The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1902-06-13
THE GHOSTS WORK.
BY b. c. TRUMAN.

/ at the old town which contained the partly
| ruined mission of San Juan Capistrano.
| The site of the mission of Capistrano was
selected on the first of November, l776, by
Padre Gorgonio, and, as the ruins indicate,
the main structure was of lime and stone,
from design after st. Peters. 1t took
80 years to accomplish what an earthquake
| cruelty disturbed in 40 seconds-the par
tial destruction taking place on Deem
/ Der Sabbath morning in 1872, at precisely IL
o'clock, at which AZ persons were killed out
right. And SO the pretentious space former
ly dedicated to chants and benedictions be-
came a medley of adobes and debris; and
| for many years only the linnet assisted at
mass and the mocking-bird at vespers. But
the ruin still remains, amid the majesty of
| its annals. There is the same sun in the
morning and the same moon at night, and
the consultations may be seen from the
| ground floor
| In 1918 Bouchard, the pirate, visited San
Juan Capistrano, and he and his bearded
corsairs took off gold and silver, girls and
| wine. In 1916, there came another earth
quake that threw down more arches and
| columns, and frightened the priests and sol
| diers and neophytes into the hills, where
great fssure nearly took the victims into its
| enormous jaw. But the ghost that made its
appearance in 1867 terrorized the inhabit-
ants of the adobe town more than all the
earthquakes, pirates, floods and droughts.
Don Juan Forster of matchless equi-
poise and intelligence, shook his massive
head and declared that, while he had never
believed in ghosts or COLLINS, there was
strangeness that he could not compass.
Col. Cave. j. Couts, the elegant ex-lieuten-
ant of the American army, who had car
ried off in marriage the handsomest senorlta
in all the country round, and whose educa-
ton at West Point had made him an oracle
in many perplexing matters, remained sub
stantially silent, merely admitting that the
revelations were beyond his reasoning fac
ulties. Capt. George A. Johnston, the
rugged nobleman of Penasquitas, whose
latch-string was always out, declared that
no phantasmagoria had ever disturbed his
siestas or slumbers; while the native in
habitants, generally, locked and barred
their windows and doors much of the time,
although Father Nut, the genial priest in
charge, had frequently assured them that
bolts and bars were of no resistance to such
phenomena.
At this time there were only three Amer
lean residents of San Juan Capistrano-an
Emerald Islander named Mclaughlin, who
kept hotel; a monstrous German, named
Charlie, who kept saloon hard by; and
a handsome little French Basque, who was
sort of an inferior Dazzle on the half
shell, who had dropped into town few
weeks before, and who had betrayed
happy way of making himself useful as well
as ornamental in the hotel, saloon and sta
BILE.
Conspicuous among the natives were
splendid dark youth named Fernando, and
an equally superb maiden called Dolores.
OF the Mexican and Indian breed, they
were admittedly not unprepossessing. They
had accompanied each other to church and
to school since their childhood, and they
had romped the hills and aroyos together.
They had sung and played and conversed in
Spanish and English all through their teens,
and naturally, long before emerging there
from had told each other of their sweet
est emotions; and one day in October, 1867,
they had gone together to Father Nut, re-
hearsed the deliciousness of the years that
had led joyous and decorously to plighted
vows, and the ever-accommodating little
padre had radiantly assured them of his
sacred office in perfecting the blissfulness
of their mutual ambitions.
But only short time afterward, while
Dolores was kneeling, one evening, and
praying to the Virgin to keep her from i'll
ness and harm, she heard sepulchral voice
slowly saying: "You know not what you
are doing, Dolores. You are surrendering
your pretty self to villain. Fernando is
bad young man. He will never go to
Heaven He is so bad that he will go to
the wicked place below. And if you marry
him you will also go to the deep, bad
place"
Such sentences as these would have APP
palled an Amazon. Dolores was simply
scared out of her senses, and somnolence
came not to her during that night, nor for
two succeeding ones. Even the wondrous
sunbeams that came over the mosaic foot
hills, and through the festooned~ sweeps of
golden valleys, and skylarked into her
embroidered lattice, dispelled no chill
from her aching heart nor removed the
pearly beads of moisture that stood on her
excited face. At last she resolved the oc-
currence into some nightmare, put on her
clothes and went about to kiss the little,
unpretentious band that Fernando had
placed upon proper finger only few
hours before, when the same horrid voice
came: Heed my words, Dolores Give up
the bad Fernando. / am thy guardian an
gel, sent thee by the saints!'
For two more nights the ghost of San
Juan Capistrano haunted the hearth broken
maiden, and then she determined to go
and place the whole matter before her ia
therly confessor. Her mother had been dead
many years, and she was afraid to breathe
to her father or lover what she had heard.
Father Nut listened with surprise and
kindness, and, at the conclusion, asked:
"You saw no one?
''No, holy father"
"Heard you no other noise?"
''There was surely no other noise"
And just as she replied, the same voice
came into the PADRES little sanctum among
the ruins, in monotones that were more
sepulchral and chilling than ever: 81
charge you, holy father, not to unite Fer
nando and Dolores in marriage. If you
dare perform so unholy an act, will send
you to purgatory for a thousand years, and
afterward to the bottomless pit forever.
Beware!"
The girl tainted dead away, right into
the arms of her confessor; and just at that
moment Fernando entered and cried: "My
God! Dolores!"
And then, as scalding tears chased each
other down his cheeks, he staggered from