Wind Rises in North America 1625

Chapter 420 The Cursed Place
February 3, 1640, San Diego, De Alcalá Mission Station.

The heavy smell of incense mixed with the stench of decaying corpses permeated the low-ceilinged adobe church.

Father Juan de Alcalá, the parish priest, had a hoarse voice, yet he persisted in reciting the Last Prayer, his sallow fingers gripping the silver cross tightly.

His trembling fingers traced the holy water and sprinkled it onto the three corpses arranged in front of him.

Each corpse was hastily wrapped in coarse linen, some of which had oozing yellowish-brown pus.

“May the Lord accept these devout souls…” Father Alcalá’s prayer was interrupted by a violent cough.

In a corner of the church, Peruz, a mixed-race youth responsible for carrying the body, immediately stepped forward to help, but was stopped by the priest raising his hand.

By the flickering candlelight, Peruzzi saw fresh bloodstains on the priest's gray beard.

“Father, you should rest,” Peruz advised with concern, his gaze sweeping over the faintly protruding arm beneath the priest’s robe.

There are several suspicious...red rashes there.

“A break?” Father Alcalá suddenly grabbed Peruzz’s wrist with surprising force. “Yesterday we buried the José family, and the day before it was Mother Marianne…”

He pointed to the back door of the church, where several simple wooden crosses were piled up: "Tomorrow it might be my turn. Lord, what kind of punishment is this..."

A series of urgent knocks on the door interrupted the priest's words.

Peruz pulled open the heavy pine door, and a cold wind, carrying raindrops, rushed in.

The colonial outpost’s attendant stood outside the door, his face covered with a linen cloth soaked in grease.

"Mr. Rosta orders the immediate cremation of the bodies of those who died from the disease, as well as their residences!" With that, he tossed down a tarpaulin package. "This is medicine powder brought from Mexico; perhaps it can serve as a preventative measure."

Peruzzi bent down to pick up the package and heard the sound of shovels digging in the cemetery behind the church.

Through the rain, he saw several armed guards wearing leather gloves carrying a small body onto a pile of firewood.

That was clearly the mixed-race little girl who had been playing in the square just a few days ago.

Now, she was roughly thrown onto a pile of firewood to be burned, her floral headscarf loosened, and her golden-brown curly hair was covered with grass clippings and mud.

"Won't they even give me a final prayer?" Peruz clutched the oilcloth bag tightly.

Father Alcalá suddenly began to tremble violently. He steadied himself by the altar, and pulled a gilded Bible from his robes, handing it to Peruz: "Son, go tell Mr. Rosta... no, go tell everyone..."

He collapsed weakly to the ground: "San Diego Bay is a place cursed by demons. We must all leave here and go to a purer, more peaceful place."

"Leviticus Chapter 13...The Treatment of the Plague...Oh Lord, are we purifying the plague, or are we burning our conscience..."

As he spoke, his voice grew softer and softer until it became barely audible.

"Oh God!" Upon seeing this, Peruz made the sign of the cross with his right hand and rushed out of the church to call the doctor.

Just as I stepped out the door, I heard a dull thud behind me as something heavy fell to the ground.

He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head and ran towards the camp.

He saw thick smoke rising from the direction of the bay; it was the militia burning the houses of residents who had died of illness.

The scene after the Dutch attack two years ago seemed to be repeating itself, only this time the arsonists were themselves.

Perhaps the priest was right; San Diego Bay truly was a place cursed by the devil. Twelve years earlier (1628), two Spanish armed exploration ships reached the bay and then landed.

They unexpectedly discovered looted goods from the Banderas Valley (present-day Puerto Vallarta, Mexico) in a nearby tribal camp, and immediately concluded that these barbaric Indians had carried out and participated in the despicable robbery, and thus launched a bloody revenge against them.

More than a hundred people were brutally killed, and the entire tribal camp was burned to the ground, bringing "justice" to the residents of Banderas Valley who perished.

As fate would have it, the new Chinese from the north were passing through San Diego Bay and, taking advantage of the Spanish's unpreparedness, launched a shameless sneak attack. They not only shelled the Spanish soldiers on the shore but also hijacked the two armed exploration ships, leaving more than 150 soldiers and sailors to suffer in this desolate land for several months before they were rescued.

Seven years ago, the colonial authorities' expeditionary fleet suffered a major defeat when it attacked Xinhua. On its way back, it passed through the San Diego stronghold and was attacked by the Xinhua people.

A huge and bizarre warship entered the bay and, in front of all the residents, bombarded the fleet, displaying its extreme power of intimidation.

After the new Spanish governor and the new Chinese reached a peace agreement, the San Diego expansion point seemed to be forgotten all of a sudden. Not only did no new immigrants arrive, but the supply of daily necessities was also intermittent, forcing the stationed personnel to take "decisive" measures to "requisition" food from the surrounding indigenous tribes in order to survive.

Just as the Spanish colonial authorities were hesitating about whether to close this outpost far from Mexico, an even more tragic fate befell it two years earlier.

Two Dutch pirate ships attacked the place. They easily disarmed the stronghold, killed more than ten people, and then looted the place, leaving not even a single grain of food.

Before leaving, the Dutch set fire to the entire settlement, leaving the surviving thirty-odd settlers in dire need of hunger and cold.

Several months later, when the merchant ships carrying supplies arrived, there were fewer than fifteen people left in the ruins on the shore, all of them emaciated and pitiful.

Just when everyone thought that after this calamity, this useless colonial outpost would be closed down and the residents would return to Mexico, ending everything here completely.

Unexpectedly, the Mexican authorities learned that the new Chinese were secretly establishing a colonial outpost in San Francisco Bay, posing a significant threat to the territory of New Spain.

Instead of dismantling the San Diego outpost, the governor raised several thousand pesos and sent over forty immigrants to the area in an attempt to rebuild it into a stable forward base.

With this forward outpost, Spain could greatly deter those greedy new Chinese immigrants, preventing them from expanding further south and encroaching on the territory of the Kingdom of Spain.

In addition, the Viceroyalty had another unspoken objective: to hope that the war in Europe would ease, or that the Mexican colonies would accumulate enough armed forces to launch another expedition to Xinhua from San Diego, completely annihilating this threatening "pirate group."

However, while the plans were perfect at the outset, they encountered numerous problems and even significant obstacles during implementation, making progress difficult.

Because the most serious problem facing the Spanish is that they have no money!

After investing the first few thousand pesos, the large-scale expansion plan for the San Diego colony came to an abrupt halt shortly after it began.

Everything seemed to have returned to its starting point.

No one paid attention here, and no one offered a helping hand. At the lavish and grand balls in Mexico City, the big shots drank fine wine, embraced elegant and noble ladies, and talked about life, completely forgetting about San Diego.

Just when everyone was at a loss, a terrible plague struck unexpectedly, and for more than a month, the shadow of death has loomed over San Diego Bay.

"The new Chinese in the north..."

Peruzzi gazed at the sea through the rain and murmured, "They built a settlement in San Francisco Bay. The governor got scared and finally remembered to rebuild this godforsaken place. But where's the money? Where are the people? We're almost too weak to even bury the dead..."

In the camp, the flames from burning houses and corpses illuminated the bay.

Peruz instinctively gripped the Bible tighter, and suddenly realized something.

This plague is unlikely to stop anytime soon, until the last Spaniard leaves this cursed land.

Or, to rest here forever.
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(End of this chapter)