Mower County transcript. [volume] (Lansing, Minn.) 1868-1915, 1886-04-28
HIS CRUEL FATE.

ashen, the sun red ball looking like
nothing but toy balloon; the bay
sheet of glass. Off to the southwest rise
the mountains of Mexico; back few
miles from the coast towers San Miguel,
gray, bare, and majestic; across the
harbor the breakers dash just as they
have been dashing ever since the earth
left its Creators hands, or at least as
long as old Juan Espada remembers,
which is a very long while indeed. Old
Juan is link between to-day, with its
telephones and carshops, and the gold
en- age of Spanish occupation. His
father came in the shining train of SOL
diers that followed Padre Junipero and
his sandaled companions the friars
going up the valley to favorble spot
and building the first mission church
of California, the soldiers encamping
at the preside, in sight of tho calm
ocean, and playing at war. Juan's
fat her was then but small lad, look
ing much like gay-winged butterfly
with his bright costume, his flying rib
bons, and his tiny guitar, brought all
the way from sunny Spain, Juan has
that guitar yet, and he sometimes
sits and thrums melody, and from his
withered old throat evokes sounds that
tell of the Guadalquivir' ripping wat
ers or of the home in far CASTLE. In
due time another butterfly winged its
way to the dull adobe fort-a little girl
who danced the cachucha when Jose,
now tall youth, played, and who, as
years went on, became bride, then
the mother of Juan, and in the course
of things an ancient Spanish dame,
telling her beads in a shadowy corner
of the church or scolding the maid for
forgetting to put the pinch of red pep
per in the broth. But at last she fol-
lowed Jose to the walled churchyard,
leaving Juan, an old man now, to tend
the sheep and dry the peppers.
And as he sits before his dwelling
in the remorseless sun, bit of the last
century left over-an archaic relic of
the days when the Spaniards were the
lords of the land, before the hated YAM
KEGS came in and possessed it. Juan
is looking for friend who comes to
chat with him daily, asking him the
most enticing questions about the times
when his father sang and his mother
danced in the preside and each fiesta
was the occasion of a bull-hght with
matadors right from Spain itself. She
is, in a moderate way, a Questioning,
and concOcts rOmances for filthy lucre.
He is to her just so much ''material, -
but he does not know it, and delight
eddy and unconsciously maunders on
about the famous strengthening up the
STA Juana and the earthquake that
rang the mission bells and cracked his
own adobe walls. On this particular
day, however, it is not the scribbler
who turns the corner of the low house,
but blonde man with slight roll in
his gait. He looks like young viking,
with his tanned cheeks and fair hair,
but he is only Marshall Mel, master of
the stanch schooner Pelican, now un-
loading redwood lumber at the wharf.
Juan rises to receive him, holding
out hand in true Mexican fashion, his
mind unconsciously turning to pecu-
liar brand of cigarets which the Cap
tain has the knack of finding in GER
tain shop in San Francisco. The ciga-
refs lose no time in finding their way
to Juan's brown palm, and soon the
smoke from one goes upward towards
the top of the eucalyptus trees about
the door. Continued association with
the hated Yankees has eliminated any
patois from the speech of the
old Spaniard. He has a lin
guistic taste and has acquired the
accents of the usurper.
"Ca2tain,. he says, ''you are most
| welcome"
THANK you, Senor," answers the
Captain. Il thought as much, for a
cigaret to Spaniard is as acceptable
as rose to a lovely women
"And how have you been since you
last sailed from here? l did not look
for you so soon again, and l thought
yon were the little New York lady un-
til you spoke
''But who is this mysterious lady,
''She is relative of the Victors upon
the hill. She writes for magazines.
But do not let that prejudice you
againsther," he adds ,,neasily, turning
his head to see if that well-worn, gray
gown may not be alarmingly near.
She is surely coming now with a
light step and gay laug h. Mel turns
to see the sunny face which ought to
go with such happy laugh and
springing step. But it is not a sunny
face. 1t is the visage of woman who
has seen much Of the darker side of
life-a face chiseled by experience, the
only perfect sculptor. But Mel has
seen beautiful faces that he liked less.
Juan's knowledge of the conven-
tionalities of society fails him. He
makes an awkward matter of the
introduction. but Miss Brantome is
equal to the occasion.
Juan has told you my name, and you
are Capt. Mel of that three-masted
schooner at the wharf. Now we know
each other" But Mel does not seem
so exceedingly well acquainted as she
indicates by her words. He is shy
man, at his ease. to be sure, when with
the bellies of Humboldt County, but he
has never before met a lady from New
York who writes for the press. 1t
pleases her to draw out this Captain,
who tries so hard to be social, but who
so signally fails. But he answers in
abrupt monosyllables. There surely
must be some subject on which he can
talk. Any man can talk shop. She
will encourage him to do it.
"How many tons does your schooner
carry. Captain?' she inquiries innocent
ly. All! he wakes up, and, after tel
ling her of his ships burthen, launches
into a talk of ships in general-of one
he sailed in the Indian Ocean, of q
yacht he commanded on a pleasure
trip with an English Lord. Her face
is all aglow. He interests her, he
thinks. Yes, he interests her as new
species of bee does naturalist. She