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7-7 Friday, 1899

On guard tonight. Saw a pitiful funeral today. Two men with a rough box in which was a little babe. The men lifted the pole from their shoulders, sat down the box, took off their hats & said, “Buenas Dia, Senor. Passe?” “Si.” They then trudged away slowly, with the mother who was carrying a baby upon her rt. hip and leading another naked kid, following. She pointed to the box and with such a pitiful expression of countenance, said, “Picanniny de mi.” No candles, no chant, no priest –which they love so devotedly. These natives emotions are sudden & intense but very brief. On post at St. Anna [Santa Ana] road. Started to rain & blew our shelters down. I stood from 9 to 11.