MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) by FREDERICK MARRYAT (leveled readers txt) 📕

Sacrifice On The Altars Of Takwantona. The Evil Spirit Laughed, And

Answered to Them With His Destructive Thunders. The Earth Was Shaken And

Rent Asunder; The Waters Ceased to Flow In the Rivers, And Large Streams

Of Fire And Burning Sulphur Rolled down From The Mountains, Bringing

With Them Terror And Death. How Long It Lasted none Is Living To Say;

And Who Could? There Stood The Bleeding Moon; 'Twas Neither Light Nor

Obscurity; How Could Man Divide The Time And The Seasons? It May Have

Been Only The Life Of A Worm; It May Have Been The Long Age Of A Snake.

"The Struggle Was Fearful, But At Last The Good Master Of Life Broke His

Bonds. The Sun Shone Again. It Was Too Late! The Shoshones Had Been

Crushed and Their Heart Had Become Small; They Were Poor And Had No

Dwellings; They Were Like The Deer Of The Prairies, Hunted by The

Hungry Panther.

"And A Strange And Numerous People Landed on The Shores Of The Sea: They

Were Rich And Strong; They Made The Shoshones Their Slaves, And Built

Large Cities, Where They Passed all Their Time. Ages Passed: The

Shoshones Were Squaws; They Hunted for The Mighty Strangers; They Were

Beasts, For They Dragged wood And Water To Their Great Wigwams; They

Fished for Them, And They Themselves Starved in the Midst Of Plenty.

Ages Again Passed: The Shoshones Could Bear No More; They Ran Away To

The Woods, To The Mountains, And To The Borders Of The Sea; And, Lo! The

Great Father Of Life Smiled again Upon Them; The Evil Genii Were All

Destroyed, And The Monsters Buried in the Sands.

"They Soon Became Strong, And Great Warriors; They Attacked the

Strangers, Destroyed their Cities, And Drove Them Like Buffaloes, Far In

The South, Where The Sun Is Always Burning, And From Whence They Did

Never Return.

"Since That Time, The Shoshones Have Been A Great People. Many, Many

Times Strangers Arrived again; But Being Poor And Few, They Were Easily

Compelled to Go To The East And To The North, In the Countries Of The

Crows, Flat-Heads, Wallah Wallahs, And Jal Alla Pujees (The

Calapooses)."

I Have Selected this Tradition Out Of Many, As, Allowing For Metaphor,

It Appears To Be A Very Correct Epitome Of The History Of The Shoshones

In Former Times. The Very Circumstance Of Their Acknowledging That They

Were, For A Certain Period, Slaves To That Race Of People Who Built The

Cities, The Ruins Of Which Still Attest Their Magnificence, Is A Strong

Proof Of The Outline Being Correct. To The Modern Shoshones, And Their

Manners And Customs, I Shall Refer In a Future Portion Of My Narrative.

Every Point Having Been Arranged, I Received my Final Instructions, And

Letters For The Governor Of Monterey, To Which Was Added a Heavy Bag Of

Doubloons For My Expenses. I Bade Farewell To The Prince And My Father,

And With Six Well-Armed indians And The Padre Marini, I Embarked in a

Long Canoe On The Buona Ventura River, And Carried away By The Current,

Soon Lost Sight Of Our Lonesome Settlement.

We Were To Follow The Stream To The Southern Lakes Of The Buona Ventura,

Where We Were To Leave Our Indians, And Join Some Half-Bred

Wachinangoes, Returning To Monterey, With The Mustangs, Or Wild Horses,

Which They Had Captured in the Prairies.

It Was A Beautiful Trip, Just At The Commencement Of The Spring; Both

Shores Of The River Were Lined with Evergreens; The Grass Was Luxuriant

And Immense Herds Of Buffaloes And Wild Horses Were To Be Seen Grazing

In Every Direction. Sometimes A Noble Stallion, His Long Sweeping Mane

And Tail Waving To The Wind, Would Gallop Down To The Water'S Edge, And

Watch Us As If He Would Know Our Intentions. When Satisfied, He Would

Walk Slowly Back, Ever And Anon Turning Round To Look At Us Again, As

If Not Quite So Convinced of Our Peaceful Intentions.

On The Third Night We Encamped at The Foot Of An Obelisk, In the Centre

Of Some Noble Ruins. It Was A Sacred spot With The Shoshones. Their

Traditions Told Them Of Another Race, Who Had Formerly Lived there, And

Which Had Been Driven By Them To The South. It Must Have Been Ages Back,

For The Hand Of Time, So Lenient In this Climate, And The Hand Of Man,

So Little Given To Spoil, Had Severely Visited this Fated city.

We Remained there The Following Day, As Padre Marini Was Anxious To

Discover Any Carvings Or Hieroglyphics From Which He Might Draw Some

Conclusions; But Our Endeavours Were Not Successful, And We Could Not

Tarry Longer, As We Were Afraid That The Horse-Hunters Would Break Up

Their Encampments Before We Arrived. We, Therefore, Resumed our Journey,

And Many Were The Disquisitions And Conjectures Which Passed between Me

And The Holy Father, As To The High Degree Of Civilization Which Must

Have Existed among The Lost Race Who Had Been The Architects Of Such

Graceful Buildings.

Four Days More Brought Us To The Southern Shore Of The St. Jago Lake. We

Arrived in good Time, Dismissed our Indians, And Having Purchased two

Excellent Mules, We Proceeded on Our Journey, In company With The

Horse-Hunters, Surrounded by Hundreds Of Their Captives, Who Were Loudly

Lamenting Their Destiny, And Showed their Sense Of The Injustice Of The

Whole Proceeding By Kicking and Striking With Their Fore-Feet At

Whatever Might Come Within The Reach Of Their Hoofs. Notwithstanding The

Very Unruly Conduct Of The Prisoners, We Arrived at Monterey On The

Sixth Evening.

The Reader Will Discover, As He Proceeds, That My Adventures Are About

To Commence From This Journey To Monterey; I Therefore Wish To Remind

Him That I Was At This Time Not Eighteen Years Old. I Had A Remembrance

Of Civilization Previous To My Arrival Among The Indians, And As We

Enjoyed every Comfort And Some Luxuries At The Settlement, I Still Had A

Remembrance, Although Vague, Of What Had Passed in italy And Elsewhere.

But I Had Become An Indian, And Until I Heard That I Was To Under-Take

This Journey, I Had Recollected the Former Scenes Of My Youth Only To

Despise Them.

That This Feeling Had Been Much Fostered by The Idea That I Should Never

Again Rejoin Them, Is More Than Probable; For From The Moment That I

Heard That I Was To Proceed to Monterey, My Heart Beat Tumultuously And

My Pulse Was Doubled in its Circulation. I Hardly Know What It Was That

I Anticipated, But Certainly I Had Formed the Idea Of A

Terrestrial Paradise.

If Not Exactly A Paradise, Monterey Is Certainly A Sweet Place; 'Tis

Even Now A Fairy Spot In my Recollection, Although Sobered down, And, I

Trust, A Little Wiser Than I Was At That Time. There Certainly Is An Air

Of Happiness Spread Over This Small Town. Every One Is At Their Ease,

Everybody Sings And Smiles, And Every Hour Is Dedicated to Amusement

Or Repose.

None Of Your Dirty Streets And Sharp Pavements; No Manufactories With

Their Eternal Smoke; No Policemen Looking Like So Many Knaves Of Clubs;

No Cabs Or Omnibuses Splashing The Mud To The Right And To The Left;

And, Above All, None Of Your Punctual Men Of Business Hurrying To Their

Appointments, Blowing Like Steam-Engines, Elbowing Everybody, And

Capsizing The Apple-Stalls. No; There Is None Of These At Monterey.

There Is A Bay, Blue And Bottomless, With Shores Studded with Tall

Beautiful Timber. There Is A Prairie Lawn, Spread Like A Carpet In

Patterns Composed of Pretty Wild Flowers. Upon It Stand Hundreds Of

Cottage-Built Tenements, Covered with The Creeping Vine. In the Centre,

The Presidio, Or Government-House; On One Side The Graceful Spire Of A

Church, On The Other The Massive Walls Of A Convent. Above All, Is A Sky

Of The Deepest Cobalt Blue, Richly Contrasting With The Dark Green Of

The Tall Pines, And The Uncertain And Indescribable Tints On The Horizon

Of These Western Prairies.

Even The Dogs Are Polite At Monterey, And The Horses Which Are Always

Grazing about, Run Up To You And Appear As If They Would Welcome You On

Your Arrival; But The Fact Is That Every Traveller Carries A Bag Of Salt

At His Saddle-Bow, And By Their Rubbing Their Noses Against It, It Is

Clear That They Come To Beg A Little Salt, Of Which They Are Very Fond.

Everybody And Every Animal Is Familiar With You, And, Strange To Say,

The English Who Reside There Are Contented, And Still More Strange, The

Americans Are Almost Honest. What A Beautiful Climate It Must Be

At Monterey!

Their Hospitality Is Unbounded. "The Holy Virgin Bless Thee," Said An

Old Man Who Watched our Coming; "Tarry Here And Honour My Roof." Another

Came Up, Shook Us By The Hand, His Eye Sparkling With Kind Feelings. A

Third Took Our Mules By The Bridles And Led us To His Own Door, When

Half-A-Dozen Pretty Girls, With Flashing Dark Eyes And Long Taper

Fingers, Insisted on Undoing Our Leggings And Taking Off Our Spurs.

Queen City Of California! To Me There Is Poetry In thy Very Name, And So

Would It Be To All Who Delight In honesty, Bonhommie, Simplicity And The

Dolce Far Niente.

Notwithstanding The Many Solicitations We Received, Padre Marini Went To

The Convent, And I Took Up My Quarters With The Old Governor.

All Was New To Me, And Pleasant Too, For I Was Not Eighteen; And At Such

A Time One Has Strange Dreams And Fancies Of Small Waists, And Pretty

Faces, Smiling Cunningly. My Mind Had Sometimes Reverted to Former

Scenes, When I Had A Mother And A Sister. I Had Sighed for A Partner To

Dance Or Waltz With On The Green, While Our Old Servant Was Playing On

His Violin Some Antiquated en Avant Deux.

Now I Had Found All That, And A Merry Time I Had Of It. True, The Sack

Of Doubloons Helped me Wonderfully. Within A Week After My Arrival, I

Had A Magnificent Saddle Embossed with Silver, Velvet Breeches Instead

Of Cloth Leggings, A Hat And Feathers, Glossy Pumps, Red sash, Velvet

Round-About, And The Large Cape Or Cloak, The Eternal, And Sometimes The

Only Garment Of A Western Mexican Grandee, In winter Or In summer, By

Night Or By Day. I Say It Was A Merry Time, And It Agreed well With Me.

Dance I Did! And Sing and Court Too. My Old Travelling Companion, The

Missionary, Remonstrated a Little, But The Girls Laughed at Him, And I

Clearly Pointed out To Him That He Was Wrong. If My English Readers Only

Knew What A Sweet, Pretty Little Thing Is A Monterey Girl, They Would

All Pack Up Their Wardrobes To Go There And Get Married. It Would Be A

Great Pity, For With Your Mistaken Ideas Of Comforts, With Your Love Of

Coal-Fire And Raw Beef-Steak, Together With Your Severe Notions Of What

Is Proper Or Improper, You Would Soon Spoil The Place, And Render It As

Stiff And Gloomy As Any Sectarian Village Of The United states, With Its

Nine Banks, Eighteen Chapels, Its One "A-B-C" School, And Its Immense

Stone Jail, Very Considerately Made Large Enough To Contain Its Whole

Population.

The Governor Was General Morreno, An Old Soldier, Of The Genuine

Castilian Stock; Proud Of His Blood, Proud Of His Daughters, Of Himself,

Of His Dignitaries, Proud Of Everything--But Withal, He Was Benevolence

And Hospitality Personified. His House Was Open To All (That Is To Say,

All Who Could Boast Of Having White Blood), And The Time Passed there In

Continual Fiestas, In which Pleasure Succeeded to Pleasure, Music To

Dancing; Courting With The Eyes To Courting With The Lips, Just As

Lemonade Succeeded to Wine, And Creams To Grapes And Peaches. But

Unhappily, Nature Made A Mistake In our Conformation, And, Alas! Man

Must Repose From Pleasure As He Does From Labour. It Is A Great Pity,

For Life Is Short, And Repose Is So Much Time Lost; At Least So Thought

I At Eighteen.

Monterey Is A Very Ancient City; It Was Founded in the Seventeenth

Century By Some Portuguese Jesuits, Who Established a Mission There. To

The Jesuits Succeeded the Franciscans, Who Were A