Lompoc High School - La Purisima Yearbook (Lompoc, CA)

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LoMPoc UNIONI l71H1oH SCHOOL 'What now,' I cried as I ran quickly over. To my surprise, it was a footprint. Could it be ?-No! Yes, it was a woman's footprint. We could only find the one footprint, so we returned to camp. That evening, while sitting around the camp fire, we began to tell some of the old Indian legends. All of a sudden one came to me of the 'Lost Woman of Santa Rosa,' which went something like this: At one time some Aztec Indians had been left on the island by a Russian trader. The padres from the Santa Barbara Mission decided that they should be rescued and brought back to their homes. A boat, 'El Peor que Nada,' Cand worse than nothing it proved to bel was sent out after themg but, in the excite- ment of leaving, one of them, Natacha, discovered that her son was not with the other children as she had supposed, and rushed back to find him. In the meantime, a heavy storm was seen coming up, forcing them to leave before her return. The padres expected to go back for her, but the old channel was treacherous and in attempting her rescue, 'El Peor que Nada,' the only large boat on the coast, capsized and was wrecked, thus making it impossible to reach the island. By the time another large boat came it seemed impossible that any person could possibly have survived the hardships alone, so there was no further attempt at a rescue. Now, after twenty years, was it possible that she was still alive? Someone surely was on the island. Our adventurous spirit got the better of us: and I'll have to admit what little sleeping we did that night was spent in dreams of find- ing Natacha. The next morning we set out to explore the northern end of the island. After climbing up and down rocks and cliffs, and through brush, we were re- warded by finding another enclosure such as the ones we found the first day. ' Here the old gentleman seemed to forget himself, and stopped his story. Grandad, don't stop, go on! Let me see, why, where was I?-Oh! Now I know-inside the hut. Inside of the hut there was a willow basket containing a dress of skins held together by thongs of some material, some whalebone needles were there too, as well as dried Esh. We spread the things out believipg that if they belonged to Natacha she would replace them. After hunting vainly a little longer we returned to camp. On the following day we returned to the hut. 'Oh, they are replaced 3' Doc seemed as joyful as a child in his discovery. Through the spy-glasses Doc discovered another 3 needless to say, we rushed quickly over there. As we neared it, we saw a woman sitting there. We could hardly believe our eyes. Go on, grandad, go on, interrupted Jack. The woman was surrounded by wild dogs, which she called to her in a strange dialect as we came up. She stood up and we could see that she was dressed in a dress like the one we had found in the basket. Her head was uncovered but for long hair, which evidently once had been yellow, but which then was burnt, matted, and horrible to look at. It looked as if wind, rain, and sun had alike played with it. She could not understand our language, and though Doc knew many Indian dialects, she had either forgotten hers or we didn't know it. After trying, without avail, to tell her we wanted to take her back, we tried signs. I pointed to our boat which could be seen from the hill, then towards the mainland. She seemed to understand, and began to pick up her things. To our surprise, she didn't seem overjoyed as we had expected, but she was willing to go. We returned to camp, embarking for Santa Barbara the next day. She wanted to sew, and with much help finally made a skirt, over which she was as pleased as a child. , '

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LOM'POC UNIONI 16 lHIGH Scuool. .sf or '-lf , , . L - f - i -.1-Irilxiyiiciiik Ykivl l it -I 'A ii i gill!!! La Purissima La Purissimal your crumbling 'dobe wall, Your arch, your column tall, Your floor, where weeds now grow, Remind us of the days of long ago, When Indians 'round the Mission dwelt, And padres by the altars knelt. Then each morn the bells were rung, Each night the evening vespers sung. No more is heard the sound of bells, No more the padre by the altar kneels, No more the Indian tills the lands, The Mission now in ruin stands. -Robert Hibbits, '27. NATACHA Why, this looks like Indian-ware, grandadl It isg but don't touch it, boy! Why, that belonged to Natachaf' said the old Lnan as he reached out and took an earthen jar, covered with skins, from the boy's ands. Natacha? Who on earth was Natacha, and why is that old thing so precious ? You remember old Doc Jones, don't you? Well, he and I were old hunting cronies, and one year we had decided to try our luck at other hunting on old Santa Rosa Island. But, grandad, I asked you about Natacha--what's that to do with ........ ? Now, you just wait. I'm a-getting to her as soon as I can. The old man pulled his chair up to the fire saying, It's a mighty long story, lad. so you'd better sit down here, too.-Now, where was I? Oh! Yes ........ We went over in my boat, and after unloading we pitched our camp in a sheltered cave. The next morning one of the men, while looking around, found three small enclosures made of stakes covered with skins. They were very crudely made, yet showed signs of recent habitation. Could anyone be living there? No, no one could possibly have survived in that bleak place. Still, it seemed to me that I had once heard something or other about some Indians being left there: but that was so long ago it couldn't be the same one. By the time we had just about decided that some hunter had made them, we found some whale meat spread out to dry. The fact that it was only a few weeks old made us more excited than ever. We searched cautiously all the lower end of the island, not going into the upper part because the upper end was so overgrown with brush, and there were tall cliffs, which made it seem impossible for anyone to be up there. On our way back to the camp we walked along slowly, fearful, yet hoping to find something else. 'Jim, come hereg you can't imagine what I've found,' old Doc called to me excitedly.

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LoMPoc UNIONI l81HIGH SCHOOL At Santa Barbara she made her home for the few remaining years of her life with the Doctor, he and his wife becoming very fond of her. One day she showed us a dress of feathers she had secreted somewhere for many years. She used to put this on and do an odd dance for the many visitors who came to see her. She finally told us that she never. found the child, but that was all. She didn't want to talk about it. At her death she was buried in her feather dress. As he ended his story, the old man carefully replaced the jar on the shelf as if it were priceless china, then sank back, gazing into the fire as if he saw it all again. 'J 5 Out of the clouds peeps the sun Into the heavens of blue, And the toil of the day is begun- Out of the clouds peeps the sun, The flowers awake, one by one, And the birds drink the meadow's dew, As out of the clouds peeps the sun Into the heavens of blue. Two Seniors, '25. VIGNETTES FROM LIFE I. A tall lady dressed in black, followed by a thin little girl in a faded blue cape, walked slowly up and down the crowded, baggage-strewn wharf. The tall lady held a parasol at a sharp angle to intercept the scorching rays of the hot sun, while the little girl looked forth upon the hurried scene from under the protection of a little brown hand. It was an open-eyed, wondering gaze which she fixed upon the yelling porters who trundled heavy baggage down to the edge of the wharf. She watched them work for a long time, until one of them pointed a hand up river and shouted, Here she comes! She followed the direction of the hand. A passenger-boat was slowly raising its hulk above the screen of trees around a bend in the river. The noise of its engines suddenly came to the expectant ears like the droning of distant voices, but as the great form neared it resembled the whirr of mighty birds in headlong flight. The boat stopped. Then came the jumbled confusion of collecting baggage, of tender leave-takings, of boarding, and of shouted farewells. The woman and little girl mingled among the passengers. How exciting it was. People were leaning way out over the rail waving white handkerchiefs, pretty ones too. What if one should fly away? And, worst of all, what if the rail should break? Something curious was happening to the people left on the wharf. They were shrinking-now their faces were a blur, now you couldn't make them out at all. Would they vanish altogether, shrinking into nothing? But the boat rounded a curve before the shrinking process was completed. Farther on, near.the shore, was a man in a boat. He had his arms held out straight. just then he waved his arms like the magician in Aladdin, and oh look! a great shiny grey bundle was coming right up out of the water towards his hands. Could it be money? Or was it something awful to cat the man? But then the passenger-boat rounded another bend. Therewere a great many people on the boat. Where did they all come from? And, why were they staring so curiously at her, and whispering? What could it be? She looked up in innocent inquiry to the face of her tall companion, and her eyes