the solid granite ; majestic falls, and crystal cascades, foaming from a
hundred hills.
But between us and these wonders intervene many miles of weari*
some travel, days of toil and nights of broken rest. Before my visit
I wondered that so many excursionists visited California, and never
went to Yosemite or the Big Trees. I wonder no longer; for the trip
is one which may well make the most hardy hesitate, though truly as-
sured that in the end he shall see wonders that have no equal upon
this planet. Two hundred and fifty miles of staging upon the rocky
Sierras, beneath an Augast sun, and half the time enveloped in red
dust, are enough to make one seriously ask, Does it pay to visit
Yosemite ?
We leave chilly " Frisco '^ at 4 P. M., and spend the night at Stock-
ton, experiencing in that short distance about as great a change of
climate as if we should go in April from Chicago to New Orleans.
Thence at daylight we take the Stockton and Copperopolis Railroad,
which runs to Milton, where the foothills begin. In California, every
thing under two thousand feet high is called a hill ; if it leads up to a
mountain, a foothill. At 8 o'clock, of a sultry morning, we take the
stage at Milton and strike north-east, over a dusty road, cheered at
rare intervals by a transient breath of wind.
Copperopolis is one of the dead mining towns of the Sierras, built
in "the great copper excitement.'' Its history is like that of other
mining towns which did not happen to be located in the right place ;
all summed up in the Piiite Indian's comment: "Koshbannim! heap
money spend ; goddam, no ketch 'um."
(UO)
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 141
From noon till 5 P. M., we endure the thumping of a Concord
coach over the Sierra spurs, those within frying, those without broil-
ing; in valleys where the thermometer stands in dead air at 100*^, or
over ridges where the stifling dust is mitigated sometimes by a gentle
breeze. This all the way to Murphy's, another old mining town,
where we receive the cheering intelligence that the real trouble of the
route is about to begin. We
coach to a "mountain-wagon
street hack with three seats a
capital thing for a torpid li\
jolting, our condition is impi
the dust; for there is not soil
to create it. We run beside cl
We are in a region of cool ai
shaded by rocky cliffs, or on
timber; and the wild evcr-v
gorge, crag, or wooded flat
&tigue.
The vegetation changes as
we gain in elevation. The
shrubby manzanita, dwarfish
oak, and arrowwood disap-
pear, and we are in a magnif-
icent forest of tall trees with-
out underbrush. Every mile
the trees increase in size; the
smallest we see for hours are
three or four feet in thickness,
and nature seems to usher us
in through fitting portals to
the wonders that are to come.
The big trees do not stand the two ouari>8mkn.
alone in grandeur, as I had supposed ; but, for twenty miles around,
vegetation shades off gradually in forests of immense pines. At last
we reach the borders of " The Grove " par excellence^ while there is
still light enough to appreciate its glories.
There they stand, the vegetable wonders of the world : some in
clusters, joining their branches like the columns of great gothic arches
reaching away to prop the firmament, or now and then one isolated,
and stretching out gaunt arms and opening boughs as if it would
drink the clouds. The majority appear stumpy and truncated, too
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142 WESTERN WILDS.
thick for their length ; but others stretch away in long, graceful col-
umns of arborescent proportions, height, thickness, and branches, all in
such perfect correspondence, that half the effect of their size is lost ;
there is such harmony in adjacent trees, and between different parts of
the same tree, that the sense of size is lessened by that of elegant uni-
formity. Most of the trees of two or three hundred feet in height,
have a decidedly stumpy appearance,
looking like gigantic stubs rather
than trees. At first view it seemed
to me the tops must have been broken
off. The branches add much to this
ilhision from the fact that they bend
downward, starting even from the
body of the tree at an angle of twenty
degrees below the horizontal. This
is caused by the weight of winter
snows, continued annually through
THE FAi,i.EN MONARCH. ^j, ^^^ thousands of ycars of their
growth. The smallest of these adjacent trees in an Ohio forest would
create astonishment; yet here they appear trifling, as mere striplings
shading off and filling nature's interval between the mammoths and
common underbrush. Strangest of all, other things appear much
dwarfed. As the coach drives between the " Two Guardsmen,'* at the
entrance of the Grove, the horses appear like mere ponies, shrunk to
half their natural size. My companion, as he leans against the mon-
strous trunk, and extends his arms for me to judge its width by tliem,
appears a mere manikin ; the smallest tree, one I had guessed at four
feet, spreads a foot or two on either side beyond the natural reach of
his fingers, and dwarfs him amazingly by comparison. Here is the
place for man to realize his littleness. In the evening shades of these
green arches how naturally the mind reverts to thoughts of the vast,
the unchangeable, the infinite. Heaven itself seems nearer in our
thoughts; riotous mirth is hushed; solemn awe fills the soul, and in
low-toned exclamations alone we briefly converse.
But forty miles of staging over bowlders. and rocky up-grade, with
dust enough in us to start a second Adam, incline our party to think
more of supper and bed, than of the biggest trees nature can produce.
These comforts, first-class, are found at the Big-Tree Hotel, and for a
summer resort one can spend weeks very pleasantly there. Daylight
at 4.30 A. M. shone through the green arches with a new and wondrous
beauty, and we awoke to the contemplation of a new world, another
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 143
creation, as it were, where nature seems to have proceeded on a special
plan, too Cyclopean for the common world outside.
Of course, tlie first object for to-day is the great fallen tree and
stump, the latter now covered with a handsome summor-house, and
fitted up as a pavilion for dancing. The tree as it stood was 302 feet
in height, and 96 feet in circumference 3 feet from the ground. But
there is a little of the "brag '' in this measurement, as most of these
trees spread greatly near the ground, and do not assume a symmetrical
SOMETHING OF A STUMP.
and tree-like shape before reaching the height of ten feet or more.
The bark was eighteen inches thick, and the total diameter 28 feet.
Five men were twenty days felling it, the object being to have it sawed
into cross-sections to be shipped eastward and to Europe. The work
was done with long augers, boring it off little by little ; but when en-
tirely severed, such was the perfect plumb of trunk and branches, that,
to the amazement of spectators, the tree merely settled down and still
stood as if refusing, conscious of its majesty, to bow to human endeav-
ors. Vast wedges were then inserted on the northern side, and driven
little by little till, heaved beyond the line of gravity, the mighty -
growth came crashing to the ground. It would seem that nature must
have yielded an audible groan at this desecration.
A bowling alley was constructed upon the upper portion of the
trnnk, but not proving remunerative, has been removed. The "butt
cut" of the tree lies as it fell, the top reached by means of a ladder;
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144 WESTERN WILDS.
then a large portion is gone — sawn out in foot sections and trans-
ported Eastward. The "Father of the Forest/' largest of all the
trees, is also prostrate and slightly buried in the ground, having
evidently fallen many years before the grove was discovered (1852).
Its circumference at the base is 110 feet; thence it is 200 feet to the
first branch, the tree hollow all that distance, and through this tube I
can easily walk erect. Unlike the other, it was evidently much de-
cayed, and was broken by its fall, besides breaking down several
smaller trees with it. By the stumps of these it is known to have
been at least 420 feet in height, and may have been considerably more.
Near its base is a never-failing spring of clear, cold water.
"The Mother of the Forest,*' so named from two round protuber-
ances on one side, is the largest tree now standing. The bark has
been removed to the height of 116 feet, but without it the tree is 84
feet in circumference at the base. Twenty feet from the base it
measures round 69 feet, and thus on, decreasing with elegant regu-
larity to the height of 321 feet, making this the most symmetrical of
all the larger trees. And for this reason its vastneas is seldom appre-
ciated at first view. In such fine harmony, the sense of immensity is
lost. It is not until one has gone around the tree many times, and
vie^ved it from different points, that he comprehends its grandeur.
The bark was from ten to twenty-four inches thick, bulging out-
wardly in a succession of ellipsoids around the trunk ; it resembles a
mass of velvety red fibers, and blocks of it are in use all over the
country as memorial pin-cushions. A practical lumberman of our
party estimated that this tree contained at least 520,000 feet of sound
inch lumber.
Next are the "Husband and Wife,'' a noble pair of saplings, each
60 feet around the base, and 250 feet in height, growing near and
bending lovingly toward each other till their upper branches are min-
gled in a dense wooden and leafy mass — a canopy sufficient to shade
5,000 persons! Near by is the "Burnt Tree," prostrate and hollow,
into which one can ride on horseback for sixty feet. Across the roots
it measures 39 feet, and from all indications its height must have been
over 300 feet. The "Horseback Ride" is also hollow its entire
length ; in the narrowest part the interior is twelve feet wide, and can
be traversed from end to end. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is a hollow
stump in which twenty-five persons can be comfortably seated ; while
near by the " Three Sisters " stand side by feide in graceful amplitude,
each twenty feet thick and 200 feet high, of exact proportions and
equidistant from base to crown.
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 145
The treeB are mammoth redwoods, assigned by botanists to a class
known as Sequoia gigantea. In an elaborate description written soon
after dincovery, a patriotic En*j^1ish m^iati-
tist christened them the Welli
ffanlea. This roused the jea
a California savariy who, in i
spasm of national pride, gav
specific title of Washingtoni
But by common consent the
known by the name first
Like all other timber of the
genus, they are but little sub
cay, and the most impaired ol
trunks has undoubtedly beei
for many hundred years. I
air, at an elevation of 3,000
sea-level, with drought in si
snow in winter, and only the
of spring and autumn, deci
long jKjriods, compared to whit
life seems practically naught.
We have gazed long upon
tanic marvels, and still new b
pear at each new study ; but
we come to estimate their age t
nient reaches its climax, and a^
compare the duration of these
trunks with man's brief period
of growth and decay. The
trees of this genus require
twenty years to increase one
inch in diameter; the bark
twice as long to gain the
thickness of a knife-blade;
the timber, in a drying air,
will not perceptibly decay
within the life-time of man.
By these and many other
signs, more than all by the
number of annular rings, it ^ mowsteb.
is demonstrated that the largest of the Sequoias must be 3,000 years
10
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146 WESTERN WILDS.
old. Outlasting ninety average generations of men! And the fiiUen
ones are probably 1,000 years older.
And yet these are not the oldest trees in the world. In Africa
there grows a species of mimosa, which, by the same indications, is
proved to be 6,000 years old. A sapling when Adam was a strip-
ling! There seems to be no satisfactory theory to account for their
growth here. Climate and fertile soil may have done much ; but I
incline to the belief that they are a sort of relic of the age when
all vegetation was gigantic ; as one age of geology must have sub-
sided with easy grades to the next, we may have here the last vege-
table survivors of the age just before us, and after their fall, no more
big trees. Eight miles south of here is another collection, known as
the South Grove, and containing 1,380 trees in close order, averag-
ing larger than these, but the largest a foot or two less than the
largest here. But we have seen enough for the present to fill the
mind with images for years, and weary us in conjecture. Time
presses, and with to-morrow's earliest light we are off for Yosemite.
From the Big Trees we take the new or mountain road to Yosemite ;
instead of going back to the valley, we start directly southward across
Table Mountain, the Stanislaas, Tuolumne, and smaller streams. This
route takes in the mining and fruit region, and a specimen of all that
has made California famous. The Sierras have a general course from
north to south, and a height of from ten to fourteen thousand feet; and
from them successive rivers put out westward, each in its upper part
traversing a mountain- gorge or clear-cut cafLon, which widens west-
ward to a broad valley bounded by slopes and foothills of genial clime
and rare fertility. Our southward route, one-third the way up the
slope of the Sierras, involves great variety ; we come back on the Big
Tree road to Vallecito, and there take a light wagon to cross Table
Mountain and the Stanislaus.^ Parenthetically, the names in this ac-
count are either Spanish or Indian, and pronounced thus: /Ston-is-lowh,
Val-le-c€e-to, Tu-o^un-ny, Mo-ZrcZ-un-ny, Gar-ro-ta, Man-zan-€6-ta,
Cap-i-fan, Mer-cecd, Cal-a-t?e-ras, and Yo-«cm-i-ta.
From the brow of Table Mountain we look down two thousand feet
upon the Stanislaus, a narrow silvery band flowing down a rocky
trough. The caflon wall seems to stand at a threatening angle of sev-
enty degrees; but down this slope the stage road goes by a zig-zag,
first out upon a projecting shelf, where two feet farther would send us
to destruction, and then into a groove in the rocky wall. Down this
combination of dips, spurs, angles, and sinuosities, the driver takes us
at full trot, with lines taut and foot on brake, ready to check at a mo-
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 147
ment's notice; for an instant moderating to a walk as we make the .out-
ward turn on some rocky flat, then loosing his team to a full run as we
shoot into the inward grooves, the coach bounding over bowlders or re-
acting from the stone bulwarks which line the most dangerous places.
We cringe and close our eyes in many places, or cling to the side of the
TOfiXMITE rAI«L8.
coach, half ashamed of the fear our acts betray ; but before we can
question, or exclaim a dozen times, we are at the bottom, and ready to
ferry the Stanislaus. The narrow band, as seen from above, has
widened to a considerable river, now quite low; but in winter and
spring the melting snow from the notched hills 6,000 feet above
swells this stream to a destructive torrent, rising fifty feet above its
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148 WESTERN WILDS.
present level. On the south side another mountain-grooved road
leads up 2,500 feet to the divide between the Stanislaus and Tuo-
lumne. No running here, but with slow steps the steaming horses
drag U9 along, and we lounge back over the coach seats, gazing al-
teniately at frowning cliflfe above and the river sinking in dim per-
spective below. No wonder that California is producing a new race
of original poets; for, surely, if a man have the poetic instinct, this
clime and scenery will bring it out in tropic luxuriance, and cause
his genius to put forth wondrous growths of freshness and quaint
originality. This society, these scenes and this clime — Italy and
Switzerland combined — are the true home of poetry and romance.
Two hours of toil bring us to the summit, and thence down a bar-
ren hollow a sudden turn reveals an oval valley of rare beauty, in
the midst of which is the pretty town of Columbia, fourteen miles
from where we changed coaches. Here we enter the great region of
placer and drift mining, once alive with twenty thousand miners, and
musical with the hum of an exciting and curious industry. For six
miles we run among washed-out-placers, beds of "tailings'' and
"poor dirt;'' wind around sluice-boxes, or cross ditches >vhich lead in
the water from a main canal which begins fifty miles up the Stanis-
laus. At intervals all day we encounter the great ditch of the
" Union Water Company," sometimes winding along the mountain
side in rocky flumes, sometimes passing beneath us in deep cuts
through narrow ridges, and as often far above our heads in mid-air
aqueducts— carried on trestlework for hundreds of feet across a rocky
hollow — to me a curiosity alinost as great as any in the scenery.
This ditch, built by an incorporated company at an expense of two
million dollars, begins at the very head of the Stanislaus, where that
stream is formed by affluents from the melting snows of the Sierras.
It is sixty miles in length, winding a devious course to preserve its
level, along the mountains and through gorges down to the foothills;
furnishes water to a hundred mining camps, and at last, after being
used, collected, cleared in reservoirs, and used again half a dozen
times, its water, yellow with the refuse of pay dirt, or red with iron
dust, spreads in a dozen irrigating streams ujwn the lower valley.
Careful study to select the route, skillful engineering to lay it
out, economy of space and material, i>erseverance and capital —
all spurred on by the love of gold— combined to produce the
work.
Mining here began with the ** rocker,^ many of which we see even
now rotting along the gulches; next came the "long tom,*' which
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 149
shnres the same fate, and lastly was introduced " piping" and com-
plete hydraulic mining. Little by little thus great industry has
passed away ; the works are fallen to decay ; the placers are mostly
worked out; three-fourths of the mining camps are abandoned ; picks
and '^ long toms " lie among rooks and debris, and California, from
an annual production of
forty millions in gold, has
sunk to half that amount.
"Ranching" came next, and
all this industry is not lost;
the flumes and water are used
for irrigation, without which
the smaller vegetables and
fniits are not a perfect suc-
cess.
Six miles through old
mines bring us to Sonora,
where we gladly take a Con-
cord coach for the rest of
the trip. Sonora Valley,
opening to the south-west,
enjoys an Italian clime, and
from February to December
is glorified by flowers of all
hues. Here we see giant
oleanders, fifteen feet high,
which grow out doors all the
year, and gardens excelling
the utmost flights of my
t* t ^ y KI* CAPITAN.
lancy . Apples, peaches,
pears, apricots, figs, damsons, grapes, and quinces we see growing lux-
uriantly in the same inclosure, many now ripe, and affording most
grateful refreshment to our heated excursionists. All along the route
to Yosemite fruit is abundant and cheap — all one can eat for ten
cents — growing even to within half a day's staging of the valley.
But this beauty is brief. Right beside these blooming gardens,
right up against the walls, are worked-out mines, hundreds of acres
of bare boulders in beds, all the soil "piped" away in search of the
" pay dirt," which lies below the soil and upon the rocks. A massive
brick church stands in the south part of the town, around it lies an
acre of ground dotted with tombstones, the city grave-yard, and up
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160 WESTERy WILDS.
to the very walls of the inclosurc the dirt is washed away down to an
unsightly mass of bare, gray rocks, leaving the church-yard by rare
grace perched upon an eminence ten feet above the placer flats.
There the rude forefathers of this mountain hamlet— dead miners by
scores — lie in "poy dirt'' — fit resting place — and their living com-
]xinions seem io have barely respected their last repose. Over all
this region, with rare exceptions, is a peculiar air of abandon and
decay; worked-out placers, deserted cabins, dry flumes and sluice-
boxes falling to pieces, look as though the site were haunted by the
ghost of former prosperity. Fifteen miles of comfortable staging in
the valley of the Tuolumne bring us to Chinese Camp, originally set^
tied by Mongolians working "old diggings," but since mining gave
place io agriculture, settled by the whites. A few hundred Chinese
remain, and as we pass the outskirts of the town, we note a rude
frame tent and beside it a dozen China women chattering and howl-
ing alternately, and learn that a sick Chinaman has been removed
there to die. These people never allow one to die in their cabins, if
it can be decently prevented.
Here we change again to the stoutest of mountain wagons ; for, we
are kindly assured, all the pounding we have suffered is child's play
to what is to come. Fifteen miles of stony up-grade bring us to Gar-
rote, which we reach at nine P. !M., and gladly sink to sleep. It
seems that we have but closed our eyes to half forget in sleep the
beauties or toils of the way, when at three A. M. the call comes to take
a fresh start. We take the invariable "eye-opener " of ice-cooled Cal-
ifornia white wine, and after a hasty breakfast are off into a dense
forest, the daylight breaking grandly through the green arches and
casting great scallops of light and shade to cheer the still sleepy trav-
elers. We are out of the foothills, and upon the spurs of the mount-
ains. The streams are clear as crystal and delightfully cold, for we
are far above the mining districts and near their snowy sources.
Vast forests of redwoods and sugar pine, the trees from two to eight
feet in thickness, shade the way. At every pause we hear a strange,
solemn murmur from far above our heads, a gentle swell as the mount-
ain breeze thrills the tree tops, like the far-off diapason of a mon-
strous organ, or a gentle tremulo stealing upon the senses with a
music all the more subtle that it can not be described. My compan-
ion, Mr. J. W. Bookwalter, of Springfield, Ohio, compares the scenery
to that of a Florida forest of a winter morning. One by one all who
started with us have stopped to rest, but being old travelers, we have
held on, and to-day have the coach to ourselves.
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THE WONDERS OF CALIFORNIA. 151
Before noon we enter the Tuolumne Grove, where many trees are as
large as the average at Calaveras, but none within less than two or
three feet of the largest there. Over all this part of the Sierras, prob-
ably forty miles each way, the timber is immense. We drive between
two trees, each twenty feet in thickness. We find one stump forty
feet high and twenty-six feet thick, and hundreds scattered for miles
along the way from ten to eighteen feet thick, and from two hundred
to two hundred and fifty feet high. If the traveler does not wish to
make the diversion by Calaveras Grove, he can still enjoy the sight
of tall timber here, on the direct route to Yosemite. Thirty-
seven miles from Garrote bring us to Tamarack Flat, the highest point
on the road, the end of staging, and no wonder. The remaining five
miles down into the valley must be made on horseback.
While transferring baggage — very little is allowed — to pack-mules,
the guide and driver amuse us with accounts of former tourists, partic-
ularly of Anna Dickinson, who rode astride into the valley, and
thereby demonstrated her right to vote, drink "cocktails,' bear arms,
and work the roads, without regard to age, sex, or previous condition
of servitude. They tell us with great glee of Olive Logan, who,
when told she must ride thus into the valley, tried practising on the
back of the coach seats, and when laughed at for her pains, took her
revenge by savagely abusing every thing on the road. When Mrs,
Cady Stanton was here a few weeks before, she found it impossible to
fit herself to the saddle, averring she had not been in one for thirty
years. Our accomplished guide, Mr. F. A. Brightman, saddled seven
different mules for her (she states the fact in her report), and still