The Evening News. October 9, 1916.

14. The Daughter Of Don Jose. Part I.

Don Jose was born in California. His daughter was born ten miles from San Jose, nearly a century ago. She seldom traveled out of the county, but today she speaks little English. "Please take chair," "Thank you," "I not understand." Her nephew acted as interpreter.

Had the Spanish reign continued in California both Don Jose's daughter and her nephew today would be enormously rich. Today she is cooped up in a neat little San Jose house, and her nephew is a carpenter. But they bear "Gringos" no ill-will. Without hatred or bitterness these gentle Spanish Californians accepted their losses. Their hospitality was born of kindness.

Don Jose's daughter is a wasted, bent little woman with graying hair. Youth has left her withered frame. It lingers only in the glowing depths of her eyes.

"What was that old time life like?" I asked.

"Very happy," she said. "Nobody busy. Now everybody is busy."

"What did you do in the morning?"

She bowed her head. "We prayed. My father woke us at four o'clock. 'Viva Jose! Viva Maria!' My father, my mother, the children, the servants, every Indian prayed. 'Viva Jose! Viva Maria!' she chanted.

One saw the row of thick walled adobe houses. The sound of a hundred voices came from the distant Indian quarters. Don Jose was once more Lord of Milpitas and Charles III was King of Spain. "Again at four o'clock everyone said the "Rosary." When the evening came we said "Ave Maria."

"Where did you go to church?"

"Mission Santa Clara, Mission San Jose."

"There was a church in San Jose?"

"Oh yes," she said indifferently. "But we liked Santa Clara best."

"How did you go to church?" I asked.

"The ladies drove in the old, two-wheeled carts made by Indians. The gentlemen rode their hourses. Ladies never drove with gentlemen. The carts were heavy. They went slowly, but they had hoods to protect us in sun and rain. The carts were large enough to hold six. The oxen were trained especially for the carts. An Indian 'faced' the horses for the Mission. Then he walked on ahead as a guide. We used a long stick with a nail to prod the oxen with. The carts used to creak so that every half hour the Indian had to stop and soap the wheels with the horn of soap we always carried with us for the purpose. The gentleman rode on each side of the cart to keep off wild cattle. Sometimes cattle tore at us in droves. Later we had a carriage from England, a huge thing, one of the first in California. It cost $2500."

"How long did it take you to drive to Santa Clara?"

"Four hours and a half," she answered. "And we never missed a Sunday, rain or shine."

"What did you wear to church?" I asked.

Her hands clasped in estatic recollection of one who loves and cannot forget luxury. "Silk dresses, silk so thick that it stood alone. Shawls, rebosos. And we had to sit on the floor of the church in our beautiful clothing. We used to take carpet along to sit on."

"Did you get your shawls from Spain?" I asked.

"No, all our silk shawls came from China. They were in wonderful colors, black and red, black and gold. Sometimes of every color like Chinese dishes. The embroidery was an inch thick. The shawls cost a great deal. There are no shawls like those now. One of my sisters had twelve, of all colors. They cost two hundred dollars each."

"What became of them?" I asked.

The same hopeless look always comes over the Spanish when you speak of their vanished possessions. "Lost, stolen. Four were taken one night by Indians who bound and gagged us, trying to force us to tell where my father kept his strongbox. We had no banks, and all rich people buried their gold in the ground."

"You had gold?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh yes, Spanish doubloons, but we had no use for money. We raised our food, and we traded hides for clothing. My father used to throw Spanish doubloons worth twenty dollars to the children to scramble for as people throw pennies now."

Transcribed by Claire Martin, for the Santa Clara Co. CAGenWeb Project. 2007

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