III In and About San Diego
Like many other places in California, San Diego (St. James), has had more than one christening. The first was at the hands of Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo, who discovered the harbor in 1542, and named it San Miguel (St. Michael). Cabrillo was a Portuguese in the Spanish service, who was sent to explore the coast in 1542 by Viceroy Mendoza. “He sailed from Natividad with two vessels, made a careful survey, applied names that for the most part have not been retained, and described the coast somewhat accurately as far as Monterey. He discovered ‘a land-locked and very good harbor,’ probably San Diego, which he named San Miguel. ‘The next day he sent a boat farther into the port, which was large. A very great gale blew from the west-southwest, and south-southwest, but the port being good, they felt nothing.’ On the return from the north the party stopped at La Posesión, where Cabrillo died on January third, from the effects of a fall and exposure. No traces of his last resting-place, almost certainly on San Miguel near Cuyler’s harbor, have been found; and the drifting sands have perhaps made such a discovery doubtful. To this bold mariner, the first to discover her coasts, if to any one, California may with propriety erect a monument.”—(Bancroft’s History of California.)
Then, in 1602, came Sebastián Vizcaíno, who changed the name from San Miguel to San Diego. He was “sent to make the discovery and demarcation of the ports and bays of the Southern Sea (Pacific Ocean),” and to occupy for Spain the California isles, as they were then thought to be. From the diary of Vizcaíno’s voyage we get the following account of his arrival at San Diego: “The next day, Sunday, the tenth of the said month (November), we arrived at a port, the best that there can be in all the Southern Sea, for, besides being guarded from all winds, and having a good bottom, it is in latitude 33½. It has very good water and wood, many fish of all sorts, of which we caught a great many with the net and hooks. There is good hunting of rabbits, hares, deer, and many large quail, ducks and other birds. On the twelfth of the said month, which was the day of the glorious San Diego, the admiral, the priests, the officers, and almost all the people, went on shore. A hut was built, thus enabling the feast of the Señor San Diego to be celebrated.”
A party sent out to get wood “saw upon a hill a band of 100 Indians, with bows and arrows, and many feathers upon their heads, and with a great shouting they called out to us.” By a bestowal of presents, friendly relations were established. The account continues: “They had pots in which they cooked their food, and the Indian women were dressed in the skins of animals. The name of San Diego was given to this port.” Thus, it was the bay that first received the name, years afterwards given to the mission, then to the town. During the stay of Vizcaíno’s party the Indians came often to their camp with marten skins and other articles. On November 20, having taken on food and water, the party set sail, the Indians shouting a vociferous farewell from the beach (quedaban en la playa, dando boces.)
A long period of neglect of more than 160 years then ensued. The Indians continued to carry on their wretched hand-to-mouth existence, trapping wild beasts for their food and scanty clothing, fishing in the teeming streams, and keeping up their constant inter-tribal quarrels unmolested by the white man. Several generations grew up and passed away without a reminder of the strange people who had once been seen upon their shores, except perhaps an occasional white sail of some Philippine galleon seen flitting like a ghost on its southward trip along the coast.
Then the Spaniards, alarmed by reports of the encroachments of the Russians on the north, waked up from their long sleep, and determined to establish a chain of missions along the California coast. Father Junípero Serra was appointed president of these missions, and the first one of the chain was founded by him at San Diego in 1769. The name was originally applied to the “Old Town,” some distance from the present city. The founding party encountered great difficulties, partly through their fearful sufferings from scurvy, and partly from the turbulent and thievish nature of the Indians in that vicinity, with whom they had several lively fights, and who stole everything they could lay their hands on, even to the sheets from the beds of the sick. During one of these attacks, the mission buildings were burned and one of the padres, Fray Luís Jaime, suffered a cruel death, but all difficulties were finally overcome by the strong hand of Father Serra, and the mission was placed on a firm basis. Its partially ruined buildings still remain at a place about six miles from the present city.
To return to the matter of the name, San Diego is doubly rich in possessing two titular saints, the bay having been undoubtedly named by Vizcaíno in honor of St. James, the patron saint of Spain, whereas the town takes its name from the mission, which perpetuates the memory of a canonized Spanish monk, San Diego de Alcalá. The story of St. James, the patron of Spain, runs as follows: “As one of Christ’s disciples, a nobleman’s son who chose to abandon his wealth and follow Jesus, he was persecuted by the Jews, and finally beheaded. When dragged before Herod Agrippa, his gentleness touched the soul of one of his tormentors, who begged to die with him. James gave him a kiss, saying ‘Pax Vobiscum’ (peace be with you), and from this arose the kiss of peace which has been used in the church since that time. The legend has it that his body was conducted by angels to Spain, where a magnificent church was built for its reception, and that his spirit returned to earth and took an active part in the military affairs of the country. He was said to have appeared at the head of the Spanish armies on thirty-eight different occasions, most notably in 939, when King Ramírez determined not to submit longer to the tribute of one hundred virgins annually paid to the Moors, and defied them to a battle. After the Spaniards had suffered one repulse, the spirit of St. James appeared at their head on a milk-white charger, and led them to a victory in which sixty thousand Moors were left dead on the field. From that day ‘Santiago!’ has been the Spanish war-cry.”—(From Clara Erskine Clement’s Stories of the Saints.)
It happens, rather curiously, that in the Spanish language St. James appears under several different forms, Santiago, San Diego and San Tiago. The immediate patron of our southernmost city, San Diego de Alcalá, was a humble Capuchin brother in a monastery of Alcalá. It is said that the infante Don Carlos was healed of a severe wound through the intercession of this saint, and that on this account Philip II promoted his canonization.
May the spirit of the “glorious San Diego” shed some of his tender humanity upon the city of which he is the protector!
Coronado Beach
Coronado Beach, the long spit of land forming the outer shore of the harbor of San Diego, “derived its name from the Coronado Islands near it. These islands were originally named by the Spaniards in honor of Coronado. When the improvement of the sand spit opposite San Diego City and facing the Coronado Islands was made in 1885, the name of Coronado Beach was bestowed upon it.”—(Charles B. Turrill, San Francisco.)
In all the history of Spain in western America there is nothing more romantic than the story of the famous explorer, Francisco Vásquez de Coronado, who, with the delightful childlike faith of his race, marched through Texas and Kansas in search of the fabulous city of Gran Quivira, “where every one had his dishes made of wrought plate, and the jugs and bowls were of gold,” and then marched back again! Imagine our hard-headed Puritan ancestors setting forth on such a quest!
San Luís Rey
San Luís Rey de Francia (St. Louis King of France), is the name of the mission situated in a charming little valley about forty miles north of San Diego and three miles from the sea. It was founded June 13, 1798, by Padres Lasuén, Santiago and Peyri, and its ruins may still be seen upon the spot. A partial restoration has been made of these buildings and they are now used by the Franciscans. The exact circumstances of its naming have not come to light, but we know of its patron saint that his holiness was such that even Voltaire said of him: “It is scarcely given to man to push virtue further.” Born at Poissy in 1215, the son of Louis VIII and Blanche of Castile, he became noted for his saintliness, and twice led an army of Crusaders in the “holy war.”
Pala
Pala, often misspelled palo, through an accidental resemblance to the Spanish word palo (stick or tree), is situated some fifteen miles or more to the northeast of San Luís Rey, and is the site of the sub-mission of San Antonio de Pala, founded in 1816 by Padre Peyri as a branch of San Luís Rey. This mission was unique in having a bell-tower built apart from the church, and many romantic stories have been told about the “bells of Pala.” It was located in the center of a populous Indian community, and it happens, rather curiously, that the word itself has a significance both in Spanish and Indian, meaning in Spanish “spade” and in Indian “water.” The Reverend George Doyle, pastor at the mission of San Antonio de Pala, writes the following in regard to this name: “The word ‘Pala’ is an Indian word, meaning, in the Cupanian Mission Indian language, ‘water,’ probably due to the fact that the San Luís Rey River passes through it. The proper title of the mission chapel here is San Antonio de Padua, but as there is another San Antonio de Padua mission chapel in the north, to distinguish between the two some one in the misty past changed the proper title of the Saint, and so we have ‘de Pala’ instead of ‘de Padua.’ Some writers say Pala is Spanish, but this is not true, for the little valley in no way resembles a spade, and the Palanian Indians were here long before the Franciscan padres brought civilization, Christianity and the Spanish language.”
Pala, in this case, is almost certainly Indian, and originates in a legend of the Luiseños. According to this legend, one of the natives of the Temécula tribe went forth on his travels, stopping at many places and giving names to them. One of these places was a canyon, “where he drank water and called it pala, water.”—(The Religion of the Luiseño Indians, by Constance Goddard Dubois, in the Univ. of Cal. Publ. of Arch. and Tech.)
San Juan Capistrano
San Juan Capistrano (St. John Capistrano), was at one time sadly mutilated by having its first part clipped off, appearing on the map as Capistrano, but upon representations made by Zoeth S. Eldredge it was restored to its full form by the Post Office Department. A mission was founded at this place, which is near the coast about half-way between San Diego and Los Ángeles, by Padres Serra and Amurrio, November 1, 1776, the year of our own glorious memory. While on the other side of the continent bloody war raged, under the sunny skies of California the gentle padres were raising altars to the “Man of Peace.”
The buildings at this place were badly wrecked by an earthquake on December 8, 1812, yet the ruins still remain to attest to the fact that this was at one time regarded as the finest of all the mission structures.
Its patron saint, St. John Capistrano, was a Franciscan friar who lived at the time of the crusades, and took part in them. A colossal statue of him adorns the exterior of the Cathedral at Vienna. It represents him as having a Turk under his feet, a standard in one hand, and a cross in the other.
Supplementary List
There remain some names in the San Diego group of less importance, yet possessing many points of interest, which will be included in the following list, with an explanation of their meanings, and their history wherever it has been possible to ascertain it.
Agua Tibia (warm water, warm springs), is in San Diego County. For some reason difficult to divine, this perfectly simple name has been the cause of great confusion in the minds of a number of writers. In one case the almost incredibly absurd translation “shinbone water” has been given. It may be thought that this was intended as a bit of humor, but it is greatly to be feared that the writer mixed up the Spanish word tibia, which simply means “tepid, warm,” with the Latin name of one of the bones of the lower leg, the tibia. In another case the equally absurd translation “flute water” has been given. Where such a meaning could have been obtained is beyond comprehension to any person possessing even a slight knowledge of the Spanish language. Agua Tibia is no more nor less than “warm water,” applied in this case to warm springs existing at that place. This extreme case is enlarged upon here as an example of the gross errors that have been freely handed out to an unsuspecting public in the matter of our place names. There are many more of the same sort, and the authors of this inexcusable stuff have been accepted and even quoted as authorities on the subject. Those of us who love our California, in other words all of us, can not fail to be pained by such a degradation of her romantic history.
Ballena (whale), is in San Diego County at the west end of Ballena Valley, and as it is a good many miles inland its name seems incongruous, until we learn from one of its residents that it was so-called in reference to a mountain in the valley whose outline along the top is exactly the shape of a humpbacked whale.
“This place has probably no connection with Ballenas, a name applied to a bay in Lower California on account of its being a favorite resort of the Humpback whale.”—(Mr. Charles B. Turrill.)
Berenda, in Merced County, is a misspelling of Berrendo or Berrenda.
Berrendo (antelope). A writer whose knowledge of Spanish seems to be wholly a matter of the dictionary, confused by the fact that the definition given for berrendo is “having two colors,” has offered the fantastic translation of El Río de los Berrendos as “The River of two Colors.” Although the idea of such a river, like a piece of changeable silk, may be picturesque, the simple truth is that the word berrendo, although not so-defined in the dictionaries, is used in Spanish America to signify a deer of the antelope variety and frequently occurs in that sense in the diaries. Miguel Costansó, an engineer accompanying the Portolá expedition of 1769, says: “Hay en la tierra venados, verrendos (also spelled berrendos), muchos liebres, conejos, gatos monteses y ratas (there are in the land deer, antelope, many hares, rabbits, wild-cats and rats).” On August 4 this party reached a place forty leagues from San Diego which they called Berrendo because they caught alive a deer which had been shot the day before by the soldiers and had a broken leg. Antelope Creek, in Tehama County, was originally named El Río de los Berrendos (The River of the Antelopes), undoubtedly because it was a drinking place frequented by those graceful creatures, and Antelope Valley, in the central part of the state, must have received its name in the same way.
El Cajón (the box), about twelve miles northeast of San Diego, perhaps received its name from a custom the Spaniards had of calling a deep canyon with high, box-like walls, un cajón (a box).
Caliente Creek (hot creek), is in the northern part of San Diego County.
Campo (a level field), also sometimes used in the sense of a camp, is the name of a place about forty miles east-southeast of San Diego, just above the Mexican border. Campo was an Indian settlement, and may have been so-called by the Spaniards simply in reference to the camp of Indians.
Cañada del Bautismo (glen of the baptism), so-called from the circumstance that two dying native children were there baptized by the padres, as told in the diary of Miguel Costansó, of the Portolá expedition of 1769. Death, when it came to the children of the natives, was often regarded as cause for rejoicing by the missionaries, not, of course, through any lack of humanity on their part, but because the Indian parents more readily consented to baptism at such a time, and the padres regarded these as so many souls “snatched from the burning.”
Carriso (reed grass), is the name of a village and creek in San Diego County.
Chula Vista (pretty view), is the name of a town near the coast, a few miles southeast of San Diego. Chula is a word of Mexican origin, meaning pretty, graceful, attractive. “This name was probably first used by the promoters during the boom of 1887.”—(Mr. Charles B. Turrill.)
La Costa (the coast), a place on the shore north of San Diego.
Coyote Valley, situated just below the southern border of the San Jacinto Forest Reservation. Coyote, the name of the wolf of Western America, is an Aztec word, originally coyotl.
Cuyamaca is probably derived from the land grant of that name, which in turn took its name from the Cuyamaca Mountain, which, according to the scientists, was so-called in reference to the clouds and rain gathering around its summit. Mr. T. T. Waterman, instructor in Anthropology at the University of California, says the word is derived from two Indian words, kwe (rain), and amak (yonder), and consequently means “rain yonder.” The popular translation of it as “woman’s breast” is probably not based on fact. There was an Indian village of that name some miles northwest of San Diego.
Descanso (rest), is the name of a place northeast of San Diego, so-called by a government surveying party for the reason that they stopped here each day for rest.
Dulzura (sweetness), is the name of a place but a few miles north of the Mexican border line. What there was of “sweetness” in the history of this desolate mining camp can not be discovered.
Encinitas (little oaks), is a place on the coast about twenty miles northwest of San Diego.
Escondido (hidden), a place lying about fifteen miles from the coast, to the northeast of San Diego. It is said to have been so-named on account of its location in the valley. A place at another point was called Escondido by the Spaniards because of the difficulty they experienced in finding the water for which they were anxiously searching, and it may be that in this case the origin of the name was the same.
La Jolla, a word of doubtful origin, said by some persons to mean a “pool,” by others to be from hoya, a hollow surrounded by hills, and by still others to be a possible corruption of joya, a “jewel.” The suggestion has been made that La Jolla was named from caves situated there which contain pools, but until some further information turns up this name must remain among the unsolved problems. There is always the possibility also that La Jolla means none of these things but is a corruption of some Indian word with a totally different meaning. More than one place in the state masquerades under an apparently Spanish name which is in reality an Indian word corrupted into some Spanish word to which it bore an accidental resemblance in sound. Cortina (curtain) is an example of this sort of corruption, it being derived from the Indian Ko-tina.
Laguna del Corral (lagoon of the yard). Corral is a word much in use to signify a space of ground enclosed by a fence, often for the detention of animals. In one of the diaries an Indian corral is thus spoken of: “Near the place in which we camped there was a populous Indian village; the inhabitants lived without other protection than a light shelter of branches in the form of an enclosure; for this reason the soldiers gave to the whole place the name of the Ranchería del Corral (the village of the yard).” There are other corrals and corralitos (little yards) in the state.
Linda Vista (charming or pretty view), is the name of a place ten or twelve miles due north of San Diego.
Point Loma (hill point). Loma means “hill,” hence Point Loma, the very end of the little peninsula enclosing San Diego bay, is a high promontory.
De Luz (a surname), that of a pioneer family. The literal meaning of the word luz is “light.”
Del Mar (of or on the sea), the name of a place on the shore about eighteen miles north of San Diego.
La Mesa (literally “the table”), used very commonly to mean “a high, flat table-land.” La Mesa, incorrectly printed on some of the maps as one word, Lamesa, lies a few miles to the northeast of San Diego.
Mesa Grande (literally “big table”), big table-land, is some distance to the northeast of San Diego.
El Nido (the nest), is southeast of San Diego, near the border.
Potrero (pasture ground), is just above the border line. There are many Potreros scattered over the state.
La Presa (the dam or dike). La Presa is a few miles east of San Diego, on the Sweetwater River, no doubt called Agua Dulce by the Spaniards.
Los Rosales (the rose-bushes), a spot located in the narratives of the Spaniards at about seventeen leagues from San Diego, and two leagues from Santa Margarita. Nothing in the new land brought to the explorers sweeter memories of their distant home than “the roses of Castile” which grew so luxuriantly along their pathway as to bring forth frequent expressions of delight from the padres. This particular place we find mentioned in the diary of Miguel Costansó, as follows: “We gave it the name of Cañada de los Rosales (glen of the rose-bushes), on account of the great number of rose-bushes we saw.”—(Translation edited by Frederick J. Teggart, Curator of the Academy of Pacific Coast History.)
Temécula, the name of a once important Indian village in the Temécula Valley, about thirty-five miles south of Riverside. Its inhabitants suffered the usual fate of the native when the white man discovers the value of the land, and were compelled to leave their valley in 1875, and remove to Pichanga Canyon, in a desert region.
Tía Juana (literally Aunt Jane). Travelers on the way to Mexico who stop for customs examination at this border town are no doubt surprised by its peculiar name. This is an example of the corruption, through its resemblance in sound, of an Indian word, Tiwana, into Tía Juana, Spanish for “Aunt Jane.” Tiwana is said to mean “by the sea,” which may or may not be the correct translation.