University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 26 text:

THE REDWOOD A WELCOME TO THE FLEET Blue was the sea, Deep blue the Golden Gate, Aud far above me Stretched the azure sky, Without a cloud. A perfect day, a day ordaiued by Fate, I murmured half aloud, u On which the sturdy West Should come to greet Our mighty fleet. I gazed about upon the shifting crowd — Thousands, they stretched away on every side, A sight to fill the eye And stir the breast With noble pride, On every eager face, all westward turned, From whence our great, white ships must first appear; In every eager eye, happy and clear, The fires of loyalty and freedom burned. This was a people strong, a people young, Whose blood was coursing with the strength of youth; A people from the loins of heroes sprung, Ready, like them, to battle for the truth; A people that know liberty from birth, Strong-limbed and great of thew ; A loyal people and a people true Of heart; a people great upon the earth. Happy the land of their abiding place ! What foe could ever conquer such a race ?

Page 25 text:

THE REDWOOD and Whites, the Blacks and Pilots, and many other names, new to the old regime, and to be prominent in the future of the Santa Clara Valley. Last but not least, when the Holy of Holies reached the fourth station, it was adorned with all the regalia and altar ornaments and jewels which had for years belonged to the Mission — all gifts from pious and noble patrons in Spain and Mexico, from the Franciscan Convents in the Island of Majorca and from the College of San Fernando in Guadalajara; all preserved and carefully kept concealed by Dona Juana trom the vandalism, not only of the invading gringos, but also from the Catholic Ad- mini sir adores under the Mexican Law for the Dis-establishment of the Missions of Alta California. The procession returned. The In- dians chanting the Gregorian Laudate Dominum with the same trust in the Lord, and high reverence, as did the chosen people of old in the desert, on their way to the Promised Land. The Tabernacle received the Holy Host; the church ceremonies were at an end; the people who desired partook of the sim- ple but bountiful merienda provided by King Phillip in the Atrium, and re- turned to their homes. The Alameda echoed with repartee, chistes and melodious songs to the ac- companiment of the jingling of spurs of the equestrians, lessening and dimming gradually as evening approached and the groups separated. Then the Angelus sounded again on that Thurday evening, while the thousands of crows sur les arbres perches, mats satis fromage on the Stockton Ranch, and on the Willow woods and marshes, extending from the bottomless Cook Lake, to the rear of the transplanted Baronial Rhinish pos- sessions of the Count Von Bendelieben, to the Guadalupe River, cawed and cawed their salutations to receding day — the faithful responded to the Aves — and the lurid light of that sun which had guided the footsteps of the pioneer Franciscan Padres to this Valley of Paradise, now carried away the recollec- tions of the last of the Indian celebra- tions of the Festivals of the Church. Et antiquum documentum. Novo cedat ritui. Years have come and passed, and the procession of the living goes on, but of those who were present at the Corpus Christi Procession in 1853 at Santa Clara, very few are living now. Quorm pars parva fui. Aug. D. Spuvalo, A. B., ' 59, A. M., ' 60.

Page 27 text:

THE REDWOOD Suddenly a single cheer rang out. Some sharper eye than all the rest Had seen a white shape in the West. Then from ten thousand throats An answering shout As, one by one, the giant boats, White sides agleam, Took form and shape before our eyes, And gradually grew in size, Until at length in solemn state They ranged beneath us through the Gate. Then did the forts on either shore, Thunder salutes across the strait, With smoke and blaze, And deafening roar That madly smote the air. But with unseeing gaze And vacant stare, As in a dream, I watched the smoke ' s e ' er-thickening haze. My mind was fixed on other days; My thoughts were otherwhere. I saw in fancy, side by side, Two wooden ships upon the tide. Their decks were wet with gore. Their angry guns, with their fiery breath, Unceasingly belched forth fresh death, With ever deepening roar. It seemed to me their voice in hate Cried ever for more blood to sate The awful greed of war.