1833
by Kyle E. Petersen
Cattle: meat–fat–hide–animal. How many heads of cattle were there? How many hides? This was the number that they really wanted. The rest was useful but not nearly as profitable. How much was an animal? But how much was its hide? How could the part be greater than the whole? Father Ibarra –tall, long-muscled and balding– dismounted and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the herd.
It was early morning and he was still comfortable in his thick wool robe, a southward breeze delivering the coolness of creeks from the still-shaded canyons behind the Mission, the scent of wet stones and rotting leaves. Standing on the edge of the Cahuenga village he saw cook fires, or not the fires themselves but the slow coils of smoke rising above them, a disbursement of ghosts twisting into the slate sky. The People. He thought of the people first, pictured the mothers of villages dropping handfuls of kindling onto last night’s coals, readying breakfast, rousing husbands, sons, daughters. These he had numbers for –baptisms, marriages, deaths – but their inventory was mere propriety on the government’s part. Beyond their use as so many laborers, the state did not care who was lost and who was saved.
This is where they had agreed to meet but perhaps Rogério had confused it with one of their many other locations. It was necessary to change locations frequently –the soldiers were all drunks but only one was needed to ruin everything. God had brought them here, though. Depending on this last exchange, they might be finished today. Father Ibarra opened his ledger and reviewed the list.
Land: 10 Leagues E-W from Mts. Tujunga to Ataguama and 5 Leagues N-S from Rancho S. Francisco & Simi to Mts. Sanja.
Church: 40 x 6 varas, tile roof, board ceiliing, brick floor, adobe walls, three doors, seven windows.
Sacristy: 8 varas square, one door, one window.
Convento: 90 x 14 varas, tile roof, board ceiling, adobe walls, 13 windows, 2 doors, cellar.
Patio: 113 x 106 varas quadrangle, including carpenteria, tallow works, mill, distillery, girls’ dormitory, weavery, saddlery.
Soldier’s Quarters: 40 x 8 varas, tile roof, board ceiling, brick floor; three separate rooms with one window each.
Baptisms: 85: 46 adult Indians – 24 m, 22 f; 31 Indian children – 16 m, 15 f; 8 children de razon – 5m, 3f
Marriages: 24: 6 gente de razon
Deaths: 79: 49 adult Indians – 19 m, 30 f; 28 Indian children – 13 m, 15 f; 2 gente de razon, adult males.
Shops, estimated worth: Tannery $600; Carpenteria $550; Blacksmith shop $700; Soapworks $430; Mills $675; Granaries $1,925; Tallow works $360; Weavery $345; Wine press $800; Distillery $900; Bakery $435.
Stock: 376 hides; 514 arrobas iron and steel; 60 arrobas wool; 13 barrels brandy; 63 barrels wine; 6 barrels oil; 8 barrels tallow.
Yields, fanegas: 500 wheat; 150 barley; 200 corn; 60 beans; 32,000 vines at $16,000; 1,600 fruit trees at $2,400.
Livestock: 866 sheep; 57 goats; 170 swine; 973 horses; 52 mules; ____ cattle.
It was offensive, this arithmetic. Captain de la Guerra had ordered the inventory months ago but Ibarra had put it off until recently, the request an insult to everything the Mission stood for. Then the idea struck him like a lost keepsake –a coin discovered in the pocket, a pressed flower found in a book. It surprised him because it was so simple and should have occurred to him earlier, and because it was criminal and shouldn’t have occurred to him at all. He was decided though –the whole matter met with His approval– and now the plan was almost complete. The beauty of its execution was in the way that it mimicked the state’s own plan. It’s a shame, he thought, that Alta California’s very first folletín should be so full of deception and lies…
1. The missions shall be converted into pueblos one by one as the territorial government may determine.
2. Beginning at once without distinction with the missions nearest the four presidios, partidos or villas; then following without distinction with S. Buenaventura, S. Juan Capistrano, S. Luis Obispo, and S. Antonio; then the rest in succession –but not to be effected the first year in more than two missions in order to observe what is to be done later with the rest.
3. The ranchos joined to each mission will continue to recognize the mission as its head.
4. The new ayuntamiento will recognize as its head the presidio, partido or villa recognized in the last elections for diputados.
5. Farming and grazing lands are to remain the property of these pueblos which will be composed of their neophytes and other such Mexicans as may wish to settle in them according to the following terms:
6. To each neophyte family will be distributed a house lot 75 varas square and a field 200 varas square. Details respecting equitable division of lands with regard to quality to be determined upon distribution.
7. To each pueblo will be assigned an egido of 1 square league for each 500 head of live stock of good grazing land near the settlement.
8. Within 6 months of the change of any mission into a pueblo, there shall be given to each family 3 cows, 3 horses, 3 sheep, a yoke of oxen, a mule or an ass; various implements for family and common use; and one year’s rations proportioned from the preceding crop.
9. Other families will have lots and fields from those that remain. No one may pasture in the egido over 50 cattle and 25 horses.
10. All property thus distributed to be indivisible and inalienable for five years; neither can the settlers nor their heirs encumber this property with any mortgage or lien.
11. The settlers to be governed by general, territorial and local laws and subject to tithes therein.
12. Of similar purport, each individual to obey the laws of Mexico and California.
13. Details respecting distribution of stallions, bulls, etc. to be later determined.
14. Names of all individuals to be recorded with the distributions of property.
15. The pueblos may keep the names of the missions, but the settlers may propose an other name of laudable origin to the diputado and to congress.
16. The church and the rooms used for service and residence of the chaplain or curate are to be those now occupied. The rest of the mission buildings will be devoted to uses of the ayuntamiento, prisons, barracks, schools, hospitals, etc. and the present dwellings of the neophytes will serve for pueblo officials.
17. The livestock and other property remaining after the distribution will remain in charge of the administrator subject to the inspection of the ayuntamiento and of the diputado. Remaining lands to the extent of 4 square leagues for 1,000 head of large stock and 3 square leagues for small stock, to serve for the support of flocks and herds; and expenses of labor, etc. to be paid from the product to the capital.
18. From the remainder of said capital, rent of surplus lands, yield of vineyards, etc. will be paid the wages of a school master, hospital expenses, and other institutions of asylum, correction and instruction deemed necessary.
19. The curates will continue to receive as the missionaries do now, $400 from the pious fund which will be increased to $700, $800, $900 or $1,000 according to the size of the pueblo, from the product of the funds in charge of the administrator. If these funds be insufficient, the sum may be made up by a pro-rata tax on the funds of the other pueblos.
20. The territorial government, with the approval of the general government, will provide in detail for whatever may seem best for the progress and well-being of each pueblo, acting provisionally as circumstances may demand.
21. The missionaries may remain in charge of spiritual administration, receiving allowance of art. 19 or they may go to form new missions in ranchos not to be converted into pueblos, or at any other points in the interior.
El Plan para Convertir en Pueblos los Misiones –ex-Gobernador Echeandía’s final decree before leaving office. Since the revolution in 1822, Ibarra knew that various, prominent men from the south had held the gobernador’s ear and whispered in it ideas about how mission pastures could be better utilized. Opinions swayed so often from year-to-year and office-to-office that the threat of secularization eventually seemed natural but inert –a plague that periodically disrupted production but otherwise had no real affect on the farm. Eventually, Father Ibarra simply lost interest in the question. Then, nearly a decade later, on a chill, bright day in December, Gov. Victoria arrived at the Mission with thirty lancers in tow to defeat an uprising lead by his predecessor. The flood of new information was overwhelming. Victoria presented Echeandía’s decree to the Padre; it was the first time Father Ibarra had even heard of the document, let alone seen it: here are the plans to dissolve you, your mission and everything it contains, but I am here to stop it. The irony was lost under the present circumstances. The next day the two forces faced off below the Pass and though the local Dons retreated back to Los Angeles, Victoria was fatally wounded and returned to Mexico to die. Pío Pico –rebel, secularist and friend of Echeandía– assumed the governorship and firstly reinstated his compatriot’s last decree. Suddenly, the plague descended and the locusts were on the march.
There was a semblance of fairness in Echeandía’s Plan. Phrases such as, “in view of the reports of the missionaries…” and “details respecting equitable division of lands with regard to quality…” and “to receive for a year rations proportioned…” attempted to trumpet an equitable transfer of goods and title. But Father Ibarra knew better. Naming their numbers before knowing their sum was so much mierda de vaca, as the vaqueros would say. To neophytes will be distributed a house lot 75 varas square, 3 cows, 3 horses, 3 sheep… How could they possibly know that?! Ibarra railed in a letter (unresponsive) to Monterey. They couldn’t –and that’s exactly what the state knew. Inside the seemingly evenhanded articles of the Plan was the very language that simultaneously promised everything and nothing: “…in view of the reports of the missionaries and in conformity with the diputado…” “…details respecting equitable division of lands with regard to quality to be determined upon distribution…” “to receive for a year rations proportioned to the preceding crop…” It was the objective followed by the subjective, the pledge with an escape clause, a house built on sand, the fingers crossed behind the back. He had only to read it once to know that the contract was a total facade, a gesture to win the favor of the neophytes by dazzling them with so many varas, egidos and plazas, yokes, herds and flocks. Which is why he never read it to them, and their lives at the Mission –on the surface at least– continued uninterrupted, ignorant of the hissing, gnashing swarm on the horizon.
It was article 21 that had inspired Father Ibarra’s counter-Plan, the single article he read over and over in disbelief of its ingenuous language:
The missionaries may remain in charge of spiritual administration, receiving allowance of art. 19 or they may go to form new missions in ranchos not to be converted into pueblos, or at any other points in the interior.
Reading it, he thought he knew what a bear must feel like when confronted with a bear trap, an odiferous, glossy piece of meat free for the taking… But what is this box around it? This rope? This stick? This door?
He chose Rancho San Francisco, the Mission’s asistencia, a now defunct outpost that once served as both working ranch and recruitment center. Built in 1808 at the confluence of the Castaic and Santa Clara creeks, the station was originally designed to introduce the interior tribes to the Mission. Now, having served its purpose, the outpost existed as a small ranch, absorbing, when needed, the overflow of Mission cattle onto its brush-choked leagues. Two long, rectangular adobes, a kiln, granary and sacristy –officially, the ranch belonged to San Fernando and, so, was subject to Article 3 of Echeandia’s Plan: The ranchos joined to each mission will continue to recognize the mission as its head… But, located some twenty-odd miles north of the Mission, over the Pass and across an entirely different valley, Rancho San Francisco was largely forgotten, was not thought of as a Mission ranch alongside Encino, Cahuenga, Tujunga and the rest. And this –the obscurity of the place– was the peg that the priest hung his plan on, a stick propped beneath the door to hold it open while he stole the meat.
Rogério rounded the sea of muscled shoulders and twisting horns like fog slipping around a mountain. Ibarra trusted him because he was smart, because he could ask Rogério to do something without explaining how it should be done. They had slaughtered 900 so far, in 50-count lots, and the shops were literally overflowing with a glut of product –tallow, beef, tripe, horn: everything except the hides. They had celebrated every single Saint’s Day so far this year, the soldiers kept drunk on wine and brandy, and somehow Rogério had kept the people quiet. He hadn’t asked him for an explanation yet, but he suspected that the chief knew a scheme was afoot.
“Buenos días, Rogério.” He studied the Indian’s face for a result of the latest transaction.
“Buenos días, Padre,” Rogério smiled and then lowered his eyes.
“Let us pray.”
The two men turned to the east and each took a knee. They began with the Lord’s Prayer followed by a request that He watch over the people and deliver them safely from these troubling times. This last was meant to pique Rogério’s curiosity –it was time, Ibarra felt, to tell his friend. But when they finished and stood, Rogério did not hesitate and returned directly to his horse to fetch the coin. He handed the father four leather sacks.
“How did it go?” Ibarra asked.
“It is fair,” Rogério shrugged.
“How much?” He hefted the sacks.
“Dos cien pesos.”
“The woman with thirteen stars and the eagle?”
“Sí.”
“Qué bueno, amigo. Qué bueno…”
He wondered if he should just tell him, if now was a good moment. He lingered on the chief’s face, waiting for him to look up, but Rogério only glanced up and away, back to the brown, lumbering masses. They had nearly $2000 now. He walked back to his horse and dropped the sacks in the saddlebag. He didn’t want to press his luck but he also wanted a round number. He asked Rogério how many cattle were left.
“Mil seisciento y cinquenta.” 1,650.
He took out his ledger and wrote 1,600 for cattle.
“Cinquenta mas, amigo. One last time.”
Rogério nodded. He placed a hand on the Indian’s shoulder and made the sign of the cross between them. The chief bowed slightly before turning, a gesture of observance and farewell, and climbed atop his horse and nodded again. He thanked and blessed Rogério out loud and watched as he aimed the young quarter horse in the direction of the calaveras. The day was warming and Ibarra could feel his pours prick and open beneath the heavy wool robe. He mounted his horse and looked north-northwest across the Valley, across the undulating brown knobs that trickled, smaller and smaller, into the furthest corner of the land. He thought of their hot backs and the flies about their eyes and whether, when the carniceros drove the first spike into their heads, they felt any pain at all or simply went black, gone, like a flame dropped into water.
Father Ibarra sat at his desk in the cool, quiet safety of his room. At the foot of his bed was a chest and in that chest was a safe, an all-iron box with bolts that passed through the bottom of the chest and into the floor. He wore both keys around his neck at all times and knew at any given moment what was inside the safe. Right now there was $5,134 in silver coin and nearly that amount in due credits. He opened his ledger and wrote this at the bottom of the inventory.
Cash: $5,134 silver coin.
Credit: approx. $5,000; see list.
The buildings at $15,000; the shops at $8,000; the vines at $16,000 alone… Fifteen square leagues: How much was it worth? The people had worked this land for nearly forty years in exchange for a single, simple reward: salvation. The lush satisfaction of the fruit groves, the weighted promise of the grapes, the sandy omnipresence of varas after varas of grain… They had delivered themselves out of Egypt by turning it into an Eden, and would soon be asked to wander the very desert they had transformed. Will. Toil. Hope. What were they worth? How much could they expect for all their years of expectation?
He stepped over to the side of his bed and knelt before it as if to pray. He pulled aside the rug and worked the tile loose from the floor. Inside the hole were exactly seventy-two sacks. Inside the hole was exactly $1,800 dollars in silver coin. He dropped the four new sacks in with the rest and returned the tile to the floor, the rug over the tiles. Soon he would have enough to start the People’s new mission. Soon they would have enough to start again.
Kyle Petersen was born and raised in the San Fernando Valley. ’1833′ is a chapter from an historical novel about his hometown. He welcomes comments here at La Rosa Revue or you can email him at petersen.kyle@yahoo.com.
