He was a hard case, though," he added.
CHAPTER XXXI
SANTA FE
I made haste to present Captain Summerhayes with the
shoulder-straps of his new rank, when he joined me in New York.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * *
The orders for Santa Fe reached us in mid-summer at Nantucket. I
knew about as much of Santa Fe as the average American knows, and
that was nothing; but I did know that the Staff appointment
solved the problem of education for us (for Staff officers are
usually stationed in cities), and I knew that our frontier life
was over. I welcomed the change, for our children were getting
older, and we were ourselves approaching the age when comfort
means more to one than it heretofore has.
Jack obeyed his sudden orders, and I followed him as soon as
possible.
Arriving at Santa Fe in the mellow sunlight of an October day, we
were met by my husband and an officer of the Tenth Infantry, and
as we drove into the town, its appearance of placid content, its
ancient buildings, its great trees, its clear air, its friendly,
indolent-looking inhabitants, gave me a delightful feeling of
home. A mysterious charm seemed to possess me. It was the spell
which that old town loves to throw over the strangers who venture
off the beaten track to come within her walls.
Lying only eighteen miles away, over a small branch road from
Llamy (a station on the Atchison and Topeka Railroad), few people
take the trouble to stop over to visit it. "Dead old town," says
the commercial traveller, "nothing doing there."
And it is true.
But no spot that I have visited in this country has thrown around
me the spell of enchantment which held me fast in that sleepy and
historic town.
The Governor's Palace, the old plaza, the ancient churches, the
antiquated customs, the Sisters' Hospital, the old Convent of Our
Lady of Loretto, the soft music of the Spanish tongue, I loved
them all.
There were no factories; no noise was ever heard; the sun shone
peacefully on, through winter and summer alike. There was no
cold, no heat, but a delightful year-around climate. Why the
place was not crowded with health seekers, was a puzzle to me. I
had thought that the bay of San Francisco offered the most
agreeable climate in America, but, in the Territory of New Mexico,
Santa Fe was the perfection of all climates combined.
The old city lies in the broad valley of the Santa Fe Creek, but
the valley of the Santa Fe Creek lies seven thousand feet above
the sea level. I should never have known that we were living at a
great altitude, if I had not been told, for the equable climate
made us forget to inquire about height or depth or distance.
I listened to old Father de Fourri preach his short sermons in
English to the few Americans who sat on one side of the aisle, in
the church of Our Lady of Guadaloupe; then, turning with an easy
gesture towards his Mexican congregation, who sat or knelt near
the sanctuary, and saying, "Hermanos mios," he gave the same
discourse in good Spanish. I felt comfortable in the thought that
I was improving my Spanish as well as profiting by Father de
Fourri's sound logic. This good priest had grown old at Santa Fe
in the service of his church.
The Mexican women, with their black ribosos wound around their
heads and concealing their faces, knelt during the entire mass,
and made many long responses in Latin.
After years spent in a heathenish manner, as regards all church
observations, this devout and unique service, following the
customs of ancient Spain, was interesting to me in the extreme.
Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon I attended Vespers in the chapel
of the Sisters' Hospital (as it was called). A fine Sanitarium,
managed entirely by the Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity.
Sister Victoria, who was at the head of the management, was not
only a very beautiful woman, but she had an agreeable voice and
always led in the singing.
It seemed like Heaven.
I wrote to my friends in the East to come to the Sisters'
Hospital if they wanted health, peace and happiness, for it was
surely to be found there. I visited the convent of Our Lady of
Loretto: I stood before a high wall in an embrasure of which
there was a low wooden gate; I pulled on a small knotted string
which hung out of a little hole, and a queer old bell rang. Then
one of the nuns came and let me in, across a beautiful garden to
the convent school. I placed my little daughter as a day pupil
there, as she was now eleven years old. The nuns spoke very
little English and the children none at all.
The entire city was ancient, Spanish, Catholic, steeped in a
religious atmosphere and in what the average American Protestant
would call the superstitions of the dark ages. There were endless
fiestas, and processions and religious services, I saw them all
and became much interested in reading the history of the Catholic
missions, established so early out through what was then a wild
and unexplored country. After that, I listened with renewed
interest to old Father de Fouri, who had tended and led his flock
of simple people so long and so lovingly.
There was a large painting of Our Lady of Guadaloupe over the
altar - these people firmly believed that she had appeared to
them, on the earth, and so strong was the influence around me
that I began almost to believe it too. I never missed the Sunday
morning mass, and I fell in easily with the religious
observances.
I read and studied about the old explorers, and I seemed to live
in the time of Cortez and his brave band.
