Daily globe., 1883-07-29
I,,diass Longevity.
[H. H. in the August. Century I


A few rods from the old mission church
of San Gabriel, in hut made of bundles
of the tule reeds lashed to sycamore poles,
as the San Gabriel Indians made them 100
years ago, live two old Indian women,
Laura and Benjamina. Laura is 102 years
old, Benjamina III. The record of their
baptisms is still to be seen in the church
books; SO there can be no dispute as to
their age. 1t seems not at all incredible,
however. Ii had been told that Benja-
nina was 5000 ,year-old Nile mummy,
resuscitated by some mysterious process,
I should not have demurred much at the
tale.
The first time 1 saw them the two were
crouching over fire on the ground, under
a sort of booth porch, in front of their
howell. Laura was making feint of grind
ing acorn meal in stone bowl; Benlami-
ma was raking the ashes, with her claw
like old fingers, for hot Goals to start the
fire afresh; her skin was like an elephants,
shriveled, black, hanging in folds and
welts on her neck and breast and bony
arms; it was not like anything human;
her shrunken eyes, bright as beads, peered
out from under thickets of coarse grizzled
d
around her head, tied on with strip of
scarlet flannel; above that, tattered
black shawl, which gave her the look
of an aged imp. Old baskets, old pots,
old pans, old stone mortars and pestles,
broken tiles and bricks, rags, straw, boxes,
legless chairs-in short, all conceivable
rubbish-were strewn about or piled up in
the place, making the weirdesG of back
grounds for the aged crones' figures. In
side the hut were two bedsteads and few
boxes, baskets and nets; and drying grapes
and peppers hung on the walls. A few
feet away was another hut, only a trife
better than this; four generations were
living in the two. Benjamina's step
daughter, aged eighty, was fine creature.
With white band straight around her
forehsad close TO the eyebrows and gay
plaid handkerchief thrown on above it,
falling squarely each side of her face, she
looked like an old Bedouin sheik.
Our Mexican friend remembered Laura
as she was fifty years ago. She was then,
even at fifty two, celebrated as one of the
swiftest runners and best ball players in
all the San Gabriel games. She was
singer, too, in the choir. Coaxing her up
on her feet, patting her shoulders, entreat
ing and caressing her as one would child,
he succeeded in persuading her to chant
for us the Lords prayer and part of the
litanies, as she had been wont to do it in
the old days. 1t was grotesque and in
credible sight. The more she stirred and
sang and lifted her arms, the less alive she
looked. We asked the step daughter if
they were happy and wished to live.
Laughing, she repeated the question to
them. 'Oh, yes, we wish to live for
ever," they replied. They we're greatly ter
rifed, the daughter said, when the railway
cars first ran through San Gabriel. They
thought it was the devil bringing fire to
burn up the world. Their chief solace is
tobacco. To beg it, Benjamina will creep
about in the village by the hour, bent
double over her staff, tottering at every
step. They sit for the most part silent,
motionless, on the ground; their knees
drawn up, their hands clasped over them,
their heads sunk on their breasts. In my
drives in the San Gabriel valley, often
saw them sitting thus, asif they were dead.
The sight had an indescrlbable fascina-
tion. 1t seemed that to be able to pene-
trate into the recesses of their thoughts
would be to lay hold upon secrets as old as
the earth,