YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY <^
DISCOVERY AND
SETTLEMENT OF
WESTERN
NORTH AMERICA
COLLECTION OF
WILLIAM
ROBERTSON COE

I

A TRAMP THROUGH
THE BRET HARTE
COUNTRY

PLATE I
Euins of Colonia,
a Name
'Forever Associated
With the Wildest
Scramble for Gold
the World Has
Ever Seen"

A TRAMP
THROUGH THE BRET
HARTE COUNTRY BY
THOMAS DYKES gEASLEY
, AUTHOR OF "THE COMING OF PORTOLA'"
WITH A FOREWORD BY
CHARLES A. MURDOCK

Above the pines tke moon was slowly drifting,
The river sang below;
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting
Their minarets of snow.
— Dickeru in Camp.

PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO

Copyright, 1914
PAUL ELDER & COMPANY

Esk!6 3\qb

THE CHAPTERS PAGE
Foreword  VII
Preface  XI
Reminiscences of Bret Harte. "Plain Language
From Truthful James." The Glamour of the Old
Mining Towns 
Inception of the Tramp. Stockton to Angel's Camp
Tuttletown and the "Sage of Jackass Hill"
Tuolumne to Placerville. Charm of Sonora and Fas
cination of San Andreas and Mokelumne Hill , . 16
J. H. Bradley and the Cary House. Ruins of
Coloma. James W. Marshall and His Pathetic
End  32
Auburn to Nevada City Via Colfax and Grass Val
ley. Ben Taylor and His Home . . .41
E. W. Maslin and His Recollections of Pioneer Days
in Grass Valley. Origin of Our Mining Laws . 56
Grass Valley to Smartsville. Sucker Flat and Its
Personal Appeal  70
Smartsville to Marysville. Some Reflections on
Automobiles and "Hoboes"  79
Bayard Taylor and the California of Forty-nine. Bret
Harte and His Literary Pioneer Contemporaries 89

III

THE ILLUSTRATIONS
. PLATE
Ruins of Coloma, a Name "Forever Associated
With the Wildest Scramble for Gold the World
Has Ever Seen" . . . Frontispiece I
Map of the "Bret Harte Country," Showing the
Route Taken by the Writer, With the Towns,
Important Rivers, and County Boundaries of
the Country Traversed . . Pagexv
The Tuttletown Hotel, Tuttletown; a Wooden
Building Erected in the Early Fifties
 Facing page 14 II
Mokelumne River ; "Whatever the Meaning of the
Indian Name, One May Rest Assured It Stands
for Some Form of Beauty" . Facing page 26 III
"A Mining Convention at Placerville"
 Facing page 34 IV
South Fork of the American RiveT, Coloma. The
Bend in the River Is the Precise Spot Where
Gold Was First Discovered in California
 Facing page 38 V
Ben Taylor and His Home, Grass Valley, Showing
the Spruce He Planted Nearly Half a Century
Ago  Facing page 50 VI
E. W. Maslin in the Garden of His Alameda
Home .... Facing page 64 VII
Angel's Hotel, Angel's Camp, Erected in 1852,
as Was the Wells Fargo Building Which
Faces It Across the Street . Following page 96 VIII
Main Hoist of the Utica Mine, Angel's Camp,
Situated on the Summit of a Hill Overlooking
the Town  IX
The Stanislaus River, Near Tuttletown, "Eunning
in a Deep and Splendid Canon" ... X
Jackass Hill, Tuttletown. The Road to the Left
Leads to the Former Home of "Jim" Gillis . XI

THE ILLUSTRATIONS
Home of Mrs. Swerer, Tuttletown. The Hotel
and This Dwelling Comprise All That Is Hab
itable of the Tuttletown of Bret Harte . . XII
Main Street, Sonora, "So Shaded by Trees That
Buildings Are Half-hidden" .... XIII
Sonora, Looking Southeast. "No Matter From
What Direction You Approach It, Sonora
Seems to Lie Basking in the Sun". . . XIV
Main Street, San Andreas, "During the Mid-day
Heat, Almost Deserted"  XV
Metropolitan Hotel, San Andreas ; in the Bar-room
of Which Occurred the "Jumping Frog" Inci
dent  XVI
Mokelumne Hotel, on the Summit of Mokelumne
Hill, and at the Head of the Famous Chili
Gulch  XVII
Placerville, the County Seat of El Dorado County,
From the Road to Diamond Springs . . XVIII
The Cary House, Placerville. "It Was Here That
Horace Greeley Terminated His Celebrated
Stage Ride With Hank Monk" . . . XIX
Middle Fork of the American River, Near Auburn,
and Half a Mile Above Its Junction With the
North Fork  XX
An Apple Orchard, Grass Valley, "the Trees
Growing in the Grass, as in England and the
Atlantic States"  XXI
The Western Hotel, Grass Valley. "The Well and
Pump Add a Quaint and Characteristic Touch" XXII
A Bit of Picturesque Nevada City, Embracing the
Homes of Its Leading Citizens . . . XXIII

VI

FOREWORD
/N California's imaginary Hall of Fame,
Bret Harte must be accorded a promi
nent, if not first place. His short stories
and dialect poems published fifty years ago
made California well known the world over
and gave it a romantic interest conceded
no other community. He saw the pictur
esque and he made the world see it. His
power is unaccountable if we deny him
genius. He was essentially an artist. His
imagination gave him vision, a new life in
a beautiful setting supplied colors and rare
literary skill painted the picture.
His capacity for absorption was marvel
ous. At the age of about twenty he spent
less than a year in the foot-hills of the
Sierras, among pioneer miners, and forty-
five years of literary output did not exhaust
his impressions. He somewhere refers to
an "eager absorption of the strange life
around me, and a photographic sensitive
ness to certain scenes and incidents."
"Eager absorption," "photographic sensi
tiveness," a rich imagination and a fine
literary style, largely due to his mother,
enabled him to win at his death this
acknowledgment from the "London Spec- VII

FOREWOED

tator:" "No writer of the present day has
struck so powerful and original a note as
he has sounded."
Francis Bret Harte was bom in Albany,
New York, August 25, 1836. His father
was a teacher and translator; his mother
a woman of high character and cultivated
tastes. His father having died, he, when
nine, became an office boy and later a clerk.
In 1854 he came to California to join his
mother who had married again, arriving in
Oakland in March of that year. His em
ployment for two years was desultory. He
worked in a drug store and also wrote for
Eastern magazines. Then he went to Alamo
in the San Ramon Valley as tutor — a valued
experience. Later in 1856 he went to Tuol
umne County where, among other things, he
taught school, and may have been an ex
press messenger. At any rate, he stored
his memory with material that ten years
later made him and the whole region
famous. In 1857 he went to Humboldt County
where his sister was living. He was an
interesting figure, gentlemanly, fastidious,
reserved, sensitive, with a good fund of
humor, a pleasant voice and a modest man
ner. He seemed poorly fitted for anything
that needed doing. He was willing, for I
VIII

FOREWOBD
saw him digging post holes and building
a fence with results somewhat unsatisfac
tory. He was more successful as tutor for
two of my boy friends. He finally became
printers' devil in the office of the "North
ern Calif ornian," where he learned the
case, and incidentally contributed graceful
verse and clever prose.
He returned to San Francisco early in
1860 and found work on the "Golden Era,"
at first as compositor and soon as writer.
In May, 1864, he left the "Golden Era"
and joined others in starting "The Cali-
f ornian." Two months later he was made
editor of the new "Overland Monthly."
The second number contained "The Luck
of Roaring Camp." It attracted wide at
tention as a new note. Other stories and
poems of merit followed. Harte' s growing
reputation burst in full bloom when in 1870
he filled a blank space in the "Overland"
make-up with "The Heathen Chinee." It
was quoted on the floor of the Senate and
gained world-wide fame. He received flat
tering offers and felt constrained to accept
the best. In February, 1871, he left Cali
fornia. A Boston publisher had offered
him $10,000 for whatever he might write
in the following year. Harte accepted, but
the output was small. IX

FOREWORD
For seven years he wrote spasmodically,
eking out his income by lecturing and news
paper work. Life was hard. In 1878 he
sailed for Europe, having been appointed
consular agent at Crefeld, Prussia, about
forty miles north of Cologne. In 1880 he
was made Consul at Glasgow, where he re
mained five years. His home thereafter
was London, where he continued his lit
erary work until his death in March, 1902.
His complete works comprise nineteen
volumes. His patriotic verse is fervid, his
idyls are graceful and his humorous verse
delightful. The short story he made anew.
Harte's instincts and habits were good.
He had the artistic temperament and some
of its incidental weaknesses. He acknowl
edged himself "constitutionally improvi
dent," and a debt-burdened life is not easy.
His later years were pathetic. Those who
knew and appreciated him remember him
fondly. California failing to know hint,
wrongs herself.
Chables A. Mtjrdock.

PREFACE
A DESIRE to obtain, at first hand,
*4L~M. any possible information in regard
to reminiscences of Bret Harte, Mark
Twain and others of the little coterie of
writers, who in the early fifties visited the
mining camps of California and through
stories that have become classics, played
a prominent part in making "California"
a synonym for romance, led to undertaking
the tramp of which this brief narrative is
a record. The writer met with unexpected
success, having the good fortune to meet
men, all over eighty years of age, who had
known — in some cases intimately — Bret
Harte, Mark Twain, "Dan de Quille,"
Prentice Mulford, Bayard Taylor and
Horace Greeley.
It seems imperative that a relation of
individual experiences — however devoid of
stirring incident and adventure — should be
written in the first person. At the same
time, the writer of this unpretentious story
of a summer's tramp cannot but feel that
he owes his readers — should he have any —
an apology for any avoidable egotism. His
excuse is that, notwithstanding the glamour
attaching to the old mining towns, it is al-
XI

PBEFACE
most incredible how little is known of them
by the average Calif ornian; for the East
ern tourist there is more excuse, since the
foot-hills of the Sierras lie outside the
beaten tracks of travel. He has, therefore,
assumed that "a plain unvarnished tale"
of actual experiences might not be without
interest to the casual reader; and possibly
might incite in him a desire to see for
himself a country not only possessed of
rare beauty, but absolutely unique in its
associations. But the point to be emphasized is that
the glamour is not a thing of the past: it
is there now. Nay, to a person possessed
of any imagination, the ruins — say, of
Coloma — appeal in all probability far
stronger than would the actual town itself
in the days when it seethed with bustle and
excitement. Not to have visited the old
mining towns is not to have seen the
"heart" of California, or felt its pulsa
tions. It is not to understand why the very
name "California" still stirs the blood and
excites the imagination throughout the civ
ilized world.
If this brief narrative should induce any
one to "gird up his loins," shoulder his
pack and essay a similar pilgrimage, the
author will feel that he has not been unre-
xn

PREFACE
warded. And if a man over threescore
years of age can tramp through seven
counties and return, in spite of intense
heat, feeling better and stronger than when
he started, a young fellow in the hey-day
of life and sound of wind and limb surely
ought not to be discouraged.
Thomas Dykes Beasley.

XIII

' ttntfffffti T^TtMr*

Map of the "Bret Harte Country,"
Showing the Route Taken by the Writer,
Together With the Towns, Important
Rivers, and County Boundaries of
the Country Traversed

XV

A TRAMP THROUGH
THE BRET HARTE
COUNTRY

CHAPTER I
REMINISCENCES OF BRET
HARTE. "PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM
TRUTHFUL JAMES." THE
GLAMOUR OF THE OLD
MINING TOWNS
It is forty-four years since the writer
met the author of ' ' The Luck of Boar-
ing Camp ' ' — that wonderful blending
within the limits of a short story of
humor, pathos and tragedy — which, in
credible as it may seem, met with but a
cold reception from the local press, and
was even branded as "indecent" and "im
modest ! ' '
On the occasion referred to, I was
strolling on Bincon Hill — at that time the
fashionable residence quarter of San Fran
cisco — in company with Mr. J. H. Wildes,
whose cousin, the late Admiral Frank
Wildes, achieved fame in the battle of
Manila Bay. Mr. Wildes called my atten
tion to an approaching figure and said:
"Here comes Bret Harte, a man of un
usual literary ability. He is having a hard
struggle now, but only needs the oppor
tunity, to make a name for himself."

A TBAMP THBOUGH THE BRET HABTE COUNTRY
That opportunity arrived almost imme
diately. In the September number of the
Overland Monthly, 1870, of which maga
zine Mr. Harte was then editor, appeared
"Plain Language from Truthful James,"
or "The Heathen Chinee," as the poem
was afterwards called. A few weeks later,
to my amazement, while turning the pages
of Punch in the Mercantile Library, I
came across "The Heathen Chinee;" an
unique compliment so far as my recollec
tion of Punch serves. To this generous
and instantaneous recognition of genius
may be attributed in no small measure the
rapid distinction won by Bret Harte in the
world of letters.
Mr. Harte read his "Heathen Chinee" to
Mrs. Wildes, some time before it was pub
lished. This lady, a woman of brilliant
attainments and one who had a host of
friends in old San Francisco, possessed
the keenest sense of humor. Mr. Harte
greatly valued her critical judgment. He
was in the habit of reading his stories and
poems to her for her opinion and decision,
before publication, and it may well be that
her hearty laughter and warm approval
helped to strengthen his wavering opinion
of the lines which convulsed Anglo-Saxon-
dom; for no one was more surprised than
4

REMINISCENCES OF BBET HARTE
he at the sensation they created. He had
even offered the poem for publication to
Mr. Ambrose Bierce, then editing the San
Francisco News Letter; but Mr. Bierce,
recognizing its merit, returned it to Mr.
Harte and prevailed upon him to publish
it in his own magazine.
Had one at that time encountered Mr.
Harte in Piccadilly or Fifth Avenue, he
would simply have been aware of a man
dressed in perfect taste, but in the height
of the prevailing fashion. On the streets
of San Francisco, however, Bret Harte was
always a notable figure, from the fact that
the average man wore "slops," devoid
alike of style or cut, and usually of shiny
broadcloth. Broad-brimmed black felt hats
were the customary headgear, completing a
most funereal costume.
Mr. Harte impressed me as being singu
larly modest and utterly devoid of any
form of affectation. To be well dressed
in a period when little attention was paid
to clothes by the San Franciscan, might,
it is true, in some men have suggested as
sumption of an air of superiority ; but with
Mr. Harte, to dress well was simply a nat
ural instinct. His long, drooping mous
tache and the side-whiskers of the time —
incongruous as the comparison may seem 5

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
— called to mind the elder Sothern as
"Lord Dundreary." His natural expres
sion was pensive, even sad. When one
considers that pathos and tragedy, perhaps
even more than humor, pervade his stories,
that was not surprising.
I had but recently arrived from England
— a mere lad. California was still the land
of gold and romance; the glamour with
which Bret Harte surrounded both, that
bids fair to be immortal, held me en
thralled. Angel's, Bough and Beady,
Sandy Bar, Poker Flat, Placerville, Tuol
umne and old Sonora represented to me
enchanted ground. Fate and life's vicissi
tudes prevented, except in imagination, a
knowledge of the Sierra foot-hill counties ;
but in the back of my head all these years
had persisted a determination to, at some
time, visit a region close to the heart of
every old Californian, and what better way
than on foot?
In spite of Pullman cars and automobiles
— or, rather, perhaps on account of them —
the only way to see a country, to get into
touch with Nature and meet the inhabi
tants on the dead level of equality and
human sympathy, is to use Nature's
method of locomotion. Equipped with a
stout stick — with a view to dogs — a fold-
6

REMINISCENCES OF BRET HARTE
ing kodak camera, and your "goods and
chattels" slung in a haversack across your
shoulders, you feel independent of time-
cards and "routes;" and sally forth into
the world with the philosophical determina
tion to take things as they come ; keyed to
a pleasurable pitch of excitement by the
knowledge that "Adventure" walks with
you hand-in-hand, and that the "humors of
the road" are yours for the seeing and
understanding.

CHAPTER II
INCEPTION OF THE TRAMP.
STOCKTON TO ANGEL'S CAMP.
TUTTLETOWN AND THE
"SAGE OF JACKASS HILL"
Following as near as might be the
route of the old Argonauts, I
avoided trains, and on a warm
summer night boarded the Stock
ton boat. In the early morning you are
aware of slowly rounding the curves of the
San Joaquin Biver. Careful steering was
most essential, as owing to the dry season
the river was unusually low. The vivid
greens afforded by the tules and willows
that fringe the river banks, and the occa
sional homestead surrounded by trees, with
its little landing on the edge of the levee,
should delight the eye of the artist.
I lost no time in Stockton and headed
for Milton in the foot-hills, just across the
western boundary of Calaveras County.
The distance was variously estimated by
the natives at from twenty to forty miles —
Californians are careless about distances,
as in other matters. Subsequently I en
tered it in my note book as a long twenty-
8

STOCKTON TO ANGEL 's CAMP
eight. Eighteen miles out from Stockton,
at a place called Peters, which is little
more than a railway junction, you leave
the cultivated land and enter practically
a desert country, destitute of water, trees,
undergrowth and with but a scanty growth
of grass. I ate my lunch at the little store
and noted with apprehension that the ther
mometer registered 104 degrees in the
shaded porch. I am not likely to forget
that pull of ten miles and inwardly con
fessed to a regret that I had not taken the
train to Milton. Accustomed on "hikes"
to a thirst not surpassed by anything "east
of Suez," I never before appreciated the
significance of the word "parched" — the
' ' tongue cleaving to the roof of the mouth. ' '
At Milton one enters the land of ro
mance. What was even more appreciable
at the time, it marks the limit of the in
hospitable country I had traversed. Mr.
Bobert Donner, the proprietor of the Mil
ton Hotel, told me he once had "Black
Bart" as his guest for over a week, being
unaware at the time of his identity. This
famous bandit in the early eighties "held
up" the Yosemite stage time and again.
In fact, he terrorized the whole Sierra
country from Bedding to Sacramento. He
was finally captured in San Francisco 9

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTBY
through a clew obtained from a laundry
mark on a pair of white cuffs. For years,
Mr. Donner cherished a boot left by the
highwayman in the hurry of departure,
which, much to his annoyance, was finally
abstracted by some person unknown. To
dispose of Black Bart; he served his term
and was never seen again in the Sierras.
There is a rumor that Wells Fargo & Com
pany, the chief sufferers by his activities,
made it worth his while to behave himself
in the future.
The following day I reached Copper-
opolis. This place very justly has the
reputation of being one of the hottest spots
in the foot-hills. Owing to resumed opera
tions on a large scale, of the Calaveras
Copper Company, I found the little settle
ment crowded to its fullest capacity, and
was perforce compelled to resort to gen
uine "hobo" methods — in short, I spent
the night under the lee of a haystack. My
original intention had been to walk thence
to Sonora, twenty-four miles; but finding
the road would take me again into the val
ley, I decided to make for Angel's Camp,
only thirteen miles away.
It is uphill nearly all the way from Cop-
peropolis to Angel's Camp, but mostly you
are in the pine woods. My spirits rose with
10

STOCKTON TO ANGEL 's CAMP
the altitude and delight at the magnificent
view when I at last reached the summit.
Toiling up the grade in the dust, I met a
good old-fashioned four-horse Concord
stage, which from all appearances might
have been in action ever since the days of
Bret Harte. At last I felt I was in touch
with the Sierras. The driver even honored
my bow with an abrupt "Howdy!" which
from such a magnate, I took to be a good
omen. In common with all the old mining towns
— though I was unaware of it at the time —
Angel's, as it is usually called, is situated
in the ravine where gold was first discov
ered. It straggles down the gulch for a
mile and a half. There are a number of
pretty cottages clinging to the steep hill
sides, surrounded with flowers and trees,
the whole effect being extremely pleasing.
I registered at the Angel's Hotel, built in
1852. Across the street is the Wells Fargo
building, erected about the same time and
of solid stone, as is the hotel. Nothing on
this trip surprised me more than the solid
ity of the hotels and stores built in the early
fifties. Instead of the flimsy wooden struc
tures I had imagined, I found, for the
most part, thick stone walls. It was evi
dent the pioneers believed in the per
il

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
manence of the gold deposits in the Mother
Lode. Possibly they were right; Angel's
is anything but a dead town to-day. The
Utica, Angel's and Lightner mines give
employment to hundreds of men.
In the afternoon I visited the Bret Harte
Girls' High School. It is a very simple
frame building, on the summit of a hill
overlooking the town. The man who di
rected me how to find it, I discovered had
not the remotest idea who Bret Harte
might be; "John Brown" would have an
swered the purpose equally as well. In
fact, all through the seven counties I
traversed — Tuolumne, Calaveras, Amador,
El Dorado, Placer, Nevada and Tuba — I
found Bret Harte had left but a hazy and
nebulous impression. Mark Twain, Pren
tice Mulford, Horace Greeley, Bayard
Taylor, even "Dan de Quille," seemed bet
ter known.
The next morning I started for Sonora.
In seven miles I came to the Stanislaus
Biver, running in a deep and splendid
canon. The river here is spanned by a
fine concrete bridge, built jointly by Tuol
umne and Calaveras Counties, between
which the river forms the dividing line.
In the bottom of the canon is the Melones
mine, with a mill operating one hundred
12

STOCKTON TO ANGEL 's CAMP
stamps. The main tunnel is a mile and a
half in length; the longest mining tunnel in
the State, I was told.
A steep pull of two miles out of the
canon brought me to Tuttletown. Here I
stayed several hours, for the interest of
the whole trip, so far as Bret Harte was
concerned, centered around this once cele
brated camp, and Jackass Hill, on which,
at one time, lived James W. GiUis, the sup
posed prototype of "Truthful James." He
died a few years ago, but his brother,
Stephen B. GiUis, is living there to-day,
and after some little difficulty I succeeded
in finding his house.
Mr. Gillis scouts the idea that his brother
"Jim" was the "Truthful James" of Bret
Harte. He said that in reality it was J. W.
E. Townsend, known in old times as "Al
phabetical Townsend, ' ' also by the uncom
plimentary appellation of "Lying Jim."
According to Mr. Gillis, Bret Harte made
but one visit to Tuttletown. He arrived
there one evening "dead broke" and
James put him up for the night and lent
him money to help him on his way. Per
sonally, Mr. Gillis never met Bret Harte
but he had seen Mark Twain on a number
of occasions. I got the distinct impression
that Stephen Gillis disliked the notoriety 13

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
his brother had gained, through the fact
that his name had become indissolubly
linked with the "Truthful James" of Bret
Harte 's verses. Be that as it may, I later
on met several men who had known "Jim"
Gillis intimately and they all agreed that
he possessed a keen sense of humor and
had at command a practically inexhaust
ible stock of stories, upon which he drew
at will. Whether Bret Harte derived any
inspiration from "Jim" Gillis may per
haps always remain in doubt; but that
Mark Twain did, there cannot, I think, be
any question.
In a recent life of Bret Harte, by Henry
Childs Merwin, it is stated (page 21) that
in 1858 Bret Harte acted as tutor in a
private family at Alamo, in the San Bamon
valley, which lies at the foot of Mount
Diablo. On page 50, however, we read:
"In 1858 or thereabouts, Bret Harte was
teaching school at Tuttletown, a few miles
north of Sonora." It would seem that this
statement is erroneous, apart from the fact
that it conflicts with the prior date in refer
ence to Alamo.
Mrs. Swerer, who has lived continuously
at Tuttletown since 1850, coming there at
the age of ten, told me she received her
education at the Tuttletown public school,
14

PLATE II
The
Tuttletown Hotel,
Tuttletown ;
a Wooden Building
Erected in the
Early Fifties

STOCKTON TO ANGEL 's CAMP
as did her children and her children's
children — she is now a great-grandmother !
She said most positively that she never
saw Bret Harte in her life, but had fre
quently seen "Dan de Quille" and Mark
Twain. The latter, she said, made periodic
visits to Tuttletown, and always stayed
with "Jim" Gillis— called by Twain, the
"Sage of Jackass Hill."
Mrs. Gross, who keeps the Tuttletown
Hotel and whose husband owned a store
across the way, built of stone but now in
ruins, was born in Tuttletown. She as
serted she never heard of Bret Harte being
in Tuttletown and feels it to be impossible
he ever taught school there. At this an
cient hostelry, built of wood and dating
back to the early fifties, I dined in com
pany with an old miner, who told me he
came across "Jim" Gillis in Alaska. He
said: "Gillis was a great josher. For the
life of me, I could never tell from his stories
whether he had been to the Klondike or
not."

15

CHAPTER III
TUOLUMNE TO PLACERVILLE.
CHARM OF SONORA AND FAS
CINATION OF SAN ANDREAS
AND MOKELUMNE HILL
Sonora is nine miles distant from Tut
tletown, and I reached it in the early
(afternoon. Perhaps of all the old
mining towns, Sonora is the most
fascinating, on account of the exceeding
beauty of the surrounding country. No
matter from what direction you approach
it, Sonora seems to lie basking in the sun,
buried in a wealth of greenery, through
which gleam white walls and roofs of
houses. Even its winding streets are so
shaded by graceful old trees that buildings
are half hidden. The bustle and excite
ment of the mining days are passed for
ever, in all probability, for old Sonora;
but in their place have come the peace and
quiet that accompany the tillage of the
soil; for Sonora is now the center of a
prosperous agricultural district and the
town maintains a steady and continuous
growth. Here I had the pleasure of an interview
with Mr. John Neal, a prominent and re-
16

TUOLUMNE TO PLACERVILLE
spected citizen of Tuolumne County, who
as Commissioner represented his county at
the San Francisco Midwinter Fair. Mr.
Neal is over eighty, but still hale and
hearty. He was the first person I had thus
far encountered who had known Bret Harte
in the flesh. He had also known and fre
quently met Mark Twain, "Dan de Quille"
and Prentice Mulford. Of the four, it was
evident that Mulford had left by far the
most lasting as well as favorable impres
sion on his mind. Of him he spoke in
terms of real affection. "Prentice Mul
ford," he said, "was a brilliant, very hand
some and most lovable young man." I
asked him how these young men were re
garded by the miners. He said: "In all
the camps they were held to be in a class
by themselves, on account of their educa
tion and literary ability. Although they
wore the rough costume of the miners, it
was realized that none of them took min
ing seriously or made any pretense of real
work with pick and shovel." Mr. Neal
knew James Gillis intimately and admitted
he was a great story-teller. In fact, at
the bare mention of his name he broke into
a hearty laugh. ' ' Oh, Jim Gillis, he was a
great fellow!" he exclaimed. He said un
questionably Mark Twain got a good deal
17

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
of material from him, and feels certain that
Bret Harte must have met him at least
on several occasions. Mr. Neal stated
that up to the time of the Midwinter
Fair, the output of gold from Tuolumne
county reached the astonishing figures of
$250,000,000! What it has amounted to
since that time, I had no means of ascer
taining. It is only twelve miles from Sonora to
Tuolumne. From the top of the divide
which separates the valleys there is a beau
tiful view of the surrounding country, the
dim blue peaks of the Sierra Nevada form
ing the eastern sky-line. One of the chief
charms of an excursion through these foot
hill counties is the certainty that directly
you reach any considerable elevation there
will be revealed a magnificent panorama,
bounded only by the limit of vision, range
after range of mountains running up in
varying shades of blue and purple, to the
far distant summits that indicate the back
bone of California.
Tuolumne is situated in a circular basin
rather than in a valley, and thus being pro
tected from the wind, in hot weather the
heat is intense. If there are any mining
operations in the immediate vicinity, they
are not in evidence to the casual observer.
18

TUOLUMNE TO PLACEBVTLLE
It is, however, one of the biggest timber
camps in the State. In the yards of the
West Side Lumber Company, covering sev
eral hundred acres, are stacked something
like 30,000,000 feet of sugar pine. The
logs are brought from the mountains
twenty to twenty-five miles by rail, and
sawn into lumber at Tuolumne. I was told
that the bulk of the lumber manufactured
here was shipped abroad, a great deal
going to Australia.
Tuolumne, in Bret Harte 's time, was
called Summersville. It was destroyed by
fire about fourteen years ago, but the new
town has already so assimilated itself to
the atmosphere of its surroundings, that its
comparative youth might easily escape de
tection. Altogether, I was disappointed
with Tuolumne, having expected to find a
second Angel's, owing to its prominence
in Bret Harte 's stories. A lumber camp,
while an excellent thing in its way, is
neither picturesque nor inspiring. I spent
the night at the "Turnback Inn," a large
frame building, handsomely finished in
teriorly and built since the fire. It is, I be
lieve, quite a summer resort, as Tuolumne
is the terminus of the Sierra Bailway, and
one can go by way of Stockton direct to
Oakland and San Francisco. 19

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
Eeturning to Angel's the next day, I
lingered again at Tuttletown. There is a
strange attraction about the place — it
would hold you apart from its associations.
The old hotel, fast going to decay, sur
rounded by splendid trees whose shade is
so dense as to be impenetrable to the noon
day sun, is a study for an artist. And as
I gazed in a sort of day-dream at the ruins
of what once was one of the liveliest camps
in the Sierras — with four faro tables run
ning day and night — the pines seemed to
whisper a sigh of regret over its departed
glories. Jackass Hill is fairly honey
combed with prospect holes, shafts and
tunnels. I was surprised to see that even
now there is a certain amount of prospect
work going forward, for I noticed several
shafts with windlasses to which ropes were
attached; and, in fact, was told that the
old camp showed signs of a new lease of
life. Musing on Tuttletown and its environ
ment later on got me into serious difficulty.
Having crossed the Stanislaus Biver and
cleared the canon, I abandoned the main
road for an alleged "cut-off." This I was
following with the utmost confidence, when,
to my surprise, it came to an abrupt end
at the foot of a steep hill. In the ravine
20

TUOLUMNE TO PLACERVILLE
below was a house, and there fortunately
I found a man of whom I inquired if I
was in "Carson Flat." "Carson Flat?
Well, I should say not! You're 'way off!"
"How much?" I asked feebly. "Oh, sev
eral miles." This in a tone that implied
that though I was in a bad fix, it might
possibly be worse. However, with the in
variable kindness of these people, he put
me on a trail which, winding up to the sum
mit of a ridge, struck down into Carson
Flat and joined the main road. And there
I registered a vow: "The hard highway
for me ! " As a consequence of this devia
tion, I materially lengthened the distance
to Angel's. It is thirty miles from Tuol
umne by the road, to which, by taking the
"cut-off," I probably added another three!
It is surprising how these towns grow
upon one. Already the Angel's Hotel
seemed like home to me and after an ex
cellent dinner, I joined the loungers on the
sidewalk and became one of a row, seated
on chairs tilted at various angles against
the wall of the hotel. And there I dozed,
watching the passing show between
dreams ; for in the evening when the elec
tric lights are on, there is a sort of parade
of the youth and beauty of the town, up
and down the winding street. 21

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
On account of the great heat that even
the dry purity of the Sierra atmosphere
could not altogether mitigate, I decided
the next day to be content with reaching
San Andreas, the county seat of Calaveras
County, fifteen miles north of Angel's.
Apart from its name, there is something
about San Andreas that suggests Mexico,
or one's idea of pastoral California in the
early days of the American occupation.
The streets are narrow and unpaved and
during the midday heat are almost de
serted. Business of some sort there must
be, for the little town, though somnolent,
is evidently holding its own; but there
seems to be infinite time in which to ac
complish whatever the necessities of life
demand. And I may state here paren
thetically, that perhaps the most impres
sive feature of all the old California mining
towns is their suggestion of calm repose.
Each little community seems sufficient unto
itself and entirely satisfied with things as
they are. Not even in the Old World will
you find places where the current of life
more placidly flows.
On the main street — and the principal
street of all these towns is "Main Street"
— I had the good fortune to be introduced
to Judge Ira H. Beed, who came to Cala-
22

TUOLUMNE TO PLACEEVILLE
veras County in 1854, and has lived there
ever since. He told me that Judge Gott-
schalk, who died a few years ago at an ad
vanced age, was authority for the state
ment that Mark Twain got his "Jumping
Frog" story from the then proprietor of
the Metropolitan Hotel, San Andreas, who
asserted that the incident actually oc
curred in his bar-room. Twain, it is true,
places the scene in a bar-room at Angel's,
but that is doubtless the author's license.
Bret Harte calls Tuttletown, " Tuttleville, "
and there never was a "Wingdam" stage.
That evening as I lay awake in my bed
room at the Metropolitan Hotel, wonder
ing by what person of note it had been oc
cupied in the "good old days," my atten
tion was attracted to the musical tinkle of
a cow-bell. Looking out of the window,
I beheld the strange spectacle of a cow
walking sedately down the middle of the
street. No one was driving her, no one
paid her any attention beyond a casual
glance, as she passed. The cow, in fact, had
simply come home, after a day in the open
country; and it became plain to me that
this was a nightly occurrence and there
fore caused no comment. Unmolested, she
passed the hotel and on down the street to
the foot of the hill, where she evidently 23

A TEAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
spent the night; for the tinkle of the bell
became permanent and blended with and
became a part of the subtle, mysterious
sounds that constitute Nature's sleeping
breath. This little incident in the county seat
of Calaveras County impressed me as an
epitome of the changes wrought by time,
since the days when in song and story Bret
Harte made the name "Calaveras" a syno
nym for romance wherever the English lan
guage is spoken.
From San Andreas my objective point
was Placerville, distant about forty-five
miles. The heat still being excessive, I
made the town by easy stages, arriving at
noon on the third day. Mokelumne Hill,
ten miles beyond San Andreas, also lends
its name to the little town which clusters
around its apex and is at the head of Chili
Gulch, a once famous bonanza for the
placer miners. For miles the road winds
up the gulch, which is almost devoid of
timber, amid piled-up rocks and debris,
bleached and blistered by the sun's fierce
rays; the gulch itself being literally
stripped to "bedrock." I had already wit
nessed many evidences of man's eager pur
suit of the precious metal, but nothing that
so conveyed the idea of the feverish, per-
24

TUOLUMNE TO PLACERVILLE
sistent energy with which those adventur
ers in the new El Dorado had struggled
day and night with Nature's obstacles,
spurred on by the auri sacra fames.
A little incident served to relieve the
monotony of the climb up Chili Gulch. A
miner, who might have sat for a study of
"Tennessee's Partner," came down the
hillside with a pan of "dirt," which he
carefully washed in a muddy pool in the
bed of the gulch. He showed me the result,
a few "colors" and sulphurets. He said
it would ' ' go about five dollars to the ton, ' '
and seemed well satisfied with the result.
I shall always hold him in grateful mem
ory, for he took me to an old tunnel, and
disappearing for a few moments, returned
with a large dipper of ice-cold water. Not
the Children of Israel, when Aaron smote
the rock in the desert and produced a liv
ing stream, could have lapped that water
with keener enjoyment.
The terrific heat in Chili Gulch made the
shade from the trees which surround Mo
kelumne Hotel doubly grateful. Mokelumne
Hill is, in fact, a mountain, and commands
a view of rare beauty. At its base winds
the wooded canon of the Mokelumne Biver,
on the farther side of which rises the Jack
son Butte, an isolated peak with an eleva- 25

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HAETE COUNTRY
tion of over three thousand feet, while in
the background loom the omnipresent peaks
of the far Sierra.
The Mokelumne Hotel is regarded as
modern, dating back merely to 1868, at
which time the original building was de
stroyed by fire. The present structure of
solid blocks of stone, should resist the ele
ments for centuries to come. I was sur
prised at the excellent accommodations of
this hotel. In what seemed such an out-of-
the-way and inaccessible locality, I was
served with one of the best meals on
the whole journey, including claret with
crushed ice in a champagne glass! What
that meant to a tramp who had struggled
for miles through quartz rock and impal
pable dust, up a heavy grade, without
shade and the thermometer well past the
hundred mark, only a tramp can appreci
ate. I fell in love with Mokelumne Hill
and, after due consultation of my map, re
solved to pass the night in this pictur
esque and delightful spot. I was also
influenced by its associations, as it figures
prominently in Bret Harte 's stories.
Of the four famous rivers — the Stanis
laus, Mokelumne, American and Cosumnes
— which I crossed on this trip, the Mo
kelumne appealed to me the most. What-
26

PLATE III
Mokelumne River;
"Whatever the
Meaning of the
Indian Name, One
May Rest Assured
It Stands
for Some Form
of Beauty"

TUOLUMNE TO PLACEEVILLE
ever the meaning of the Indian name, one
may rest assured it stands for some form
of beauty. Jackson, the county seat of
Amador County, is but six miles from Mo
kelumne Hill and a town of considerable
importance, being the terminus of a branch
line of the Southern Pacific Bailway. It
is situated in an open country where the
hills are at some distance, and presents a
certain up-to-date appearance. About a
mile from Jackson the Kennedy mine, run
ning a hundred stamps, is one of the great
est gold producers in the State.
Sutter Creek, erroneously supposed by
many to be the spot where gold was first
discovered in California, four miles north
of Jackson, is picturesque and rendered at
tractive by reason of the vivid green of
the lawns surrounding the little cottages on
its outskirts. This town, too, has a flour
ishing look, accounted for by the operation
of the South Eureka and Central Eureka
mines. A gentleman whom I met on the
street imparted this information, and
asked me if I remembered Mark Twain's
definition of a gold mine. I had to con
fess I did not. "Well," said he, "Mark
Twain defined a gold mine as ' a hole in the
ground at one end, and a d — d fool at the
other ! ' " The appreciative twinkle in his
27

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
eye suggested the possibility that this
definition met with his approval.
Amador, two miles beyond Sutter Creek,
did not appeal to me. ' ' Stagnation ' ' would
probably come nearer than any other term
to conveying to the mind of a person un
familiar with Amador its present condi
tion. One becomes acutely sensitive to the
"atmosphere" of these places, after a few
days upon the road, for each has a dis
tinctive individuality. In spite of the fact
that it was mid-day in mid-summer, gloom
seemed to pervade the streets and to he
characteristic of its inhabitants. With the
exception of an attempt to get into tele
phonic communication with a friend at
Placerville, I lost not a moment in the
town. On reaching Drytown, three miles north
of Amador, I noted the thermometer stood
at 110 degrees in the shade on the watered
porch of the hotel, and deciding there was
a certain risk attendant on walking in such
heat, determined to make the best of what
was anything but a pleasant situation, and
go no farther. Drytown, in the modern ap
plication of the first syllable, is a misnomer,
the "town" consisting chiefly of the hotel
with accompanying bar, and a saloon across
the way!
28

TUOLUMNE TO PLACEEVILLE
Drytown was in existence as early as
1849, and was visited in October of that
year by Bayard Taylor. He says: "I
found a population of from two to three
hundred, established for the winter. The
village was laid out with some regularity
and had taverns, stores, butchers' shops
and monte tables." One cannot but smile
at the idea of "monte tables" in connec
tion with the Drytown of to-day; pitiful
as is the reflection that men had braved
the hardships of the desert and toiled to
the waist in water for gold, only to throw
it recklessly in the laps of professional
gamblers. The Exchange Hotel, a wooden build
ing dating back to 1858, stands on the site
of the original hotel, built in 1851 and
burned in 1857. Upon the front porch is
a well furnishing cold, pure water. I found
this to be the most acceptable feature of
several of the old hostelries. The well and
the swinging sign over the entrance sug
gested the wayside inn of rural England;
more especially as the surrounding country
carries out the idea, being gently undu
lating and well timbered.
The following evening I put up at Nash
ville, on the North Fork of the Cosumnes
Biver and well over the borders of El Do-
29

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
rado county, passing Plymouth en route.
Plymouth, on the map, appeared to be a
place of some importance, but a closer in
spection proved that — in spite of its breezy
name — it would take the spirits of a Mark
Tapley to withstand its discouraging sur
roundings. Plymouth is ' ' living in hopes, ' '
an English syndicate having an option on
certain mining properties in the vicinity;
but Nashville is frankly "out of business."
At Nashville, in fact, I had some diffi
culty in securing "bed and lodging." There
appeared to be only three families in this
once flourishing camp. Strange as it may
seem, money appears to be no object to
people in these sequestered places. You
have "to make good," and in this instance
it required not a little tact and diplomacy.
I arrived at Placerville the following
day. Due to taking a road not shown on
my map, I went several miles astray and
for some few hours was immersed in wild,
chaparral-covered mountains, with evi
dences on all hands of deserted mines;
finally crossing a divide at an elevation of
two thousand feet and descending into the
valley where slumbers the little town of
El Dorado, formerly bearing the less at
tractive designation "Mud Springs." This
title, though lacking in euphony, was more
30

TUOLUMNE TO PLACERVILLE
in keeping with actual conditions, since the
valley is noted for its springs, and Dia
mond Springs, a mile or two north, is quite
a summer resort. Nor is there any indica
tion of the precious metal anywhere in the
immediate vicinity.
In Placerville — known as "Hangtown"
in the Bret Harte days — I registered at
the Cary House, which once had the honor
of entertaining no less a personage than
Horace Greeley. It was here he termin
ated his celebrated stage ride with Hank
Monk. I found that my friend Harold Ed
ward Smith had gone to Coloma, eight
miles on the road to Auburn, and had left
a note saying he would wait for me there
the following morning.

31

CHAPTER IV
J. H. BRADLEY AND THE CARY
HOUSE. RUINS OF COLOMA.
JAMES W. MARSHALL AND
HIS PATHETIC END
More than any other town,
Placerville gave a suggestion
of the olden times. "John
Oakhurst" and "Jack Ham
lin" would still be in their element, as
witness the following scene:
In the card room back of the bar, in a
certain hotel, a "little game" was in prog
ress. A big, blond giant, with curly hair
and clean-cut features — indeed he could
have posed as a model for Praxiteles-
arose nonchalantly from the table as I en
tered, and swept the stakes into a capacious
pocket. An angry murmur of disapproval
came from the sitters, and one man mut
tered something about "quitting the game
a winner." With a hand on each hip, the
giant swept the disgruntled upturned faces
with a comprehensive glance, and drawled:
"I'll admit there's something wrong in
mine, gentlemen, or I wouldn't be here,
see ? " He waited a moment and amid dead
32

J. H. BRADLEY AND THE CARY HOUSE
silence passed slowly through the bar
room to the sidewalk, seated himself,
stretched his long legs and placidly gazed
across the street.
In the morning I had a long talk with
Mr. J. H. Bradley, perhaps the best known
man in El Dorado County. Though in his
eighty-fourth year, his keen brown eyes
still retain the fire and light of youth. The
vitality of these old pioneers is something
marvelous. Mr. Bradley was born in Ken
tucky, but, as a boy, moved to Hannibal,
Missouri, where he played marbles with
Mark Twain, or Clemens, as he prefers to
call him. In '49, he came across the plains
to California. He was on the most friendly
terms with Twain and said he assisted him
to learn piloting on the Mississippi; and
when Twain came to California, helped him
to get a position as compositor with U. E.
Hicks, who founded the Sacramento Union.
He also knew Horace Greeley intimately,
and has a portfolio that once was his prop
erty. Five years after Greeley's arrival
in Placerville, which was in 1859, Mr. Brad
ley married Caroline Hicks, who with
Phoebe and Bose Carey had acted as sec
retary to Mr. Greeley. Mr. Bradley takes
no stock in the "keep your seat, Horace!"
story. He considers it a fabrication. In
33

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
his opinion, the romancers — Bret Harte,
Mark Twain, et al. — have done California
more harm than good. He also has a thinly
disguised contempt for "newspaper fel
lows and magazine writers." Nor does
he believe in the "Mother Lode" — that is,
in its continuity — in spite of the geologists.
He prefers to speak of the "mineral zone."
In fine, Mr. Bradley is a man of definite
and pronounced opinions on any subject
you may broach. For that reason, his
views, whether you agree with them or not,
are always of interest.
Hanging in the office of the Cary House
is a clever cartoon, by William Cooper, of
Portland, Oregon, entitled "A mining con
vention in Placerville ; " in which Mr. Brad
ley is depicted in earnest conversation with
a second Mr. Bradley, a third and evidently
remonstrant Mr. Bradley intervening,
while a fourth and fifth Mr. Bradley, de
cidedly bored, are hurriedly departing.
Indeed, one glance at Mr. Bradley is
enough to convince you that he is a man of
unusual force of character. No one intro
duced me to him. I was merely informed at
the Cary House that he was the person to
whom I should apply for information con
cerning the old times. I accordingly
started out to look for him and had not
34

PLATE IV
"A Mining
Convention at
Placerville"

J. H. BBADLEY AND THE CAEY HOUSE
proceeded fifty yards when a man, ap
proaching at a distance, arrested my atten
tion. As he drew nearer, I felt positive
there could be only one such personage in
Placerville, and when he was opposite me,
I stopped and said, "How are you, Mr.
Bradley?" "That's my name, sir; what
do you want?" he replied.
They take life easily in the old mining
towns. No wonder the spectacle of a man
with a pack on his back caused comment,
in that heat, tramping two or three hundred
miles for pleasure! Beyond the trivial
necessities that bare existence makes im
perative, I was not conscious of seeing
anyone do anything on the whole trip.
Old miners not unnaturally took me for a
prospector, and I think I never quite suc
ceeded in convincing them to the contrary.
In Placerville as in Angel's Camp, the
evening promenade seems the most im
portant event of the day. Young men and
maidens pass and repass in an apparently
endless chain. The same faces recur so
frequently that one begins to take an in
terest in the little comedy and speculate
on the rival attractions of blonde and
brunette, and wonder which of the young
bloods is the local Beau Brummel. The
audience — so to speak — sit on chairs 35

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
backed against the walls of the hotels and
stores, while many prefer the street itself,
and with feet on curb or other coign of
vantage, tilt their chairs at most alarming
angles. A sort of animated lovers' lane is
thus formed, through which the prom-
enaders have to run the gauntlet, and are
subjected to a certain amount of criticism.
Everyone knows everyone. Good natured
badinage plays like wild-fire, up and down
and across the street. Later on, the tinkle
of mandolin and guitar is heard far into
the night watches.
Having determined to reach Auburn —
thirty miles away — the next day, I made an
early start. Coloma lies at the bottom of
the great canon of the South Fork of the
American Biver. Hastening down the
grade, in a bend of the road I almost ran
into my friend. It seemed a strange meet
ing this, in the heart of the old mining
country, and I think we both gave a per
ceptible start.
It was at Coloma that gold was first dis
covered in California, by James W. Mar
shall, January 19, 1848. My companion
had been so fortunate on the previous day
as to meet Mr. W. H. Hooper, who arrived
in Coloma August 8, 1850, and who has
lived there practically ever since. Though
36

J. H. BEADLEY AND THE CABY HOUSE
eighty-three, he is still strong and vigor
ous. From him my friend elicited some
very interesting information in regard to
Marshall especially, the substance of which
I append from his notes. Mr. Hooper had
known Marshall for many years, and his
reminiscences of the discoverer have a
touch of pathos bordering on the tragic.
Marshall, a trapper by trade and fron
tiersman by inclination, accompanied Gen
eral Sutter to California, assisted in the
building of Sutter Fort and, on account
of his mechanical ability, was sent to
Coloma to superintend the erection of a
sawmill. It was in the mill-race that he
picked up the nugget which made the name
"California" the magnet for the world's
adventurers. Unaware of the nature of
his "find," he took it to Sacramento, where
it was declared to be gold. He was im
plored by General Sutter to keep the mill
operatives in ignorance of his discovery,
for fear they should desert their work.
But how couid such a secret be kept,
especially by a man of generous and im
pulsive instincts? At any rate the news
leaked out and the stampede followed.
From Mr. Hooper's account, Marshall
was a very human character. Late in life
the state legislature granted him a pension 37

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
of two hundred dollars per month. This
sum being far in excess of his actual needs,
it followed as a matter of course that his
cronies assisted him in disposing of it. In
fact, "Marshall's pension day" became a
local attraction, and the Coloma saloon —
still in existence — the rendezvous. These
reunions were varied by glorious excur
sions to Sacramento, his friends in the
legislature imploring him to keep away.
After two years the pension was cut down
to one hundred dollars per month and
finally was discontinued in toto — a shabby
and most undignified procedure. Opposite
the saloon, at some little distance, is a
conical hill. For many years Marshall,
seated on the steps of the porch, had gazed
dreamily at its summit. Shortly before
his death, addressing a remnant of the "old
guard," he exclaimed: "Boys, when I go,
I want you to plant me on the top of that
hill." And "planted" he was, with a ten-
thousand-dollar monument on top of him!
The poor old fellow died in poverty at
Kelsey, near Coloma, August 10, 1885, at
the age of seventy-five. It is a sad reflec
tion that a tithe of the money spent on
the monument would have comforted him
in his latter days ; for the blow to his pride
by the withdrawal of his pension, still more
38

PLATE V
South Fork of the
American River,
Coloma.
The Bend in the
River is the Precise
Spot Where
Gold Was First
Discovered in
California

J- H. BBADLEY AND THE CABY HOUSE
than the actual lack of funds, hastened
the end.
Mr. Hooper intimated that the popula
tion of Coloma diminished perceptibly
after the termination of Marshall's pen
sion. In common with the majority of the
old miners, he saved nothing and never
profited to any extent by the discovery that
will keep his memory alive for centuries
to come.
Coloma in its palmy days had a popu
lation variously estimated at from five to
ten thousand souls, with the usual accom
paniment of saloons, dance halls and faro
banks. There was a vigorous expulsion
of gamblers in the early fifties and an
incident occurred which quite possibly sup
plied the inspiration for Bret Harte 's
"Outcasts of Poker Flat." A notorious
gambler and desperado, and his accom
plice, demurred. Whereupon the irate
miners placed them on a burro, and with
vigorous threats punctuated by a salvo of
revolver shots fired over their heads, drove
them out of camp. They disappeared over
the hill upon which the monument now
stands, and were seen no more.
Coloma suffered severely from fires.
Little of the old town remains but ruins of
stone walls, and here and there an isolated 39

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
wooden building. The ruins, however, are
not only exceedingly picturesque, being half
buried in foilage of beautiful trees, but
hold the imagination with a grip that is
indescribable. I could willingly have tar
ried here for days.
But while old Coloma is dead, there is
a new Coloma that furnishes an extra
ordinary contrast. It is a sweet and
peaceful little hamlet, situated on the lower
benches of the canon, well up out of the
river bottom, and is entirely devoted to
horticulture. One has read of birds build
ing their nests in the muzzles of old and
disused cannon ; even that does not suggest
a more anomalous association of ideas than
the spectacle of a vine-clad cottage shaded
by fig trees, basking peacefully in the sun,
so close to what was at one time a veritable
maelstrom of human passions. So far as
the new Coloma is concerned, Marshall's
discovery might never have been made.
Nowhere else will you find a spot where
gold and what it stands for would seem to
mean so little. Coloma ! It is passing
strange that a name so sweet and restful
should forever be linked with the wildest
scramble for gold the world has ever seen !

40

CHAPTER V
AUBURN TO NEVADA CITY VIA
COLFAX AND GRASS VALLEY.
BEN TAYLOR AND HIS HOME
Aftee surmounting the canon of the
/% South Fork of the American
/ ^ Biver, you gradually enter a
JL. JL. more open country, the out
skirts of the great deciduous fruit belt in
Placer County, which supplies New York
and Chicago with choice plums, peaches
and pears. About three miles from Au
burn, the road plunges into one of the
deepest canons of the Sierras, at the bot
tom of which the Middle and North Forks
of the American Biver unite. Just below
the junction, the river is spanned by a long
suspension bridge. Auburn is remarkably
situated in that one sees nothing of it until
the rim of the canon is reached, at least
a thousand feet above the river. Thus
there are no outskirts and you plunge at
once into the business streets, passing the
station of the Central Pacific Bailway,
which line skirts the edge of the canon on
a heavy grade. 41

A TBAMP THROUGH THE BRET HAETE COUNTRY
I had accomplished a good thirty miles,
but that did not prevent me from accom
panying my friend on a long and protracted
hunt for comfortable quarters in which to
eat and spend the night. There was quite
an attractive hotel near the railroad, but
actuated by a desire to see something of
the town, which we found to be more than
usually drawn out, we passed it with linger
ing regret. Whether by chance or instinct,
we drifted to the ruins of the old hotel,
now in process of reconstruction, and were
comfortably housed in a wooden annex.
Auburn marks the western verge of the
mineral zone, but in the fifties there were
rich placer diggings in the immediate vi
cinity. There are some remarkably solid
buildings of that period, in the old por
tion of the town, which, as customary, is
situated in the bottom of the winding valley
or ravine. Practically a new town, called
' ' East Auburn, ' ' has been started on higher
ground, and a fight is on to move the post
office; but the people in the hollow having
the voting strength, hang on to it like grim
death. Along the edge of the American
Biver canon and commanding a magnifi
cent view, are the homes of the local
aristocracy. In christening Auburn, it is
scarcely credible that the pioneers had in
42

AUBUEN TO NEVADA CITY
mind Goldsmith's "loveliest village of the
plain;" nor, keeping the old town in view,
is the title remarkably applicable today.
Our next objective point being Colfax,
distant in a northeasterly direction only
fifteen miles, we made a leisurely inspec
tion of the town and vicinity in the
morning. The old town proved of absorb
ing interest to my friend, and we became
separated while he was hunting up subjects
for the camera. Having a free and easy
working scheme in such matters, after a
few minutes' search, I gave up the quest
and started alone on the road to Colfax.
A few miles out, I met a man with a
rifle on his shoulder, leading a burro bear
ing a pack-saddle laden in the most scien
tific manner with probably all his worldly
possessions, the pick and shovel plainly
denoting a prospector. A water bucket
on one side of the animal was so adjusted
that the bottom was uppermost ; on the top
of the bucket sat a little fox-terrier, his
eyes fixed steadfastly on his master. I
paused a moment, possessed with a strong
desire to take a snap shot of this remark
able equipment, but the man with the gun
gave me a glance that settled the matter.
His was not a bad face — far from it — but
the features were stern and set, the cheeks 43

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BRET HAETE COUNTRY
furrowed with deep lines that bespoke
hardship and fatigue in the struggle with
Nature and the elements. That glance out
of the tail of his eye meant : ' ' Let me alone
and I will let you alone, but let me alone!"
Taciturnity becomes habitual to men ac
customed to vast solitudes. Even on such
a tramp as I had undertaken, in which I
frequently walked for miles without sight
or sound of a human being, I began to
realize how banal and aimless is con
ventional conversation. Under such con
ditions you feel yourself in sympathy
with the man who says nothing unless he
has something to say, and who, in turn,
expects the same restriction of speech
from you.
I was seated on the porch of the store
at Applegate, disposing of a frugal lunch
consisting of raisins and crackers, when
my friend hove in sight. After a private
inspection of the store's possibilities, with
a little smile, the meaning of which I well
understood from many similar experiences,
he sat down beside me and without a word
tackled the somewhat uninviting repast, to
which with a wave of the hand I invited
him. I may say here that Mr. Smith is a
veteran and inveterate "hiker." I doubt
very much whether any man in California
44

AUBUBN TO NEVADA CITY
has seen as much of this magnificent State
as he, certainly not on foot; as a conse
quence he is accustomed to a ready accept
ance of things as they are. Applegate,
about midway between Auburn and Colfax,
is an alleged ' ' summer resort. ' ' It did not
appeal to us as especially attractive, the
view, at any rate from the road, being
extremely limited and lacking any dis
tinctive features. Without unnecessary
delay, therefore, we resumed the march.
It is practically up-hill — "on the collar"
— all the way to Colfax, as is plainly evi
denced by the heavy railroad grade. About
a mile short of the town, we made a di
gression to an Italian vineyard of note.
There, at a long table under a vine-covered
trellis that connected the stone cellar with
the dwelling-house, we were served with
wine by a young woman having the true
Madonna features of Sunny Italy, her
mother, a comely matron, in the meantime
preparing the evening meal, while on the
hard ground, encumbered with no super
fluous clothing, disported the younger
members of the family. And as I sat and
smoked the pipe of peace, I reflected upon
how much better they do these things in
Italy — for to all intents and purposes, I
was in Italy. 45

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
Colfax — before the advent of the C. P.
B. B. called "Illinois Town" — is an odd
blending of past and present; the solid
structures of the mining days contrasting
strangely with the flimsy wooden buildings
that seem to mark a railroad town. We
were amazed at the amount of traffic that
occurs in the night. Three big overland
trains passed through in either direction,
the interim being filled in with the switch
ing of cars, accompanied apparently with
a most unnecessary ringing of bells and
piercing shrieks from whistles. Since our
hotel was not more than a hundred and
fifty feet from the main line, with no in
tervening buildings to temper the noises,
sleep of any consequence was an utter im
possibility. Few Californians are aware, probably,
that a considerable amount of tobacco is
raised in the foot-hills of the Sierras. At
Colfax, I smoked a very fair cigar made
from tobacco grown in the vicinity, and
manufactured in the town.
I think we were both glad to leave Col
fax. Apart from a nerve-racking night,
the mere proximity of the railroad with
its accompanying associations served con
stantly to bring to mind all that I had fled
to the mountains to escape. Yet I cannot
46

AUBURN TO NEVADA CITY
bring myself to agree with those who pro
fess to brand a railroad "a blot on the
landscape." The enormous engines which
pull the overland trains up the heavy
grades of the Sierra Nevada impress one
by their size, strength and suggestion of
reserve power, as not being out of harmony
with the forces of Nature they are con
structed to contend with and overcome.
This thought occurred to us as we
watched a passenger train slowly winding
its way around the famous Cape Horn,
some four miles from Colfax. Although
several miles in an air line intervened, one
seemed to feel the vibrations in the air
caused by the panting monster, while great
jets of steam shot up above the pine trees.
I confess to a sense of elation at the spec
tacle. Nature in some of her moods seems
so malignant, that I felt proud of this mag
nificent exhibition of man's victory over
the obstacles she so well knows how to
interpose. The road' between Colfax and Grass
Valley — the next stopping place on our
itinerary — lay through so lovely a country
that we passed through it as in a dream.
Descending into the valley we were joined
by several small boys, attracted, I suppose,
by our — to them — unusual costume and
47

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
equipment, who plied us with questions.
They asked if "we carried a message for
the mayor," and were visibly disappointed
when we regretted we had overlooked that
formality. For several minutes they kept
us busy trying to give truthful answers to
most unexpected questions. They had
never heard of Tuolumne and wanted to
know if it was in California. Their world,
in fact, was bounded by Colfax on the south
and Nevada City on the north.
Grass Valley received its name from the
meadow in which the town, for the most
part, is situated. The ground is so moist
that, notwithstanding the heat, the grass
was a vivid green. Apple trees growing
in the grass, as in the orchards of England
and in the Atlantic States, and perfectly
healthy, conveyed that suggestion of the
Old World which lends a peculiar charm to
these towns. And Grass Valley really is
a town, having seven thousand inhabitants ;
and is, withal, clean, picturesque and alto
gether delightful. One understood why
"Tuolumne" sounded meaningless to those
small boys. Thus early in life they were
under influences which will probably keep
them in after years — as they kept their
fathers — permanent citizens of the town
of Grass Valley.
48

AUBUEN TO NEVADA CITY
Grass Valley was one of the richest of
the old mining camps. There was literally
gold everywhere, even in the very roots
of the grass. The mining is now all under
ground and drifts from the North Star and
Ophir mines underlie a part of the town.
After a methodical search, we discovered
an excellent restaurant and made a note
of it as a recurrent possibility. A judicious
choice of a suitable place in which to eat
and eke, to pass the night, is to the tramp
a matter of vital interest. Bobert Louis
Stevenson, in those entertaining narratives
"An Inland Voyage" and "Travels with
a Donkey," lays heartfelt stress on these
particulars; when things were not to his
liking, roundly denouncing them, but if
agreeably surprised, lifting up his voice
in song and praise.
Though tempted to pass the night in
Grass Valley, impelled by curiosity, we
pushed on four miles farther, to Nevada
City. It is useless to attempt to convey
in words the fascination of Nevada City.
My friend, who is familiar with the country,
said it reminded him of Italy. Houses rise
one above the other on the hillside; while
down below, the winding streets with their
quaint old-time stores and balconied win
dows, are equally attractive. The horrors 49

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
of the previous night at Colfax made the
quiet peacefulness of Nevada City the more
refreshing. At the National Hotel I en
joyed the soundest sleep since leaving
home. In the morning there was a delicious
breeze from the mountains, which rendered
strolling about the town a pleasure. Ac
cording to custom, we went our several
ways, each drawn by what appealed to him
the most at the moment. When ready to
depart, finding no trace of my companion
at the hotel, I left word that I had returned
to Grass Valley; where an hour or two
later, he rejoined me.
More fortunate than I, my friend by
chance encountered Mr. Morrison M.
Green, on the street in front of his home
upon the hill which looks down upon the
town. This gentleman, who is in his eighty-
third year, related an almost incredible
incident in connection with the fire in 1857,
which wiped out the town, with the excep
tion of one house. Three prominent citi
zens who chanced to have met in a saloon
when the fire broke out, having the utmost
confidence in the safety of a certain build
ing, on account of its massive walls and
iron door, made a vow to lock themselves
in it, and actually did so. They might
50

., K.v"- {.,::¦>:&¦¦

W;'

W "

PLATE VI
Ben Taylor and His Home, Grass
Valley, Showing the Spruce He Planted
Nearly Half » Century Ago

AUBURN TO NEVADA CITY
perhaps have withstood the ordeal, had not
the roof been broken in by the fall of the
walls of the adjoining building. The iron
door having been warped with the heat,
it was impossible to open it ; when last seen,
they were standing with their arms around
one another in the center of the store.
At Grass Valley, my friend — greatly to
my regret and I think also to his own —
received word which rendered his return
to San Francisco imperative. After a fare
well dinner at the restaurant before men
tioned, I accompanied him to the railway
station, and in the words of Christian in
"The Pilgrim's Progress," "I saw him no
more in my dream." I confess to a feeling
of depression after his departure, for how
ever enjoyable the experiences of the road,
they are rendered doubly so by the sympa
thetic companionship of a man endowed
not only with a keen sense of humor but
also with an unusual perception of human
nature. After registering at the Holbrooke — a
substantial survival of the old times — I
called by appointment on Mr. Ben Taylor,
a much respected citizen of Grass Valley
and probably the oldest inhabitant of
Nevada County, having reached the patri
archal age of eighty-six. 51

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
Mr. Taylor has a charming home with
extensive grounds overlooking the town
and surrounding country. In his garden is
a spruce he planted himself forty-five years
ago, and apple trees of the same age. The
spruce now has the appearance of a forest
tree and shades the whole front of the
house. His present home was built in 1864
and from all appearances should last the
century out. He said the lumber was care
fully selected, the boards being heavier
than usual, and all the important timbers,
instead of being nailed, were morticed and
dove-tailed. This thoroughness of work
manship accounts for the excellent condi
tion of the wooden buildings in these towns,
many of which were constructed over fifty
years ago.
Mr. Taylor came to Grass Valley Sep
tember 22, 1849, and has lived there almost
continuously ever since. He crossed the
plains one of twenty-five men, the last of
his companions dying in 1905. The little
band suffered many hardships, having to
be constantly on watch for Indians, though
he said they were more fearful of the Mor
mons. They came over the old emigrant
trail across the Sierra Nevada. When they
reached Grass Valley, their Captain, a man
named Broughton, exclaimed: "Boys!
52

AUBUBN TO NEVADA CITY
here's the gold; this is good enough for
us!" And there they stayed, the twenty-
five of them!
Mr. Taylor had frequently met Mark
Twain, but never to his knowledge, Bret
Harte. In common with other men who
had known the Great American Humorist,
Mr. Taylor smiled at the bare mention of
his name. Twain's breezy, hail-fellow-well-
met manner, combined with his dry humor,
insured him a welcome at all the camps;
he was a man who would "pass the time
of day" and take a friendly drink with any
man upon the road. Twain, he told me,
and a man with whom he was traveling
on one occasion, lost their mules. They
tracked them to a creek and concluding
the mules had crossed it, Twain said to
his companion: "What's the use of both
of us getting wet? I'll carry you!" The
other complying, Twain reached in safety
the deepest part of the creek and, pur
posely or not, dropped him. A man, to
play such pranks as this, must be sure of
his standing in a primitive community.
Mr. Taylor is known to everyone in
Nevada County as "Ben." His genial
manner and kindly nature are apparent at
a glance. But while Ben Taylor was on
friendly terms with Mark Twain, he was
53

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
never so intimate with him as with Bayard
Taylor, whom, it seems, he much resembled.
This accidental likeness, combined with the
similarity of names, caused many more or
less amusing but embarrassing complica
tions, since they were frequently taken for
each other and received each other's cor
respondence. I asked Ben Taylor— he rightly dislikes
"Mister," perhaps the ugliest and most
inappropriate word in the English lan
guage — if the shootings and hangings
which figure so prominently in the stories
of the romancers were not exaggerations.
He said he certainly was of that opinion.
I said: "As a matter of fact, did you
ever see a man either shot or hung for a
crime?" "I never did," he replied with
emphasis. "But I once came across the
bodies of several men who had been strung
up for horse-stealing; that, however, was
not in Grass Valley."
Ben Taylor was present when Lola
Montez horsewhipped Henry Shibley, edi
tor of the Grass Valley National, for what
she considered derogatory reflections on
herself, published in his paper. It can
readily be understood that Grass Valley
was at that time a place of importance,
when Lola Montez considered it worth
54

AUBUBN TO NEVADA CITY
while to stay there several years and sing
and dance for the miners.
In parting, Ben Taylor told me pa
thetically that his wife had died a few
years before and he had never recovered
from the blow; "I am merely marking
time until the end comes, ' ' he added. Since
his married daughter and family live with
him, he is assured in his latter days of
loving care and attention.

55

CHAPTER VI
E. W. MASLIN AND HIS RECOLLEC
TIONS OF PIONEER DAYS IN
GRASS VALLEY. ORIGIN OF
OUR MINING LAWS
To Mr. E. W. Maslin, of Alameda,
of whom Ben Taylor said: "He
is like a brother to me," I am
indebted for information of much
interest, bearing on the olden days and
Grass Valley in particular. Mr. Maslin
came around the "Horn" to California, in
the ship Herman, on May 7, 1853. He ar
rived in Grass Valley and went to work as
a miner the following morning. He now
holds, and has for years, the responsible
position in the United States Custom
House, San Francisco, of Deputy Naval
Officer of the Port. The clearing papers
of every vessel that leaves San Francisco
bear his signature. Although in his eight
ieth year, his memory is as clear and his
sense of humor as vivid as when, a youth
of nineteen, he left for good, Maryland,
his native state. Few men in the San Fran
cisco bay region are more widely known
than he. His ready wit, cheery laugh and
56

BEOOLLECTIONS OF PIONEEB DAYS
fund of information — for he is extremely
well-read — always insure for him an atten
tive and appreciative audience.
Speaking of Ben Taylor, he told me a
characteristic incident, which being also
typical of the men of '49, I give, with his
consent, as related. When the White Pine
excitement in 1869 started a rush of pros
pectors to Nevada, Mr. Maslin caught the
fever with the rest. In common with all
who dug for gold, he had his ups and downs,
the fat years and the lean ones ; at the time,
his fortunes being at a lew ebb, he joined
the stampede. Several years previous to
his departure, without informing his wife,
he had borrowed of Ben Taylor, three hun
dred dollars, secured by mortgage on his
house in Grass Valley. At White Pine
he met with considerable success, and in
a short time sent his wife five hundred dol
lars, telling her for the first time of the
mortgage on their home and requesting her
to go to Ben Taylor at once and pay him
in full. It so happened that Taylor had
called on Mrs. Maslin for news of her hus
band, as she was reading this letter. She
immediately tendered him the check with
the request that he would inform her to
what the interest amounted. "Why,
Molly," said Ben Taylor, "you surely 57

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
ought to know me well enough to know
I would never take any interest on that
money ! ' ' When it is remembered that the
legal rate of interest at that time was ten
per cent, and that double that amount was
not infrequently paid — Mr. Maslin, in fact,
expecting to pay Taylor something like five
hundred dollars — the attitude of the latter
will be the better appreciated.
This seems a fitting place to pay a hum
ble personal tribute of respect to the
memory of the men of "the fall of '49 and
the spring of '50. " Not since the Crusades,
when the best blood of Europe was spilt
in defense of the Holy Sepulchre, has the
world seen a finer body of men than the
Argonauts of California. True, the quest
of the "Golden Fleece" was the prime
motive, but sheer love of adventure for
adventure's sake played a most important
part. Later on, the turbulent element ar
rived. It was due to the rectitude, inherent
sense of justice and courage of the pio
neers that they were held in check and,
by force of arms when necessary, made to
understand the white man's code of honor.
So much in song and story has been said
of the scramble for gold in the early days
after the discovery, and so little attention
given to the artistic and aesthetic sense of
58

RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEER DAYS
the pioneers, that the general impression
made by the famous old mining towns of
California, when seen for the first time,
may be worth recording. In the massive
stone hotels and stores of that period, as
well as in the careful construction of dwell
ing houses, they exhibited a true perception
of "the eternal fitness of things." The
buildings of the fifties, in their extreme
simplicity, are far more imposing than the
nondescript, pretentious structures of to
day, and will, beyond doubt, in usefulness
outlast them.
As a result of ignoring the checker-board
plan, and permitting the streets to follow
the natural contour of the hills and ravines,
these mountain towns seem to have be
come blended and to be in harmony with
the wonderful setting Nature has provided.
All buildings, residential or otherwise, are
protected from the summer heat by um
brageous trees. Lawns of richest green
delight the eye, and vines and flowers sur
round cottages perched on steep hillsides,
or half-hidden in deep ravines. The first
glimpse from a distant eminence of any of
the old mining towns conveys the sug
gestion of peaceful homes buried in green
ery, basking contentedly in the brilliant
sunshine, surrounded by the whispering 59

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
pines, with the snow-clad peaks of the
Sierra Nevada for a background.
You also receive the impression of clean
liness. If there were any old cans, scraps
of paper and miscellaneous rubbish lying
about in any town through which I passed,
I did not notice them. One is struck, too,
by the absence of the "vacant lot" — that
unsightly blot of such frequent occurrence
in all towns in the process of building, es
pecially when forced by "booms" beyond
their normal growth. Fortunately the very
word "boom," in its significance as applied
to inflated real estate values, has no mean
ing in these towns, with the result that
they are compact. One may search in vain
for the "house to let" sign. When no
more houses were needed, no more houses
were built. This compactness of form,
cleanliness, and the elimination to a great
extent of the rectangular block, contribute
in no small measure to that indefinable
suggestion of the Old World — a charm that
haunts the memory and finally becomes a
permanent acquisition.
However clever the stories of the
romancers — of whom Bret Harte pre
eminently stands first — after all, their
characters were intrinsically but creatures
of the imagination; the pioneers were the
60

RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEEB DAYS
real thing! Yet such is the nature of this
topsy-turvy world, the copies will remain,
whilst the originals will fade away and
be forgotten ! The writer will always hold
it a privilege that he had the pleasure of
meeting in the flesh a remnant of the men
who laid the foundation of the institutions
by means of which this great Common
wealth has grown and prospered; big,
broad-minded, strong men who, whatever
their failings — for they were very human
— were generous to a fault, ever ready to
listen to the cry of distress or help a fallen
brother to his feet, scornful of pettiness,
ignorant of snobbery, fair and square in
their dealings with their fellows. Alas,
that it should have come to "Hail and
Farewell" to such a type of manhood!
At my request, Mr. Maslin, at one time
a practicing attorney, dictated the follow
ing succinct account of the origin of the
mining laws of California. The discovery
at Gold Hill, now within the corporate
limits of Grass Valley, of a gold-bearing
quartz ledge, subsequently the property of
Englishmen who formed an organization
known as "The Gold Hill Quartz Mining
Company, ' ' led to the founding of the min
ing laws of California. On December 30,
1850, the miners passed regulations which 61

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
had with them the force of laws, defining
the location and ownership of mines. It
was provided that claims should be forty
feet by thirty feet; a recorder was to be
elected by the miners and all difficulties
arising out of trespass on claims were to
be tried before the recorder and two
miners, an appeal to be taken to the justice
of the peace.
When quartz lodes began to be dis
covered and worked, it was found that the
location of claims by square feet did not
protect the miner or afford sufficient terri
tory upon which to expend his labor.
Accordingly a miners' meeting was held
in Nevada City on December 20, 1852, and
a body of laws prescribed, governing all
quartz mines within the county of Nevada.
The following were the salient features:
"Each proprietor of a quartz claim shall
be entitled to one hundred feet on a quartz
ledge or vein; the discoverer shall be al
lowed one hundred feet additional. Each
claim shall include all the dips, angles, and
variations of the same." The remaining
articles related to the working, holding and
recording of claims. This law was incor
porated in the mining legislation of the
State of Nevada and has formed the basis
of the mining laws of each territory of the
62

RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEEB DAYS
United States. Thus we have a proof not
only of the intelligence of the early miner,
but also of his capacity for self-govern
ment. It must be remembered that the
miners came from all over the United
States, but principally from the West and
the South. Probably none had seen a
quartz ledge before coming to California,
yet the necessity for extending a claim as
far as the ledge dipped was soon perceived,
as also the taking into consideration a
change in the direction or course of the
lode. Commenting on these laws and the
causes leading to their adoption, Mr.
Maslin became emphatic. He said :
"No body of rough, uncouth, pistolled
ruffians, such as Bret Harte depicts the
miners, would have formed such a group
of benevolent, far-reaching and compre
hensive laws. The early miner represented
the best type of American character. He
was brave, undeterred by obstacles, endur
ing with patient fortitude the perils and
privations of the long journey of half a
year by land, or a tempestuous voyage by
sea ; undaunted alike by the terrors of Cape
Horn or the insidious diseases of the Isth
mus of Panama. He met the, to him,
hitherto unknown problem of the extrac
tion of gold and solved it with the wisdom 63

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
and vigor which distinguish the American.
Observe that the provision against throw
ing dirt on another man's claim anticipated
by many years the famous hydraulic de
cision of Judge Sawyer. It is another way
of stating the maxim of law and equity:
'so use your own property, as not to in
jure that of another.' "
Mr. Maslin agrees with Ben Taylor that
the hangings and shootings of the period
following the discovery of gold have been
grossly exaggerated. On this point he
said: "I will venture to assert that in
certain of the Mississippi Valley States,
in their early settlement, more men were
killed in one year than in ten of the early
mining years in California. ' ' Of lynching,
he said: "There were few lynchings in
California, and those mostly in the south
ern tier of counties, of persons convicted
of cattle-stealing." In connection with
lynching he related a serio-comic incident
that occurred in Grass Valley in the early
days. Several fires had taken place in the town
and the inhabitants were in consequence
much excited. A watchman on his rounds
espied a light in a vacant log cabin, and
entering, caught a man in the act of strik
ing a match. He arrested him and the
64

PLATE VII
E. W. Maslin in the
Garden of His Alameda Home

RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEER DAYS
populace were for taking summary venge
ance. A man known as "Blue Coat
Osborne" cried out, "Let's hang him!
Nevada City once hanged a man and Grass
Valley never did!" This was an effective
appeal, for the rivalry that has lasted ever
since already existed. Fortunately, wiser
counsels prevailed; the man was subse
quently tried and acquitted, it appearing
that he was a traveling prospector who had
merely entered the cabin in order to light
his pipe! In this connection, I may state
that Mr. Maslin confirmed the story of the
three friends in Nevada City, who at
tempted to withstand "the ordeal by fire."
Mr. Maslin is justly jealous for the repu
tation of the Argonauts. Perhaps Bret
Harte 's miner, with his ready pistol, was
as far from the mark as Budyard Kipling's
picture of Tommy Atkins as "an absent-
minded beggar" — an imputation the real
"Tommy" hotly resented. At the same
time, such stories as "The Luck of Boar-
ing Camp" and "Tennessee's Partner,"
not to quote others, prove Bret Harte con
ceded to the miner, courage, patience,
gentleness, generosity and steadfastness in
friendship. If Bret Harte really "hurt"
California, it was because, leaving the
State for good in February, 1871, he car-
65

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
ried with him the atmosphere of the early
mining days and never got out of it. He
never realized the transition from mining
to agriculture and horticulture, as the lead
ing industries of the State. Thus his later
stories which dealt with California, written
long after the subsidence of the mining ex
citement, continued to convey to the East
ern or English reader an impression of
the Californian as a bearded individual, his
trousers tucked into long boots and the
same old "red shirt" with the sleeves
rolled back to the shoulders! As lately—
comparatively speaking — as the Chicago
Columbian Exposition, a lady told me she
met at the Fair a woman who said she
wanted to visit California, and asked if it
would be safe to do so "on account of the
Indians!" While Indians do not appear
in Bret Harte 's pages, it is a safe con
jecture that, through association of ideas,
this lady conjured up a vague vision of a
"prairie schooner" crossing the plains,
harassed by the Indian of the colored
prints !
The following picture of the trying of a
civil suit under difficulties, though in all
probability causing little comment at the
time, would undoubtedly do so at the pres
ent day, were the conditions possible. In
66

RECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEEB DAYS
1853 Mr. Maslin owned, with his brother,
a one-fifth interest in ten gravel claims at
Pike Flat near Grass Valley. On the
ground of alleged imperfection of location
of a portion of these claims, they were
"jumped," and litigation followed.
The case was called before "Si" Brown,
a justice of the peace, at Bough and Beady,
in a building (of which I obtained a photo
graph) used as a hotel and for other pur
poses. In the long room, now occupied
as a store, Judge Brown held his court.
On the right was a door leading to the bar.
Extending the whole length of the room
were four faro tables. At the rear the
judge, jury, attorneys and the principals
in the lawsuit made the best of the accom
modations. After stating the case, Judge Brown thus
addressed the gamblers at the faro tables :
"Boys, the court is now opened, call your
games low!" In accordance with this re
quest, though still audible, came in a
monotonous undertone, the faro dealers'
oft-repeated call: "Gents, make your
game — make your game!" The bets were
put down and the cards called, in the same
subdued voice. At intervals, an attorney
on one side or the other would arise and
my: "I move you, your Honor, that the
67

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
court do now take a recess of ten minutes."
The court : ' ' The motion is sustained ; but
go softly, gentlemen, go softly!" It is
probably needless to add that judge, jury,
principals, attorneys and witnesses filed
out of the door leading to the right; re
turning in ten minutes to resume the trial
to the not altogether inappropriate accom
paniment from the faro dealers, "Make
your game, gents, make your game!"
The spirit of rivalry between Grass Val
ley and Nevada City has been accentuated,
of late, by the efforts of the former town
to secure the honor of being the county
seat, on the claim that it possesses nearly
double the population of Nevada City.
Politics serve to intensify the feeling;
Grass Valley, which contains many people
of Southern birth, being largely Demo
cratic in its affiliations, whilst Nevada City
is as strongly, and, one may add, as con
servatively, Bepublican.
Possibly the oldest building in Grass
Valley is the Western Hotel. It is so
hidden in the surrounding trees that it
was with difficulty I took a photograph in
which any portion of the hotel itself ap
peared. In the garden stands a splendid
English walnut over forty years old; and
on the porch, the well and pump to which
68

EECOLLECTIONS OF PIONEEB DAYS
I have before alluded as a distinguishing
feature of the old-time hostelry, add a
quaint and characteristic touch.
Grass Valley and Nevada City are nearly
three thousand feet above sea level. The
air, in consequence, is light and pure and
the heat seldom excessive. It would be
difficult, the world over, to find a more
agreeable or salubrious climate.
It was with genuine regret that I left
Grass Valley the following morning; not
even Sonora possessed for me a stronger
attraction. As I paused on the summit of
the hill, for a farewell view of the town,
I mentally resolved — the Fates permitting
— I would pay another and more protracted
visit to this land of enchantment.

69

CHAPTER VII
GRASS VALLEY TO SMARTSVILLE.
SUCKER FLAT AND ITS
PERSONAL APPEAL
I was heading due west for Smarts
ville, just across the line in Yuba
County. In four miles, I came to
Bough and Beady, once a famous
camp. Save for the inevitable hotel, now
used in part as a store, there was nothing
to suggest the cause of its pristine glory
or the origin of its emphatic designation;
today it is simply a picturesque, rural
hamlet. In Penn Valley, a mile or two
farther on, I passed a smashed and aban
doned automobile, the second wreck I had
encountered. I thanked my star I traveled
afoot; heavy going, it is true, in places,
but safe and sure.
Notwithstanding the ubiquity of the auto
car, it is still a fact that between the man
in the car and the man on foot is set an
impassable gulf. You are walking through
a mountainous country, where every bend
of the road reveals some new charm; ab
sorbed in silent enjoyment of the scene,
you have forgotten the very existence of
70

GEASS VALLEY TO SMARTSVILLE
the machine, when a raucous "honk" jolts
you out of your daydream and causes you
to jump for your life. In a swirl of dust
the monster engulfs you, leaving you the
dust and the stench of gasoline as souve
nirs, but followed by your anathemas!
This doubtless is where the man in the car
thinks he has scored. Perhaps he has.
When the dust on the road has settled and
you have rubbed it out of your eyes, once
more you forget his existence.
But the very speed with which he travels
is the reason why the man in the car misses
nearly all the charm of the country through
which he is passing. On this tramp I took
forty-odd photographs, all more or less
of historical interest. Biding in an auto
mobile, many of the subjects I would
not have noticed or, if I had, I would not
have been able to bring my camera into
play. On several occasions I retraced my
steps a good quarter of a mile, feeling I
had lost a landscape or street scene I might
never again have the opportunity to be
hold. What is of far greater consequence, the
man on the road comes into touch not only
with Nature, but the Children of Nature!
In these days, automobiles are as thick as
summer flies ; you cannot escape them even
71

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTEY
in the Sierra foot-hills. No attention is
paid them by the country people, unless
they are in trouble or have caused trouble,
which is mostly the case. But the man
who "hikes" for pleasure is a source of
perennial interest not unmixed with ad
miration, especially when walking with the
thermometer indicating three figures in the
shade. To him the small boy opens his
heart; the "hobo" passes the time of day
with a merry jest thrown in; the good
housewife brings a glass of cold water or
milk, adding womanlike, a little motherly
advice ; the passing teamster, or even stage-
driver — that autocrat of the "ribbons" —
shouts a cheery "How many miles today,
Captain?" or, "Where did you start from
this morning, Colonel?" — these titles per
haps due to the battered old coat of khaki.
All the humors of the road are yours.
In fact, you yourself contribute to them, by
your unexpected appearance on the scene
and the novelty of your "make-up," if I
may be pardoned the expression. At the
hotel bar, you drink a glass of beer with
the local celebrity and thus come into im
mediate touch with "the oldest inhabi
tant." After dinner, seated on a bench
on the sidewalk, you smoke a pipe and dis
cuss the affairs of the nation or of the
72

GEASS VALLEY TO SMARTSVILLE
town — usually the latter — with the man
who in the morning offered to give you a
lift and never will understand why you
declined. Invariably you receive courteous
replies and in kindly interest are met more
than half way.
The early romances, the prototypes of
the modern novel, from ' ' Don Quixote ' ' to
"Tom Jones" and "Joseph Andrews,"
were little more than narratives of adven
tures on the road. "Joseph Andrews"
in particular — perhaps Fielding's master
piece — is simply the story of a journey
from London to a place in the country some
hundred and fifty miles distant. In these
books all the adventures are associated
with inns and the various characters,
thrown together by chance, there assem
bled. Dickens unquestionably derived in
spiration from Smollett and Fielding; nor
is there any doubt but that Harte made
a close study of Dickens. '
From which preamble we come to the
statement; if you would study human na
ture on the road, you must simply go where
men congregate and exchange ideas. The
plots of nearly all Bret Harte 's mining
stories are thus closely associated with the
bar-rooms and taverns of the mining towns
of his day. What would remain of any
73

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
of Phillpott's charming stories of rural
England, if you eliminated the bar-room
of the village inn? In hospitality and
generous living, the inns of the mining
towns still keep up the old traditions. The
card room and bar-room are places where
men meet; to altogether avoid them from
any pharisaical assumption of moral su
periority is to lose the chance of coming
in contact with the leading citizen, philan
thropist, or eccentric character.
In the old romances it must be admitted
there is much brawling and heavy drink
ing, as well as unseemliness of conduct.
Yet in spite of the fact that hotel bars
and saloons abound in all the old mining
towns, the writer throughout his travels
and notwithstanding the intense heat, not
only saw no person under the influence of
liquor, but also never heard a voice raised
in angry dispute. Moderation, decency and
a kindly consideration for the rights of
others seem habitual with these people.
It is fifteen miles from Grass Valley to
Smartsville, and I arrived at the Smarts
ville Hotel in time for the midday meal.
Smartsville has "seen better days," but
still maintains a cheerful outlook on life.
The population has dwindled from several
thousand to about three hundred. It is,
74

GBASS VALLEY TO SMARTSVILLE
however, the central point for quite an
extensive agricultural and pastoral coun
try surrounding it.
The swinging sign over the hotel bears
the legend, "Smartsville Hotel, John Pear
don, Propr." The present proprietor is
named ' ' Peardon, ' ' but everyone addressed
him as "Jim." Having established a
friendly footing, I said: "Mr. Peardon,
I notice the sign over the door reads John
Peardon. How is it that they all call you
'Jim?' " "Oh," he replied, "John Pear
don was my father, I was born in this
hotel;" — another of the numerous in
stances that came under my observation
of the way these people ' ' stay where they
are put."
John Peardon was an Englishman. The
British Isles furnished a very considerable
percentage of the pioneers, the evidences
whereof remain unto this day. The swing
ing signs over the hotels for one ; another,
the prevalence in all the mining towns of
Bass's pale ale. You will find it in the
most unpretentious hotels and restaurants.
An Englishman expects his ale or beer, as
a matter of course, whether at the Equator
or at the Arctic Circle. When I first ar
rived in California in 1868, I drifted down
into the then sheep and cattle country in
75

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
the lower end of Monterey County. An
English family living on an isolated ranch
sent home for a girl who had worked for
them in the old country. Upon her arrival,
the first question she asked was : "How far
is it to the church ? ' ' The second : ' ' Where
can I get my beer ? ' ' When informed there
was no church within a hundred miles and
that it was at least fifteen miles to the
nearest saloon, the poor woman felt that
she was indeed all abroad! Bereft at one
blow of the Established Church and Eng
lish Ale, the solid ground seemed to have
given way from under her feet. For her,
these two particulars comprised the whole
of the British Constitution.
Smartsville possessed a sentimental in
terest for me, for the reason that in the
sixties my father mined and taught a pri
vate school in an adjoining camp bearing
the derogatory appellation "Sucker Flat."
What mischance prompted this title will
never now be known. In my father's time,
it contained a population of nearly a thou
sand persons ; and judging from the man
ner in which the gulch and the contiguous
flat have been torn, scarred, burrowed into
and tunneled under, if gold there was, most
strenuous efforts had been made to bring
it to light.
76

GRASS VALLEY TO SMARTSVILLE
I asked if there was anyone in Smarts
ville who would be likely to remember my
father, and was referred by Mr. Peardon
to "Bob" Beatty, who, he said, had lived
in Smartsville all his life and knew every
body. As Mr. Beatty was within a stone's
throw, at the Excelsior Store, I had no
difficulty in finding him. Introducing my
self, I asked Mr. Beatty if he remembered
my father. "To be sure I do," he ex
claimed, "I went to his school, and,"
laughing heartily, "well I. remember a lick
ing he gave me!" He said that among the
boys who attended that school, several in
after years, as men, had become prominent
in the history of the State.
Mr. Beatty — now a pleasant, genial gen
tleman of fifty-two — very kindly walked
with me to the brow of the hill command
ing a view of Sucker Flat, and pointed
out the exact spot where the school had
stood, for not a stick or a stone remains
to mark the locus of the town — it is simply
a name upon the map.
I mention this incident as being another
proof of the extraordinary hold the Sierra
foot-hill country has upon the people who
were born there, as well as upon those who
have drifted there by force of circum
stances. It is forty-six or forty-seven years 77

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
since my father conducted that school, yet
I felt so sure from previous experiences
there would be in Smartsville someone who
remembered him, that I determined to in
clude it in my itinerary.

78

CHAPTER VIII
SMARTSVILLE TO MARYSVILLE.
SOME REFLECTIONS ON AUTO
MOBILES AND "HOBOES"
Eably the next morning I started
for Marysville, the last leg in my
journey, and a long twenty miles
distant. I had been dreading the
pull through the Sacramento Valley, hav
ing a lively recollection of my experience
in the San Joaquin, on leaving Stockton.
The day was sultry, making the heat still
more oppressive. After leaving the foot
hills for good, I walked ten miles before
reaching a tree, or anything that cast a
shadow, if you except the telephone poles.
For the first time I realized there was
danger in walking in such heat, and even
contemplated the shade of the telephone
poles as a possibility ! Fortunately a light
breeze sprang up — the fag end of the trade
wind — and, though hot, it served to dispel
that stagnation of the atmosphere which
in sultry weather is so trying to the nervous
system. Marysville is nearly one hundred
miles due north of Stockton — of course,
much farther by rail — and the same arid,
79

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
treeless, inhospitable belt of country be
tween the cultivated area and the foot-hills
apparently extends the whole distance. It
is a country to avoid.
About two miles short of Marysville,
while enjoying the shade cast by the trees
that border the levee of the Feather Eiver,
which skirts Marysville to the south, a man
in an auto stopped and very kindly offered
to give me a lift. I thanked him politely
but declined. He seemed amazed. "Why
don't you ride when you can?" he asked.
"Because I prefer to walk," I answered.
This fairly staggered him. The idea of a
man preferring to walk, and in such heat,
was probably a novel experience, and
served to deprive him of further speech.
He simply sat and stared and I had passed
him some twenty yards before he started
his machine.
A sturdy tramp walking in the middle of
the road, who had witnessed the scene,
shouted as he passed: "Why didn't yer
ride wid de guy?" I replied as before,
' ' Because I prefer to walk ; ' ' adding for his
benefit, "I've no use for autos." Where
upon he threw back his head and burst into
peal after peal of such hearty laughter that,
from pure contagion, I perforce joined in
the chorus. In the days of Fielding and
80

SMAETSVILLE TO MAEYSVILLE
Sam Johnson, this fellow would have been
dubbed ' ' a lusty vagabond ; " in the slangy
parlance of today, he was a "husky hobo,"
equipped as such, even to the tin can of the
comic journals. To him, the humor of a
brother tramp refusing a ride — in an auto
car, at that — appealed with irresistible
force. To walk in the middle of the road is char
acteristic of the genuine tramp. There
must be some occult reason for this pecul
iarity, since in a general way, it is far
easier going on the margin. Perhaps it
is because he commands a better view of
either side, with a regard to the possible
onslaught of dogs. There is something
about a man with a pack on his back that
infuriates the average dog, as I have on
several occasions found to my annoyance.
Bobert Louis Stevenson, in his whimsical
and altogether delightful "Travels with a
Donkey," thus vents his opinion anent the
dog question:
"I was much disturbed by the barking of
a dog, an animal that I fear more than any
wolf. A dog is vastly braver and is, be
sides, supported by a sense of duty. If you
kill a wolf you meet with encouragement
and praise, but if you kill a dog, the sacred
rights of property and the domestic affec- 81

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
tions come clamoring around you for
redress. At the end of a fagging day, the
sharp, cruel note of a dog's bark is in it
self a keen annoyance ; and to a tramp like
myself, he represents the sedentary and
respectable world in its most hostile form.
There is something of the clergyman or the
lawyer about this engaging animal; and if
he were not amenable to stones, the boldest
man would shrink from traveling a-foot.
I respect dogs much in the domestic circle ;
but on the highway or sleeping a-field, I
both detest and fear them."
I confess to a feeling of sympathy with
the men we so indiscriminately brand with
the contemptuous epithet, "hobo." In the
first place, the road itself, with its accom
panying humors and adventures, forms a
mutual and efficacious bond. How little we
know of the "Knights of the Boad," or
the compelling circumstances that turned
them adrift upon the world! "All sorts
and conditions of men" are represented,
from the college professor to the ex-
pugilist. I have "hit the ties" in company
with a so-called "hobo" who quoted Milton
and Shakespeare by the yard, interspersed
with exclamations appreciative of his en
joyment of the country through which we
were passing. And once when on a tramp
82

SMARTSVILLE TO MARYSVILLE
along the coast from San Francisco to
Monterey, I fell in at Point San Pedro with
a professional, who bitterly regretted the
coming of the Ocean Shore Bailway, then
in process of construction. "For years,"
said he, " I have been in the habit of making
this trip at regular intervals, on my way
south. I had the road to myself and thor
oughly enjoyed the peaceful beauty of the
scene ; but now this railroad has come with
its mushroom towns, and all the charm has
gone. Never again for me! This is my
last trip!"
I have not the slightest doubt that sheer
love of the road — and only a tramp knows
what those words mean — is the controlling
influence which keeps fifty per cent of the
fraternity its willing slaves. What was
Senhouse — that most fascinating of
Maurice Hewlett's creations — but a tramp?
A gentleman tramp, if you please, but still
a tramp. What is the reason that Senhouse
appeals so strongly to the imagination?
Simply because he loved Nature. And in
this matter-of-fact period when poetry is
dead and even a by-word, the man who
loves Nature, if not a poet, at least has
poetry in his soul. In a decadent age sym
bolized by the tango and the problem
play, it is at least an encouraging sign
83

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BRET HARTE COUNTRY
for the future that such a character as Sen-
house came to the jaded reader of the
erotic fiction of the day, as a whiff of sea
breeze on a parched plain, and was hailed
with corresponding delight.
Of course there are "hoboes" and
"hoboes," as in any other profession, but
so far as my experience goes, the "hobo"
is an idealist. Of the many reasons he has
taken to the road, not the least is the free
dom from the shackles of convention and
the "Gradgrind" methods of an utilitarian
and materialistic age. Nor is he a
pessimist. Whatever his trouble, the road
has eased him of his burden and made him a
philosopher. Thoreau, writing in the middle of the
last century, deplores the fact that in his
day, as now, but few of his countrymen took
any pleasure in walking, and that very
rarely one encountered a person with any
real appreciation of the beauty of Nature,
which if he could but see it, lay at his very
door. Speaking for himself and companion
in his rambles, he says: "We have felt
that we almost alone hereabouts (Concord,
Massachusetts) practiced this noble art;
though, to tell the truth, at least if their
own assertions are to be received, most of
my townsmen would fain walk sometimes,
84

SMARTSVILLE TO MARYSVILLE
as I do, but they cannot. No wealth can
buy the requisite leisure, freedom and in
dependence which are the capital in this
profession. It comes only by the grace of
God. It requires a direct dispensation
from Heaven to become a Walker. Ambu
lator nascitur non fit. Some of my towns
men, it is true, can remember and have
described to me, walks which they took
ten years ago, in which they were so
blessed as to lose themselves for half an
hour in the woods."
Who is there who walks habitually, who
does not know the man who tells you of
the walks he "used to take?" You have
known him, say a dozen years. During all
that time, to your knowledge, his walks
have practically been limited by the dis
tance to his office and back from the ferry
boat. When you urge him for perhaps the
twentieth time, to essay a tramp with you,
he will say he would like to very much, but
unfortunately so-and-so renders it impos
sible. And then looking you in the eye, he
will tell you how much he enjoyed tramps
he took, of twenty or thirty miles — but that
was before you knew him ! As if a Walker
with a big "W," as Thoreau writes the
word, would remain satisfied with the mem
ory of walks of twenty years ago ! 85

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTBY
I had heard of the "Marysville Buttes,"
as one has heard of Madagascar, but their
actual appearance on the landscape came as
the greatest surprise of the trip. As I first
caught sight of them when within a few
miles of Marysville, they gave me a distinct
thrill. I could hardly believe my eyes and
thought of mirages; for those pointed,
isolated peaks rise precipitously from the
floor of the Sacramento valley; in fact,
their bases are only a mile or two from the
river. They have every indication, even
to the unscientific eye, of having been up
heaved by volcanic action. Perhaps that
accounts for the uncanny impression they
impart. A walk of twenty-one or two miles with
out food, in any kind of weather, is apt to
produce an aching void. My first efforts on
reaching Marysville were therefore di
rected to finding the sort of place where I
could eat in comfort. The emphasis which
Bobert Louis Stevenson employs when
upon this most important quest would be
amusing were it not also a vital problem in
your own case. There is nothing humorous
per se in hunger or thirst ; at any rate, not
until both are appeased. With the black
coffee and cigar, you can tip your chair at
a comfortable angle against the wall, and
86

SMABTSVILLE TO MARYSVILLE
watching the delicate wreaths of smoke in
their spiral upward course, previous to
final disintegration, smile at the persistent
energy with which an hour ago you sys
tematically worked the town from end to
end, anxiously peering in the windows of
uninviting restaurants until you finally
found that little "hole in the wall" for
which you were looking, with the bottle of
Tipo Chianti, the succulent chops and the
big red tomatoes, in the window. It is
always to be found if you have the
necessary perseverance. The genial Italian
proprietor, with the innate politeness of
his countrymen, will not bore you with
questions as to where you have come from,
whither you are going, or what you are
walking for, anyway, etc., etc. He accepts
you just as you are — haversack, camera,
big stick and all, hanging them without
comment on the hook behind your head;
while you simply tell him you want a good
dinner, the best he can give you, but to in
clude the chops, tomatoes and Tipo Chianti.
With a smile and that artistic flip of the
napkin under his arm, which only he can
achieve, he sets about giving his orders.
Later on, after a hot bath, a shave and the
luxury of a clean shirt, feeling at peace
with the world and refreshed in body and
87

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
soul, you set out to examine the town in
comfort and at your leisure.
In the mining days, Marysville ranked
next to San Francisco, Sacramento and
possibly Stockton, not only in interest but
in actual volume of business transacted. It
was the natural outlet for all the foot-hill
country tributary to Grass Valley, Nevada
City, and Smartsville. There the miners
outfitted and there, when they had "made
their pile," they began the process — subse
quently completed in Sacramento and San
Francisco — of reducing it to a negligible
quantity. That, of course, is merely a
reminiscence, but as the center of one of
the most prosperous grain and fruit-raising
sections of the Sacramento Valley, Marys
ville is still a place of considerable import
ance. The old town is very much in
evidence; so much so that, in spite of the
numerous modern buildings, the general
effect produced is of age, as age is under
stood in California. I doubt if San
Francisco before the fire, or Sacramento
today, could show as many substantial,
solid buildings dating back to the fifties.

88

CHAPTER IX
BAYARD TAYLOR AND THE
CALIFORNIA OF FORTY-NINE.
BRET HARTE AND HIS
LITERARY PIONEER
CONTEMPORARIES
And here in old Marysville, the county
/^L seat of Yuba County and situ-
/ ^k ated on its extreme western
-A. J^. boundary, I ended my tramp,
having covered a distance of approxi
mately two hundred and fifty miles, ex
clusive of retracements. The ideal time to
visit the Sierra foot-hills would be in the
late Spring or early Autumn. I was com
pelled to grasp the opportunity when it of
fered or forego the pleasure altogether.
Nor is it necessary, of course, to walk ; the
roads, whilst generally speaking not classed
as good going for automobiles, are at least
passable. I was surprised at the number
of high grade machines in evidence, in all
the towns of importance mentioned in this
narrative. There remains also the alter
native of a good saddle horse, or, better
still, a light wagon with camping outfit,
thus rendering hotels unnecessary, the
89

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTBY
elimination of which would probably pay
the hire of horse and wagon.
Half a century is a long period. You
could probably count on the fingers of one
hand persons now living in the Sierra foot
hills who have any recollection of ever hav
ing seen Bret Harte. It must also be
remembered that in the fifties his reputa
tion as an author had not been established.
Of all that group of brilliant young men
who visited the mines in early days, which
included for a brief space "Orpheus C.
Kerr" and "Artemus Ward," I can well
imagine that Bret Harte attracted the least
attention. It is extremely doubtful to my
mind if he ever had much actual experience
of the mining camps. To a man of his
vivid imagination, a mere suggestion af
forded a plot for a story; even the Laird's
Toreadors, it will be recalled, were com
mercially successful when purely imagin
ary; he only failed when he subsequently
studied the real thing in Spain.
Bret Harte was a man who in a primitive
community might well escape notice. In
appearance, manner and training, he was
the exact antithesis of Mark Twain. He
was a student before he was a writer and
possessed the student's shy reserve. I can
well imagine him, a slight boyish figure,
90

THE CALIFOBNIA OF FOBTY-NINE
flitting from camp to camp, wrapped in his
own thoughts, keeping his own counsel.
Yet he alone of that little band, unless you
except Mark Twain, possessed the divine
spark we call "genius." Centuries after
the names of all the rest are buried in
oblivion, Bret Harte 's stories of the Ar
gonauts in the mining towns of California
will remain the classics they have already
become. Yet as before stated, when once I got
fairly started on the road, the pioneers
themselves and their worthy descendants
absorbed my interest and assumed the
center of the stage to the exclusion, for the
time being, of the romancers; who, after
all, each in his own fashion, depicted only
what most appealed to him in the charac
ters of these same men and their con
temporaries. Bayard Taylor in his
interesting work "El Dorado," the first
edition of which appeared in 1850, thus
states his opinion of the men of '49 :
"Abundance of gold does not always
beget, as moralists tell us, a grasping and
avaricious spirit. The principles of hos
pitality were as faithfully observed in the
rude tents of the diggers, as they could be
by the thrifty farmers of the North and
West. The cosmopolitan cast of char- 91

A TEAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HARTE COUNTRY
acter in California, resulting in the com
mingling of so many races, and the
primitive mode of life, gave a character of
good-fellowship to all its members ; and in
no part of the world have I ever seen help
more freely given to the needy, or more
ready co-operation in any human prop
osition. Personally, I can safely say that
I never met with such unvarying kindness
from comparative strangers."
That last sentence also spelt the literal
truth in my experience. Even the dogs
were kindly disposed and though I carried
a ' ' big stick, ' ' except by way of companion
ship and as an aid in climbing, I might
safely have left it at home. And while at
times I walked through a wild, mountainous
and almost deserted country, the idea of
possible danger never occurred to me.
When finally one encountered a human
being, he invariably proved a courteous,
obliging and companionable personage to
meet. Bayard Taylor attended in September
and the beginning of October, 1849, the
convention at Monterey, which gave to
California its first, and in the opinion of
many, its best constitution. He closes his
review of the proceedings with these force
ful and prophetic words :
92

THE CALIFORNIA OF FORTY-NINE
' ' Thus we have another splendid example
of the ease and security with which people
can be educated to govern themselves.
From that chaos whence under a despotism
like the Austrian, would spring the most
frightful excesses of anarchy and crime,
a population of freemen peacefully and
quietly develops the highest form of civil
order — the broadest extent of liberty
and security. Governments, bad and cor
rupt as many of them are, and imperfect
as they all must necessarily be, neverthe
less at times exhibit scenes of true moral
sublimity. What I have today witnessed
has so impressed me ; and were I a believer
in omens, I would augur from the tranquil
beauty of the evening — from the clear sky
and the lovely sunset hues on the waters of
the bay — more than all, from the joyous
expression of every face I see, a glorious
and prosperous career for the State of
California." Southern California, by which is under
stood all of the State south of the Tehach-
api Mountains, was mostly settled by and
is still to a great extent the objective point
of people from the East and Middle West.
Most of them came in search of health and
brought a competency sufficient for their
needs. When President Wilson, then
93

A TRAMP THROUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
Governor of New Jersey, visited California
in 1911, he came over the southern route
to Los Angeles. Addressing a Pasadena
audience he said: "I am much disap
pointed when I see you. I expected to find
a highly individualized people, characters
developed by struggle and mutual effort;
but I find you the same people we have at
home," and more, to the same effect.
Subsequently, Governor Wilson delivered
an address at the Greek Theater, Berkeley,
before the students of the University of
California. At its close, Mr. Maslin
mounted the stage, a copy of the paper
containing the account of the Pasadena
speech in his hands, and asked the Gov
ernor if he was correctly reported ; to which
he replied in the affirmative. ' ' Governor, ' '
said Mr. Maslin, you came into the State at
the wrong gate!" "Gate? gate? — what
gate?" inquired the Governor. "You
should have come through Emigrant Gap,
through which most of the emigrants from
'49 and on entered the State. Now, Gov
ernor, the people you saw at Pasadena
never suffered the trials of a pioneer's life,
they are not knit together by the memory of
mutual struggles and privations. When
you come to the State again, come through
Emigrant Gap. Let me know when you
94

THE CALIFORNIA OF FORTY-NINE
come, and I will introduce you to a breed
of men the world has never excelled."
With the smile with which millions have
since become familiar, Governor Wilson
grasped the hand of the pioneer and said :
"When I come again, as I feel sure I shall,
I shall let you know."
The following morning I took the train
for my home in Alameda. As I sat and
meditated on the scenes I had witnessed
and the character of the people I had met,
it was borne in upon me that this had been
the most interesting as well as enjoyable
experience of my life. Already the tem
porary discomforts produced by heat and
soiled garments had faded into insignifi
cance, and assumed a most trivial aspect
when I reviewed the journey as a whole.
They were part of the game. To again
quote "Trilby," tramping "is not all beer
and skittles." Your true tramp learns
to take things as he finds them and
never to expect or ask for the impos
sible. He will drink the wine of the
country, even when sour, without a gri
mace; pass without grumbling a sleep
less night; plod through dust ankle deep,
without a murmur; there is but one vul
nerable feature in his armor, and with
Achilles, it is his heel! And it is literally 95

A TBAMP THEOUGH THE BEET HAETE COUNTRY
the heel that is the sensitive spot. I will
venture the assertion that the long-distance
tramper — not even excepting Brother Wes
ton — who has not at some time or another
suffered from sore heels, does not exist.
The tramp's feet are his means of locomo
tion; on their condition he bestows an
anxiety and care which far surpass that of
the man in the automobile, with all his com
plicated machinery to inspect.
Bemains then, the memory of the
delicious, faint, cool, morning breeze,
gently stirring the pine needles; the aro
matic odor of forest undergrowth; the
murmur of the stream hurrying down the
mountain gorge to mingle its pure waters
with those of the muddy Sacramento, far
away in the great valley below; the deep
awe-inspiring canons of the American,
Stanislaus and Mokelumne Bivers; and
back of all, the azure summits of the Sierra
Nevada. Bemains also, the memory of the kindly-
disposed, courteous and open-hearted in
habitants of the old mining towns. But
more forcibly than all else combined — for
it seems to epitomize the whole — the
glamour of the towns themselves appeals
with an irresistible fascination, that no
poor words of mine can adequately express.
96

APPENDIX
VIEWS OF THE BRET
HARTE COUNTRY

PLATE VIII
Angel's Hotel,
Angel's Camp,
Erected in 1852,
As Was the
Wells Fargo
Building Which
Faces It
Across the Street

PLATE IX
Main Hoist of the Utica Mine,
Angel's Camp, Situated on the Summit
of a Hill Overlooking the Town

PLATE X
The Stanislaus River, Near
Tuttletown, "Running in a Deep and
Splendid Canon"

~ tr e_f
l^1 M rl- _h P-

PLATE XII
Home of
Mrs. Swerer,
Tuttletown.
The Hotel and This
DweUing Comprise
All That Is
Habitable of the
Tuttletown
of Bret Harte

*:!*';
^M
t
!i^^Jplt
~*
H f ¦"<¦¦-.- n
^!B5gp5^
fcMfc— •» - -
*s ^*^l~  am mn"i"tf
PLATE XIII
Main Street, Sonora, "So Shaded
by Trees That Buildings
Are Half-hidden"
PLATE XIV
Sonora,
Looking South-east.
"No Matter From
What Direction
You Approach It,
Sonora Seems
to Lie Basking in
the Sun"

PLATE XV
Main Street, San Andreas,
"During the Mid-day Heat, Almost
Deserted"

PLATE XVI
Metropolitan Hotel, San Andreas;
in the Bar-room of Which Occurred the
"Jumping Frog" Incident

PLATE XVII
Mokelumne Hotel,
on the Summit
of Mokelumne Hill,
and at the Head
of the Famous
Chili Gulch

PLATE XVIII
Placerville,
the County Seat of
El Dorado
County, From
the Road to
Diamond Springs

PLATE XIX
The Cary House,
Placerville.
"It Was Here That
Horace Greeley
Terminated
His Celebrated
Stage Ride With
Hank Monk"

PLATE XX
Middle Fork of the American River,
Near Auburn, and Half a Mile Above Its
Junction With the North Fork

PLATE XXI
An Apple Orchard,
Grass Valley,
"the Trees Growing
in the Grass,
as in England
and the
Atlantic States"

PLATE XXII
The Western Hotel,
Grass Valley.
"The Well
and Pump Add a
Quaint and
Characteristic Touch"

PLATE XXIII
A Bit of Picturesque Nevada
City, Embracing the Homes of Its
Leading Citizens

HERE ENDS A TRAMP THROUGH THE
BRET HARTE COUNTRY BY THOMAS
DYKES BEASLEY. PUBLISHED BY PAUL
ELDER AND COMPANY AND PRINTED
FOR THEM AT THEIR TOMOYE PRESS
IN THE CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO,
UNDER THE DIRECTION OF JOHN
SWART, IN THE YEAR NINETEEN
HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

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