislike for people or books that pursue an author and endeavor to point out what they or it consider the truth of some masterpiece of romance. I do not wish to dissect the ttory of Ramona; I intend to enjoy its beauty as I would that of a flower without pulling it to pieces. By the side of the fountain beneath the orange trees I was presented to the original of Ramona. "Her loveliness with shame and with surprise Froze my swift speech." Never had I looked upon a more beautiful creature. And her charms were enhanced by an indescribable sweetness and dignity of manner. Alessandro, being an Indian, might have been brave enough to look into those dark liquid eyes but I was not. And then there was the wealth of midnight hair and the wondrous beauty of her hands and feet; but beyond all that, I have an undying memory of the softness and richness of her voice. The fair lady was gracious enough to inscribe her autograph upon a small sketch book which I then carried, and also to gather from a nearby hedge and present to me a spray of that exquisite bush which is called the Breath of Heaven, and these I have kept for many a day. The service in the chapel was effective and simple. It could hardly fail to be effective amid such surroundings. During the prayer of the girls, at its latter part, the click of the trimmingshears founded continually from the orange grove, and the songs of the many birds that freouent the place — canaries, finches — and linnets mingled with the chanted responses. Though not having altogether the beautiful significance of the Sunrise Hymn eo skillfully used in the story, is strongly recalled that beautiful incident to memory, especially the answering of the birds. "Singers at dawn From the heavens above, People all regions, Glady we, too, sing."

AT THE HOME OF "RAMONA" 9 An indispensable appendage to a Mexican house of any pre- — tentions is a fountain. There are two at Camulos Ranch one by the chapel and a smaller one in the courtyard to the north of the house. The courtyard ought to have been mentioned first, for of all things southern, the most pre-eminently southern is a courtyard to the house. "There is enacted the greater part of the domestic drama; there, under the shadow of the veranda, hang the water-jars; there the women weave their lace; and the shepherd and the herdsman lounge, and smoke and train their dogs there; there the young make love and the old doze." Yes, the veranda of a courtyard at a Mexican home is an agreeable place, and makes one half, if not wholly, in love with southern life. There to the utmost one can indulge in dreamy reverie, learn the virtue of not being in haste, and soon be the world forgetting and by the world forgot. Camuloa will be a pleasant memory, to us at least. Its delectable surroundings, its orange groves, its olive, almond and lemon trees; its vineyards, its clambering roses and, most of all, the glimpse it gave of a life tinged with the Dolce far niente of the south will often appear, like an oasis, amid the memories of more sterile scenes. When the one tall cypress standing by the fountain was outlined in black against twilight sky hazy— yet with the fervent heat of the past day; when the breeze that crept through the valley dissipated around the rich perfume of the orange and the flowering almond, and when on the ear fell the soft rippling of the Santa Clara, as it moved onward to the sea, it seemed, not that we were in California at all, but on some favored spot of sunny Mexico, or beneath the sky of Spain. — . * Ktn a W 4K