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Updated: June 27, 2025
The brilliant frescoing of this mission was done in 1824 by the writer's great grandfather, Esteban Munras, a Spaniard from Barcelona, who had studied art in his native city, and who was intimately connected with the early missionaries, especially those of Monterey, where he resided.
The night was not so black as it had been, and this puzzled him until he saw that the plantation house was ablaze. Flames were belching from its windows, casting abroad a lurid radiance; and remembering Pancho Cueto, Esteban laughed. By and by, after he was well away, his numbness passed and he began to suffer excruciating pain.
Had he not knelt and prayed for his wife's safe delivery and then hung his gifts upon the sacred image, as Loyola had hung up his weapons before that other counterpart of Our Lady? Don Esteban scowled at the memory, for those gems were of the finest, and certainly of a value sufficient to recompense the Virgin for any ordinary miracle.
He asked for a confessor from the Society, but the governor would not grant this, only consenting that he might confess to one of three fathers whom he designated; these were Juan Gonzalez, Don Esteban Olmedo adherents of himself and the Dominicans and Doctor Atienza, brother of the Atienza already named.
The young man shuddered, for the horror of the thing was still in his mind. "Tell me, how did you come to be there at such an hour, eh?" Esteban saw the malevolent curiosity in Cueto's face and started. "I That is my affair. Surely you don't think " "Come, come! You can trust me." The overseer winked and smiled. "I had business that took me there," stiffly declared the younger man. "Exactly!
From Matanzas!" he cried. "Gomez's man has arrived." Esteban struggled to rise, but Norine restrained him. "Rosa? What does he say? Quick!" "Good news! She left the Pan de Matanzas with the two negroes. She went into the city before Cobo's raid." Esteban collapsed limply. He closed his eyes, his face was very white. He crossed himself weakly. "The letter is definite. It seems they were starving.
They grew until his frame was shaken by primitive savage impulses. After a time Don Esteban cried: "That will do, Cueto! Leave him now for the flies to punish. They will remind him of his insolence." Then the guests departed, and Esteban staggered into the house and went to bed. All that morning Sebastian stood with his hands chained high over his head.
And as he trod the flagging of the Hospitolarios, good Don Esteban, little, chubby, and near-sighted, used to feel within him the soul of a hero born too late. The other churches, huge and rich, appeared to him with their blaze of gleaming gold, their alabaster convolutions and their jasper columns, mere monuments of insipid vulgarity.
To avoid bloodshed, I'll agree to sell my interest cheap, for cash. Come! What will you bid? Start it low. Do I hear a dollar bid? A dollar! A dollar! A dollar! My share of the famous Varona fortune going for a dollar!" "There! He doesn't believe a word of it," Esteban said. Norine gave an impatient shrug.
They hesitate, these English dogs! Por Dios, and well they may." "They will be waiting for night," suggested his nephew, who stood at his elbow quivering with excitement. Don Miguel looked at him, smiling. "And what shall the night avail them in this narrow passage, under the very muzzles of my guns? Be sure, Esteban, that to-night your father will be paid for."
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