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The Santa Fe of the purely Mexican occupation, long before the days
 of New Mexico's acquisition by the United States, and the Santa Fe of
 to-day are so widely in contrast that it is difficult to find language
 in which to convey to the reader the story of the phenomenal change.
 To those who are acquainted with the charming place as it is now,
 with its refined and cultured society, I cannot do better, perhaps,
 in attempting to show what it was under the old regime, than to quote
 what some traveller in the early 30's wrote for a New York leading
 newspaper, in regard to it.  As far as my own observation of the
 place is concerned, when I first visited it a great many years ago,
 the writer of the communication whose views I now present was not
 incorrect in his judgment.  He said:--
           To dignify such a collection of mud hovels with the name
           of "City," would be a keen irony; not greater, however,
           than is the name with which its Padres have baptized it.
           To call a place with its moral character, a very Sodom
           in iniquity, "Holy Faith," is scarcely a venial sin;
           it deserves Purgatory at least.  Its health is the best
           in the country, which is the first, second and third
           recommendation of New Mexico by its greatest admirers.
           It is a small town of about two thousand inhabitants,
           crowded up against the mountains, at the end of a little
           valley through which runs a mountain stream of the same
           name tributary to the Rio Grande.  It has a public square
           in the centre, a Palace and an Alameda; as all Spanish
           Roman Catholic towns have.  It is true its Plaza, or
           Public Square, is unfenced and uncared for, without trees
           or grass.  The Palace is nothing more than the biggest
           mud-house in the town, and the churches, too, are unsightly
           piles of the same material, and the Alameda[5] is on top of
           a sand hill.  Yet they have in Santa Fe all the parts and
           parcels of a regal city and a Bishopric.  The Bishop has a
           palace also; the only two-storied shingle-roofed house in
           the place.  There is one public house set apart for eating,
           drinking and gambling; for be it known that gambling is here
           authorized by law.  Hence it is as respectable to keep a
           gambling house, as it is to sell rum in New Jersey; it is
           a lawful business, and being lawful, and consequently
           respectable and a man's right, why should not men gamble?
           And gamble they do.  The Generals and the Colonels and
           the Majors and the Captains gamble.  The judges and the
           lawyers and the doctors and the priests gamble; and there
           are gentlemen gamblers by profession!  You will see squads
           of poor peons daily, men, women and boys, sitting on the
           ground around a deck of cards in the Public Square, gambling
           for the smallest stakes.
           The stores of the town generally front on the Public Square.
           Of these there are a dozen, more or less, of respectable
           size, and most of them are kept by others than Mexicans.
           The business of the place is considerable, many of the
           merchants here being wholesale dealers for the vast
           territory tributary.  It is supposed that about $750,000
           worth of goods will be brought to this place this year, and
           there may be $250,000 worth imported directly from the
           United States.
           In the money market there is nothing less than a five-cent
           piece.  You cannot purchase anything for less than five cents.
           In trade they reckon ten cents the eighth of a dollar.
           If you purchase nominally a dollar's worth of an article,
           you can pay for it in eight ten-cent pieces; and if you
           give a dollar, you receive no change.  In changing a dollar
           for you, you would get but eight ten-cent pieces for it.
           Yet, although dirty and unkempt, and swarming with hungry
           dogs, it has the charm of foreign flavour, and like
           San Antonio retains some portion of the grace which long
           lingered about it, if indeed it ever forsakes the spot
           where Spain held rule for centuries, and the soft syllables
           of the Spanish language are yet heard.
 Such was a description of the "drowsy old town" of Santa Fe,
 sixty-five years ago.  Fifteen years later Major W. H. Emory, of
 the United States army, writes of it as follows:[6]
           The population of Santa Fe is from two to four thousand,
           and the inhabitants are, it is said, the poorest people
           of any town in the Province.  The houses are mud bricks,
           in the Spanish style, generally of one story, and built
           on a square.  The interior of the square is an open court,
           and the principal rooms open into it.  They are forbidding
           in appearance from the outside, but nothing can exceed
           the comfort and convenience of the interior.  The thick
           walls make them cool in summer and warm in winter.
           The better class of people are provided with excellent beds,
           but the poorer class sleep on untanned skins.  The women
           here, as in many other parts of the world, appear to be
           much before the men in refinements, intelligence, and
           knowledge of the useful arts.  The higher class dress like
           the American women, except, instead of a bonnet, they wear
           a scarf over their head, called a reboso.  This they wear
           asleep or awake, in the house or abroad.  The dress of the
           lower classes of women is a simple petticoat, with arms and
           shoulders bare, except what may chance to be covered by
           the reboso.
           The men who have means to do so dress after our fashion;
           but by far the greater number, when they dress at all,
           wear leather breeches, tight around the hips and open from
           the knee down; shirt and blanket take the place of our
           coat and vest.
           The city is dependent on the distant hills for wood, and
           at all hours of the day may be seen jackasses passing laden
           with wood, which is sold at two bits, twenty-five cents,
           the load.  These are the most diminutive animals, and
           usually mounted from behind, after the fashion of leap-frog.
           The jackass is the only animal that can be subsisted in
           this barren neighbourhood without great expense; our horses
           are all sent to a distance of twelve, fifteen, and thirty
           miles for grass.
 I have interpolated these two somewhat similar descriptions of
 Santa Fe written in that long ago when New Mexico was almost as
 little known as the topography of the planet Mars, so that the
 intelligent visitor of to-day may appreciate the wonderful changes
 which American thrift, and that powerful civilizer, the locomotive,
 have wrought in a very few years, yet it still, as one of the
 foregoing writers has well said, "has the charm of foreign flavour,
 and the soft syllables of the Spanish language are still heard."
 The most positive exception must be taken to the statement of the
 first-quoted writer in relation to the Palace, of which he says
 "It is nothing more than the biggest mud-house in the town."
 Now this "Palacio del Gobernador," as the old building was called
 by the Spanish, was erected at a very early day.  It was the
 long-established seat of power when Penalosa confined the chief
 inquisitor within its walls in 1663, and when the Pueblo authorities
 took possession of it as the citadel of their central authority,
 in 1681.
 The old building cannot well be overlooked by the most careless
 visitor to the quaint town; it is a long, low structure, taking up
 the greater part of one side of the Plaza, round which runs a
 colonnade supported by pillars of rough pine.  In this once leaky
 old Palace were kept, or rather neglected, the archives of the
 Territory until the American residents, appreciating the importance
 of preserving precious documents containing so much of interest
 to the student of history and the antiquarian, enlisted themselves
 enthusiastically in the good cause, and have rescued from oblivion
 the annals of a relatively remote civilization, which, but for their
 forethought, would have perished from the face of the earth as
 completely as have the written records of that wonderful region in
 Central America, whose gigantic ruins alone remain to tell us of
 what was a highly cultured order of architecture in past ages,
 and of a people whose intelligence was comparable to the style
 of the dwellings in which they lived.
 The old adobe Palace is in itself a volume whose pages are filled
 with pathos and stirring events.  It has been the scene and witness
 of incidents the recital of which would to us to-day seem incredible.
 An old friend, once governor of New Mexico and now dead, thus
 graphically spoke of the venerable building:[7]
           In it lived and ruled the Spanish captain general, so remote
           and inaccessible from the viceroyalty at Mexico that he was
           in effect a king, nominally accountable to the viceroy,
           but practically beyond his reach and control and wholly
           irresponsible to the people.  Equally independent for the
           same reason were the Mexican governors.  Here met all the
           provincial, territorial, departmental, and other legislative
           bodies that have ever assembled at the capital of New Mexico.
           Here have been planned all the Indian wars and measures
           for defence against foreign invasion, including, as the
           most noteworthy, the Navajo war of 1823, the Texan invasion
           of 1842, the American of 1846, and the Confederate of 1862.
           Within its walls was imprisoned, in 1809, the American
           explorer Zebulon M. Pike, and innumerable state prisoners
           before and since; and many a sentence of death has been
           pronounced therein and the accused forthwith led away and
           shot at the dictum of the man at the Palace.  It has been
           from time immemorial the government house with all its
           branches annexed.  It was such on the Fourth of July, 1776,
           when the American Congress at Independence Hall in
           Philadelphia proclaimed liberty throughout all the land,
           not then, but now embracing it.  Indeed, this old edifice
           has a history.  And as the history of Santa Fe is the
           history of New Mexico, so is the history of the Palace
           the history of Santa Fe.
 The Palace was the only building having glazed windows.  At one end
 was the government printing office, and at the other, the guard-house
 and prison.  Fearful stories were connected with the prison.
 Edwards[8] says that he found, on examining the walls of the
 small rooms, locks of human hair stuffed into holes, with rude
 crosses drawn over them.
 Fronting the Palace, on the south side of the Plaza, stood the
 remains of the Capilla de los Soldados, or Military Chapel.
 The real name of the church was "Our Lady of Light."  It was said
 to be the richest church in the Province, but had not been in use
 for a number of years, and the roof had fallen in, allowing the
 elements to complete the work of destruction.  On each side of the
 altar was the remains of fine carving, and a weather-beaten picture
 above gave evidence of having been a beautiful painting.  Over the
 door was a large oblong slab of freestone, elaborately carved,
 representing "Our Lady of Light" rescuing a human being from the
 jaws of Satan.  A large tablet, beautifully executed in relief,
 stood behind the altar, representing various saints, with an
 inscription stating that it was erected by Governor Francisco Antonio
 del Valle and his wife in 1761.
 Church services were held in the Parroquia, or Parish church,
 now the Cathedral, which had two towers or steeples, in which hung
 four bells.  The music was furnished by a violin and a triangle.
 The wall back of the altar was covered with innumerable mirrors,
 paintings, and bright-coloured tapestry.
 The exact date of the first settlement of Santa Fe is uncertain.
 One authority says:
           It was a primeval stronghold before the Spanish Conquest,
           and a town of some importance to the white race when
           Pennsylvania was a wilderness and the first Dutch governor
           of New York was slowly drilling the Knickerbocker ancestry
           in their difficult evolutions around the town-pump.
 It is claimed, on what is deemed very authentic data by some, that
 Santa Fe is really the oldest settled town in the United States.
 St. Augustine, Florida, was established in 1565 and was unquestionably
 conceded the honour of antiquity until the acquisition of New Mexico
 by the Guadalupe-Hidalgo treaty.  Then, of course, Santa Fe steps
 into the arena and carries off the laurels.  This claim of precedence
 for Santa Fe is based upon the statement (whether historically correct
 or not is a question) that when the Spaniards first entered the region
 from the southern portion of Mexico, about 1542, they found a very
 large Pueblo town on the present site of Santa Fe, and that its prior
 existence extended far back into the vanished centuries.  This is
 contradicted by other historians, who contend that the claim of
 Santa Fe to be the oldest town in the United States rests entirely
 on imaginary annals of an Indian Pueblo before the Spanish Conquest,
 and that there are but slight indications that the town was built
 on the site of one.[9]
 The reader may further satisfy himself on these mooted points by
 consulting the mass of historical literature on New Mexico,
 and the records of its primitive times are not surpassed in interest
 by those of any other part of the continent.  It was there the
 Europeans first made great conquests, and some years prior to the
 landing of the Pilgrims, a history of New Mexico, being the journal
 of Geronimo de Zarate Salmaron, was published by the Church in the
 City of Mexico, early in 1600.  Salmaron was a Franciscan monk;
 a most zealous and indefatigable worker.  During his eight years'
 residence at Jemez, near Santa Fe, he claims to have baptized over
 eight thousand Indians, converts to the Catholic faith.  His journal
 gives a description of the country, its mines, etc., and was made
 public in order that other monks reading it might emulate his
 pious example.
 Between 1605 and 1616 was founded the Villa of Santa Fe, or
 San Francisco de la Santa Fe.  "Villa," or village, was an honorary
 title, always authorized and proclaimed by the king.  Bancroft says
 that it was first officially mentioned on the 3d of January, 1617.
 The first immigration to New Mexico was under Don Juan de Onate
 about 1597, and in a year afterward, according to some authorities,
 Santa Fe was settled.  The place, as claimed by some historians,
 was then named El Teguayo, a Spanish adaptation of the word "Tegua,"
 the name of the Pueblo nation, which was quite numerous, and occupied
 Santa Fe and the contiguous country.  It very soon, from its central
 position and charming climate, became the leading Spanish town,
 and the capital of the Province.  The Spaniards, who came at first
 into the country as friends, and were apparently eager to obtain
 the good-will of the intelligent natives, shortly began to claim
 superiority, and to insist on the performance of services which were
 originally mere evidences of hospitality and kindness.  Little by
 little they assumed greater power and control over the Indians,
 until in the course of years they had subjected a large portion of
 them to servitude little differing from actual slavery.
 The impolitic zeal of the monks gradually invoked the spirit of
 hatred and resulted in a rebellion that drove the Spaniards, in 1680,
 from the country.  The large number of priests who were left in the
 midst of the natives met with horrible fates:
           Not one escaped martyrdom.  At Zuni, three Franciscans
           had been stationed, and when the news of the Spanish retreat
           reached the town, the people dragged them from their cells,
           stripped and stoned them, and afterwards compelled the
           servant of one to finish the work by shooting them.  Having
           thus whetted their appetite for cruelty and vengeance,
           the Indians started to carry the news of their independence
           to Moqui, and signalized their arrival by the barbarous
           murder of the two missionaries who were living there.
           Their bodies were left unburied, as a prey for the wild
           beasts.  At Jemez they indulged in every refinement of
           cruelty.  The old priest, Jesus Morador, was seized in
           his bed at night, stripped naked and mounted on a hog,
           and thus paraded through the streets, while the crowd
           shouted and yelled around.  Not satisfied with this,
           they then forced him to carry them as a beast would,
           crawling on his hands and feet, until, from repeated beating
           and the cruel tortures of sharp spurs, he fell dead in
           their midst.  A similar chapter of horrors was enacted
           at Acoma, where three priests were stripped, tied together
           with hair rope, and so driven through the streets, and
           finally stoned to death.  Not a Christian remained free
           within the limits of New Mexico, and those who had been
           dominant a few months before were now wretched and
           half-starved fugitives, huddled together in the rude huts
           of San Lorenzo.
           As soon as the Spaniards had retreated from the country,
           the Pueblo Indians gave themselves up for a time to
           rejoicing, and to the destruction of everything which could
           remind them of the Europeans, their religion, and their
           domination.  The army which had besieged Santa Fe quickly
           entered that city, took possession of the Palace as the
           seat of government, and commenced the work of demolition.
           The churches and the monastery of the Franciscans were
           burned with all their contents, amid the almost frantic
           acclamations of the natives.  The gorgeous vestments of
           the priests had been dragged out before the conflagration,
           and now were worn in derision by Indians, who rode through
           the streets at full speed, shouting for joy.  The official
           documents and books in the Palace were brought forth,
           and made fuel for a bonfire in the centre of the Plaza;
           and here also they danced the cachina, with all the
           accompanying religious ceremonies of the olden time.
           Everything imaginable was done to show their detestation
           of the Christian faith and their determination to utterly
           eradicate even its memory.  Those who had been baptized
           were washed with amole in the Rio Chiquito, in order to be
           cleansed from the infection of Christianity.  All baptismal
           names were discarded, marriages celebrated by Christian
           priests were annulled, the very mention of the names Jesus
           and Mary was made an offence, and estuffas were constructed
           to take the place of ruined churches.[10]
 For twelve years, although many abortive attempts were made to
 recapture the country, the Pueblos were left in possession.  On the
 16th of October, 1693, the victorious Spaniards at last entered
 Santa Fe, bearing the same banner which had been carried by Onate when
 he entered the city just a century before.  The conqueror this time
 was Don Diego de Vargas Zapata Lujan, whom the viceroy of New Spain
 had appointed governor in the spring of 1692, with the avowed purpose
 of having New Mexico reconquered as speedily as possible.
 Thus it will be seen that the quaint old city has been the scene of
 many important historical events, the mere outline of which I have
 recorded here, as this book is not devoted to the historical view
 of the subject.
 In contradistinction to the quiet, sleepy old Santa Fe of half
 a century ago, it now presents all the vigour, intelligence, and
 bustling progressiveness of the average American city of to-day,
 yet still smacks of that ancient Spanish regime, which gives it
 a charm that only its blended European and Indian civilization
 could make possible after its amalgamation with the United States.
 The tourist will no longer find a drowsy old town, and the Plaza
 is no longer unfenced and uncared for.  A beautiful park of trees
 is surrounded by low palings, and inside the shady enclosure,
 under a group of large cottonwoods, is a cenotaph erected to the
 memory of the Territory's gallant soldiers who fell in the shock of
 battle to save New Mexico to the Union in 1862, and conspicuous among
 the names carved on the enduring native rock is that of Kit Carson--
 prince of frontiersmen, and one of Nature's noblemen.
 Around the Plaza one sees the American style of architecture and
 hears the hum of American civilization; but beyond, and outside
 this pretty park, the streets are narrow, crooked, and have an
 ancient appearance.  There the old Santa Fe confronts the stranger;
 odd, foreign-looking, and flavoured with all the peculiarities which
 marked the era of Mexican rule.  And now, where once was heard the
 excited shouts of the idle crowd, of "Los Americanos!" "Los Carros!"
 "La entrada de la Caravana!" as the great freight wagons rolled into
 the streets of the old town from the Missouri, over the Santa Fe Trail,
 the shrill whistle of the locomotive from its trail of steel awakens
 the echoes of the mighty hills.
 As may be imagined, great excitement always prevailed whenever a
 caravan of goods arrived in Santa Fe.  Particularly was this the case
 among the feminine portion of the community.  The quaint old town
 turned out its mixed population en masse the moment the shouts went up
 that the train was in sight.  There is nothing there to-day comparable
 to the anxious looks of the masses as they watched the heavily
 freighted wagons rolling into the town, the teamsters dust-begrimed,
 and the mules making the place hideous with their discordant braying
 as they knew that their long journey was ended and rest awaited them.
 The importing merchants were obliged to turn over to the custom house
 officials five hundred dollars for every wagon-load, great or small;
 and no matter what the intrinsic value of the goods might be,
 salt or silk, velvets or sugar, it was all the same.  The nefarious
 duty had to be paid before a penny's worth could be transferred
 to their counters.  Of course, with the end of Mexican rule and
 the acquisition of the Province by the United States, all opposition
 to the traffic of the Old Santa Fe Trail ended, traders were assured
 a profitable market and the people purchased at relatively low prices.
 What a wonderful change has taken place in the traffic with New Mexico
 in less than three-quarters of a century!  In 1825 it was all carried
 on with one single annual caravan of prairie-schooners, and now there
 are four railroads running through the Rio Grande Valley, and one
 daily freight train of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe into the
 town unloads more freight than was taken there in a whole year when
 the "commerce of the prairies" was at its height!
 Upon the arrival of a caravan in the days of the sleepy regime under
 Mexican control, the people did everything in their power to make
 the time pass pleasantly for every one connected with it during
 their sojourn.  Bailes, or fandangoes, as the dancing parties were
 called by the natives, were given nightly, and many amusing anecdotes
 in regard to them are related by the old-timers.
 The New Mexicans, both men and women, had a great fondness for
 jewelry, dress, and amusements; of the latter, the fandango was the
 principal, which was held in the most fashionable place of resort,
 where every belle and beauty in the town presented herself,
 attired in the most costly manner, and displaying her jewelled
 ornaments to the best advantage.  To this place of recreation
 and pleasure, generally a large, capacious saloon or interior court,
 all classes of persons were allowed to come, without charge and
 without invitation.  The festivities usually commenced about nine
 o'clock in the evening, and the tolling of the church bells was
 the signal for the ladies to make their entrance, which they did
 almost simultaneously.
 New Mexican ladies were famous for their gaudy dresses, but it must
 be confessed they did not exercise good taste.  Their robes were
 made without bodies; a skirt only, and a long, loose, flowing scarf
 or reboso dexterously thrown about the head and shoulders, so as to
 supersede both the use of dress-bodies and bonnets.
 There was very little order maintained at these fandangoes, and still
 less attention paid to the rules of etiquette.  A kind of swinging,
 gallopade waltz was the favourite dance, the cotillion not being
 much in vogue.  Read Byron's graphic description of the waltz,
 and then stretch your imagination to its utmost tension, and you
 will perhaps have some faint conception of the Mexican fandango.
 Such familiarity of position as was indulged in would be repugnant
 to the refined rules of polite society in the eastern cities;
 but with the New Mexicans, in those early times, nothing was
 considered to be a greater accomplishment than that of being able
 to go handsomely through all the mazes of their peculiar dance.
 There was one republican feature about the New Mexican fandango;
 it was that all classes, rich and poor alike, met and intermingled,
 as did the Romans at their Saturnalia, upon terms of equality.
 Sumptuous repasts or collations were rarely ever prepared for those
 frolicsome gatherings, but there was always an abundance of
 confectionery, sweetmeats, and native wine.  It cost very little
 for a man to attend one of the fandangoes in Santa Fe, but not to get
 away decently and sober.  In that it resembled the descent of Aeneas
 to Pluto's realms; it was easy enough to get there, but when it came
 to return, "revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras, hic labor,
 hoc opus est."