Chapter VII: Further Desolation

Cursed by the common fate of the Missions Pala suffered severely. In thirty years all its glory had departed as Mrs. Jackson graphically pictures in the preceding chapter. But Pala was destined to receive another blow. This is explained by Professor Frank J. Polley, formerly President of the Southern California Historical Society. In the early 'nineties he visited Pala and from an article published by him in 1893 the following accompanying extracts are quoted:

Mr. Viele, the present owner of most of the old Mission
property, is the only white man residing nearby. His store
and dwelling is a long, low adobe, opposite the church.
Nearby is his blacksmith shop, and in the open space between
the church ruins and the river are the remains of the brush
booths used by the people at the yearly festival, and these,
with the remnants of the mission buildings, corral walls, and
the quaint Indian church with its beautiful bell tower,
constitute the Pala of today.

The question naturally arises: How did Mr. Viele gain possession and ownership of the Mission property? In the course of his narrative Professor Polley gives the answer:

Trading with the Indians is a slow but simple process. An
uncouth Indian figure in strange garb will silently enter the
store, and, with hat in hand, stand motionless in the center
of the room until Mrs. Viele chooses to recognize him. Then
follow rapid sentences in the guttural tone, she executes
her judgment in supplying his wants and hands out the parcel,
but the figure stands silently and motionless as before. Time
passes, and soon the Indian is leaning against the center
post. A little later the position is swiftly changed, and
next when one thinks of him the figure has vanished and
rejoined the group who are smoking their cigarettes by the
fence. Money is seldom paid until after their crops are sold.
With the squaw the transaction is different in this respect.
Like her European sister, every piece of cloth has to be
unrolled before purchasing; otherwise it is much the same as
with the men. Both men and women are very coarse, education
and morality are on a very low plane, the marital vow seems
to be but little regarded, and it is no uncommon thing to
see, within the shadow of the mission walls, five or six
couples living in common in one room. The race is fast dying
out from disease, for which the white people are largely
responsible. Unable to cope with these new ills, suspicious
of the government doctor, and treated like common property by
the lower white element in the mountain regions, the Indians
are jealous and distrustful of all; even the sick, instead of
being brought to the settlement for treatment, are secreted
in the hills. One old squaw of uncertain age came each day in
a clumsy shuffle to the gate, and there sank her fat body
into an almost indistinguishable heap of rags and flesh. The
gift of a cigarette would temporarily arouse her to
animation; otherwise she would sit there for hours,
apparently oblivious to all that was passing, and certainly
ignored by all in the house except myself. The education of
the Indian here is a serious problem. They do not attend the
county school, nor are they encouraged to come, as their
morals are demoralizing to the rest of the class. The chief,
or captain, is elected by the tribe, and, though only about
30 years of age, the present one has had his position a long
time. His duties are light, and he is careful in executing
his authority. He is a reasonably bright fellow, speaks
English fairly well and often succeeds in securing justice
for his tribe in the way of government supplies. The balance
of his time he cultivates a little patch of garden, and seems
to enjoy life after the Indian fashion.

Procuring the church keys was not so simple a matter, as the
building is now closed and services are held at very rare
intervals. This is the result of litigation. The law has
invaded this sheltered haven. Years ago, when times were
different and the mission was making some pretense to be a
living church, in the course of their duties a party of
government surveyors came here. As a result of their surveys
one of them told Mr. Viele in confidence that the entire
mission holdings, olive orchards and lands were all on
government property. Mr. Viele at once took steps to claim
all, and did so. The secret leaked out, and others came in
and attempted to settle on parts of the property under
various claims of title, and soon the Catholic church and the
claimants were engaged in a long lawsuit, which proved the
death struggle of the church's interests. Mr. Viele emerged
victorious, sole owner of the church, the orchard, the bells,
and even the graveyard. Afterward, by deed of gift, he gave
the church authorities the tumble-down ruin of the church,
the dark adobe robing room, the bells and the graveyard, but,
because Mr. Viele still withheld the valuable lands from the
church, no services are held there, and the quarrel has gone
on year by year. Mr. Viele clings to what he terms his legal
rights, and the church is locked up and the Indian left
largely to his own devices. Once in possession of the keys,
we found them immense pieces of iron, and it took some time
to unlock the door. The services of one of the Indian pupils
materially assisted us in our investigations. The church is a
veritable curiosity, narrow, long, low and dark, with adobe
walls and heavy beams roughly set in the sides to furnish
support for the roof. Canes and tules constitute this part of
the structure. The earthen walls are covered with rude
paintings of Indian design and of strange coloring that have
preserved their tone very well indeed. Great square bricks
badly worn pave the floor, and, set in deep niches along the
walls at intervals, are various utensils of battered copper
and brass that would arouse the cupidity of a collector of
bric-a-brac. The door is strongly barred and has iron plates
set with large rivets. The strange light that comes through
the narrow windows and broken roof sheds an unnatural glow on
the paintings upon the walls and puts into strange relief the
ruined altar far distant in the church. Three wooden images
yet remain upon the altar, but they are sadly broken and
their vestments are gone. One is a statue of St. Louis, and
is held in great veneration by the Indians. They say it was
secretly brought from the San Luis Rey Mission and placed
here for safe keeping. When the annual reunion of the Indians
takes place this image is decorated in cheap trappings and
occupies the post of honor in the procession. The robing
room is a small, dark apartment behind the altar, where not a
ray of light could enter. We dragged a trunkful of altar
trappings and saints' vestments out into the light. The dust
lay thickly upon the garments in these old chests, and it is
to be hoped that no one with a shade less of morality than we
had will ever explore their treasures, or the church may be
robbed and the images suffer much loss of their decorative
attire. Undoubtedly everything of value has long since been
removed, but what remains is very quaint and odd, being
largely of Indian workmanship. Everything about this simple
structure spoke of slow and patient work by the native
workmen, and it needed but little imaginative power to
conjure up the scene when men were hauling trees from the
mountains, making the shallow, square bricks, preparing the
adobe, and later painting these walls as earnestly perhaps as
did some of the greater artists in the gorgeous chapels of
cultivated Rome. The hinges creaked loudly and the great key
grated harshly in the rusty lock as we spent some time in
securing the fastenings at our departure. The beauty of the
valley and the bright sunlight were in great contrast to the
cool shadows of the dimly-lighted church. Once outside, we
again made the circuit of the outlying walls, where birds
sing and grasses grow from the ruined walls of the adobes.
Through gaps in them we passed from one enclosure to another,
this one roofless, that one nearly so, and a third so patched
up as to hold a few Indians who make it their home, and in
tiny gardens cultivate a few flowers or vegetables and
prepare their food in basins sunken in the firm earth. A few
baskets are yet left in this community, but of poor quality,
the more valuable ones having been long since gathered by
collectors, or sold and gambled by the Indians themselves.
Many curious relics still exist, however, for those who are
willing to pay several times the value of each article.

Pala remained in much the same condition described above, its Indians slowly decreasing in numbers, until the events occurred described in the following chapters.