Thereafter, a patriotic impulse suggested
its removal to the parade ground of the United States Army post, and
as Spanish residents looked upon it as a thornful reminder of lost
power they felt no regret when Uncle Sam's boys transplanted it to new
environments and made it an American feature by adoption.
But the Mexican landmark which appealed to me most pathetically was the
quaint rustic belfry which stood solitary in the open space in front of
the Mission buildings. Its strong columns were the trunks of trees that
looked as though they might have grown there for the purpose of
shouldering the heavy cross-beams from which the chimes hung. Its
smooth timbers had been laboriously hewn by hand, as must be the case
in a land where there are no saw mills. The parts that were not bound
together with thongs of rawhide, were held in place by wooden pegs. The
strips of rawhide attached to the clappers dropped low enough for me to
reach, and often tempted me to make the bells speak.
Mission padres no longer dwelt in the buildings, but shepherds from
distant folds came monthly to administer to the needs of this
consecrated flock. Then the many bells would call the faithful to mass,
and to vespers, or chime for the wedding of favored sons and daughters.
Part of them would jingle merrily for notable christenings; but one
only would toll when death whitened the lips of some distinguished
victim; and again, while the blessed body was being borne to its last
resting-place.
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