I
tasted the water and found it exceedingly salt, and I did not see how
anything could live in it and not become in the condition of pickled
pork or fish. Where was the salt to make this mighty brine pond, and why
did it keep so when the great rivers kept pouring in their torrents of
fresh waters? I did not understand, and these are some of the thoughts
that came to the boy who had been raised upon the prairie, and to whom
the great ocean was indeed an unknown sea.
We followed along the road and in time came to another village and
Mission called Santa Barbara. The village was near the shore, and the
church farther back upon an elevated piece of ground near the foot of
the mountain, overlooking the town and sea and much of the country to
the south, west and east. The mountain was high and rough, and a point
ran out into the sea making a sort of harbor. This town was built much
as the others had been except perhaps the Mission which seemed better.
The roofs were as flat as the floors and were covered with a sort of tar
which made them water-proof. The material of the houses was sun-dried
bricks, two feet long by one foot wide and four to six inches thick.
There was no lime in the mortar of this mason work, and the openings in
the walls had iron bars across them instead of sash and glass. Dried
hides were spread upon the floors, and there was a large earthen jar for
water, but not a table, bedstead or chair could be seen in the rooms we
saw. A man came along, rode right in at the door, turned around and rode
out again.
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