Swallows to Capistrano

Founded by Fra Junipero Serra in 1776 the Mission of San Juan Capistrano on California's coast about half way between Los Angeles and San Diego, was already well seasoned when Richard Henry Dana Jr. (Two Years Before the Mast) visited it last century, called it the loneliest and loveliest spot he had ever seen. Of the legends clustered about this historic shrine mellowest is the tale that for 160 years migrating swallows have arrived at the Mission each year on March 19 (St Joseph's Day), flown south again on Oct. 23 (St. John's Day). Last week on March 19, for the first time the swallows' arrival was recorded with newsreel cameras, radio broadcasting equipment.

On March 18, as usual, an advance guard of several hundred swallows winged in from the ocean, circled the Mission, flew back to sea. Happy at that yearly signal were the Mission brothers engaged in digging and watering a big mudhole from which the birds would draw material to repair their hard-baked, saucer-shaped nests. Next dawn a crowd gathered on the Mission grounds, all eyes peering out to sea. Sure enough, sharp at 5:56 a. m., 40 minutes after sunrise, a lowering cloud appeared on the horizon, grew bigger and bigger until it all but blotted out the Mission sunlight, making the air loud with the beat of thousands of narrow wings. Suddenly, while the rest flew on to the canyons beyond, a great segment of the swallow cloud broke off, swooped down on the Mission. Then began Capistrano's annual battle of birds as the swallows fought to drive interloping swifts and sparrows from their last year's nests. Meantime cameras whirred, radio announcers chattered and Dona Magdalena Murillo, 89, triumphantly croaked her tale of watching the swallows' clocklike arrival and departure every year since childhood.

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