Greene County herald. (Leakesville, Miss.) 1898-current, 1907-06-21
Explorers Found Santa Cata-
lima Inhabited.
NO TRACE OF THE SAvAGES

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NO TRACE OF THE SAVAGES
Looking out over the Pacific from
any part of the coast adjacent to Los
Angeles one may see two peaks aris-
ing from the arms of Neptune, writes
the San Pedro (Cal) correspondent
OF the Indianapolis News. Whether
they appear to be ten or forty miles
away depends upon the condition of
the atmosphere, but on a perfectly
clear day one who doesn't know much
about such things is likely to imagine
them so close that rowboat could be
propelled across the intervening
water In an hour or so. AS matter
of fact, these peaks are twenty-five
miles away from the nearest land,
and they mark the crest of that rug
ged Eden known as Santa Catalina.
In no one thing have the Califor-
mans shown greater wisdom than in
the preservation of the Spanish
nomenclature. On the Atlantic coast
this name would probably have been
condensed to Cat Island, and who
could be convinced that beauty could
hide under such title? But Santa
Cataiinal How the mellif1uous ac-
cents fit the dangerous charms of that
marvellous gem of the western ocean.
The name itself is an invitation. 1t
draws you as with silken cord. One
may resist, but one will not. Over
the bit of peaceful sea go all who
came within its spell, and few are dis
appointed.
A Veritable Paradise.
The boat goes from San Pedro, the
busy port of Los Angeles, and it is
always loaded-not in the slang
sense, be it understood, for this boat
Is sober, sedate and well behaved. So
are the people on board. They are as
truly representative collection as
one could find anywhere in Uncle
Sans domains, not even excepting
Washington, for they come from
every State of the Union, and one can
hear the nasal twang of the New
Highlander mingling with the broad
vowels of the old South, and the Wig
orous dialect of the far West. But
ones fellow passengers do not inter-
est one long. Not on this trip, for
Santa Catalina, like Venus, is rising
from the sea, and the approach is too
enticing to permit divided interest,
though the frequent schools of flying
fish and the occasional appearance of
a sportive porpoise may draw fleet
ing glance.
At distance Santa Catalina is as
blue as the water that rolls at it's
base. AS one nears its shore there is
a gradual change of the color tone,
so gradual that one can not tell at
what point it quits being blue and be-
gins to be green. And such green!
1t may have its counterpart some
where else on earth, but 1t is doubt
full. 1t is not the green of ordinary
verdure, tropical or temperate. 1t is
a pale green, a pastel tint. A wheat
field in early spring comes very near
to the prevailing tone, but does not
compare in the warmth and brilliancy
of coloring. Santa Catalina is not an
emerald ISLE 1t is a tourmalin set in
a sea of lapis-lazuli, for the blue of
the sea grows darker and richer as
one nears the island, until at its shore
1t is deep purple, yet so clear that
one may see the sands forty feet be-
low the surface. If, then, one can
imagine a group of pale green noun
tains springing abruptly from a pur-
pie ocean and the whole bathed in the
languorous glory of Southern sun
one can get fairly adequate mental
picture of Santa Catalina.
But Catalina is something more
than picture. 1t is place of pleas
ure, with as many features of inter
est as gem has facets. And not the
least of these, to the inquiring mind,
is the mystery of it's history. The
only town on the island is named
Avalon. after that elusive elysium of
King Arthur's time, and one may
easily imagine Catalina to be en-
dowed with the same magic charac-
teristics. AS it comes into full view,
in its aureole of golden haze, it seems
not improbable that it is an illusion
and that it may disappear at any mo-
ment, leaving nothing but the open
sea to disappoint the vision. The
story of its vanished race adds, when
known, to this glamour of enchant-
ment which seems to hang over it.
And this is the story:
Away back yonder, about the mid
die of the sixteenth century, a bold
Portuguese navigator, named Rodri-
guez Cabillo, sailed up the coast of
California on voyage of discovery.
His principal business seems to have
been to dispose of fine stock of
names, for he scattered tinkling titles
wherever he could find geographical
point that seemed to be short on
nomenclature. Cabrillo was the first
white man to feast upon the lowell
ness of Catalina and the first to land
on its shores. He gave it the name
of San Salvador and then proceeded
northward. But he didn't go far.
Southern California at that period
was lacking in many of the advan
tages which distinguish it at present,
but even then its strongest entice-
ment was in good working order.
Like many others who journey this
way in later years, Cabrilla came to
see and remained to stay. For vari-
Gus personal reasons he couldn't live
here, but better a grace in these
sunny isles than an age in Lisbon
town. So they buried him on one Of
the little dots of land up in the Santa
Barbara channel, and, so far as any,
body knows, he is there yet. How
ever, his fame, If not his soul, goes
sailing on, for the ship that carries
you, to Catalina and back-if you
want to come back-bears his name.
But this is history, not mystery. That
comes later
Early Spaniards.