Stories of California
by
Ella M. Sexton
Part 2 out of 2
called _Washingtonia_, a famous Frenchman who knew all about trees
decided that the specimen sent him was certainly a sequoia, as named
by a German professor some six years before this time. So the tree was
called _sequoia gigantea_ and quietly went on growing, unmindful of
the four nations who had quarrelled over its christening. Why, indeed,
should it bother its lofty head with the chatter of people whose
countries were unknown when this mighty tree was full grown? For
these sequoias are the oldest of living objects and have probably been
growing for four thousand years. How do we know this? Well, when a
fallen trunk is sawed across, one can see rings in the wood, and it is
thought that each ring is a year's growth. John Muir counted over four
thousand of these annual rings on the stump of one of the Kings River
trees.
These fine old trees grow in groves, and of the nine or ten groves
the Calaveras and Mariposa are the best known. The Calaveras group of
nearly a hundred mighty trees was the first one discovered, and four
trees here are over three hundred feet high. The fallen "Father of
the Forest" must have been much higher, for it measures a hundred feet
round its trunk at the root end. A man can ride on horseback for two
hundred feet through its hollow trunk as it lies on the ground. Many
of the standing trees hollowed out by fires are large enough, used as
cabins, to live in.
The Mariposa grove of Big Trees, being not far from Yosemite Valley,
is the best known, as thousands of tourists visit both places. There
is a big tree at Mariposa for every day in the year, and two very
wonderful ones, the Grizzly Giant and Wawona. Stage-coaches drive into
the grove through the tree Wawona, which was bored and burned out
so as to make an opening ten by twelve feet. A wall of wood ten feet
thick on each side of this opening supports the living tree. The great
Grizzly Giant towers a hundred feet without a branch, and twice that
height above the first immense branches that are six feet through.
This was, no doubt, an old tree when Columbus discovered America, yet
it is alive and green and still growing.
The largest tree in the world is the General Sherman, in Sequoia
National Park, and it is thirty-five feet in diameter. This means that
the stump of the tree, if smoothed off, would make a floor on which
thirty people might dance, or your whole class be seated. You can
scarcely imagine what a mighty column such a tree is, with its rich
red-brown bark, fluted like a column, too, and with its crown of
feathery green branches and foliage. The bark is a foot or two thick.
The trees are evergreens, and conifers, or cone-bearers. Sequoia cones
are two or three inches long and full of small seeds. The Douglas
squirrel gets most of these seeds, but there are still seedlings and
saplings or young trees enough to keep the race alive in most of the
groves.
These groves of wonderful and rare trees are protected as National
Parks in the Sequoia and Grant groves, and Mariposa belongs to the
state. It is against the law to cut the trees in those groves. Their
worst enemy is fire, and a troop of cavalry is sent every year to
guard them, and to keep out the sheep-herders, whose flocks would
destroy the underbrush and young trees. But, unfortunately, lumbermen
have put up mills near the Fresno and Kings River groups, and, wasting
more than they use, are destroying magnificent trees thousands of
years old in order to make shingles. When nature has taken such good
care of this rare and wonderful tree, the Sierra Giant, men should try
to preserve the groves unharmed in all their beauty.
Another _sequoia_ grows in great forests along the Coast Range from
Santa Cruz to the northern state-line, and beyond into Oregon. This
is the _sequoia sempervirens_, the Latin name meaning always green.
Redwood is its common name, and the lumber for our frame or wooden
houses is cut from this tree. Millions of feet of this redwood lumber
are shipped from the northern counties of the state every year, up
to Alaska or down to Central and South America. It is also sent far
across the Pacific to the Hawaiian and Philippine islands and to China
and Australia.
While the _sequoia gigantea_ delights in a clear sky and hot sunshine,
its brother, the _sempervirens_, prefers a cool sea-coast climate,
offering frequent baths of fog. There is also a difference in the size
of these trees; the redwood is often three hundred feet high, but
is less in girth than its relative in the Sierras. There is not much
underbrush and little sunshine in the cool, green redwood forests,
each tree rising tall and stately for a hundred feet without branches,
while the green tops seem almost to touch the sky as one looks up.
Through the woods one hears the blue jay scream and chatter, and the
tap, tap of the woodpecker as he drills holes in the bark to fill with
acorns for his winter store.
When the lumberman looks at these beautiful forests, he sees only many
logs containing many thousand feet of lumber, which he must get out
the easiest and cheapest way. He only chooses the finest and largest
trunks, and there is great waste in cutting these. The men begin
to saw the tree some eight or ten feet from the ground, and soon it
trembles and falls with a mighty crash, often snapping off other trees
in its way to the ground. After all the selected trees have fallen,
fires are started to burn off the branches and underbrush so that the
men can work easier. This fire only chars the outside bark of the big,
green logs, but it kills all the young saplings, and leaves the once
beautiful forest a waste of blackened logs and gray ashes. When the
fire burns itself out, the logs are usually sawed with a cross-cut saw
into sixteen-foot lengths, since in that form they are easy to handle.
Then oxen or horses haul them out; or sometimes a wire cable is
fastened to them by iron "dogs," or stakes, and a little stationary
engine pulls them away to the siding at the railroad track. Here they
are rolled on flat-cars, fastened with a big iron chain around the
four or six logs on the car, and taken on the logging train to the
mill-pond. They lie soaking in the water until drawn up to the keen
saws of the sawmill that cut and slice the wood like cheese. The bark
and outside is carved off as you would cut the crust off bread, and
then sharp, circular saws cut boards and planks till the log is used
up, and the log-carriage lifts another to its place. As the shining
steel bites into the wood the noise almost deafens you and the mill
shakes with the thunder of log-carriage and feeders. Useless ends,
slabs, and refuse are burnt in the sawdust pit, where the fires never
go out. Very much of the tree is wasted and all the limbs. The redwood
tree has so much life and strength, however, that it sends up bright
green sprouts around the burnt stump, and standing trees charred
outside to the tops will have new branches the next season. In the
older forests tall young trees are often seen growing in a ring round
an empty spot, the long-dead stump having rotted away.
[Illustration: BIG TREES AT FELTON, SANTA CRUZ CO.]
Near Santa Cruz is a grove of large and beautiful redwoods, many
of the trees being over three hundred feet high and from forty
to sixty-five feet around the base of the trunk. The Giant is the
largest, and three other immense ones are named for Generals Grant,
Sherman, and Fremont. In 1846 General Fremont found this grove, and
camped, on a rainy winter night, in the hollow trunk of the tree
bearing his name. Here is also seen a group of eleven very tall trees
growing in a circle around an old stump.
In the Sierras, both in the _sequoia_ groves and forests above the
Big-Tree region, are very large sugar-pines, red firs, and yellow-pine
trees, all of which make excellent lumber. Great forests of these
trees, with cedars almost as large as the redwoods, are in the
northern counties also. You may have seen sugar-pine cones which are
over a foot long, the largest of all found, while redwood cones are
the smallest. Another great tree is the Douglas spruce, the king of
spruce trees, growing in both Sierra Nevada and Coast ranges.
The California laurel, or bay tree, with its beautiful, shining green
leaves, and the madrono, the slender, red-barked tree on the hillsides
you must have noticed in your trips to the country, as well as our
fine valley and mountain oaks. Try to learn the kinds of trees and
study their leaves, blossoms, and fruit, and you will find every one
a friend well worth knowing. Then you will wish to save them from fire
and the lumberman's axe, especially the rare and old _sequoias_.
OUR BIRDS
More than three hundred kinds of these dear feathered friends and
visitors live in California. Along the sea-shore, in the great valleys
and the mountain-forests and meadows, even in the dry, hot desert, the
birds, our shy and merry neighbors, are at home. In many parts of
the state they find sunshine and green trees the year round, and food
always at hand. Yet sparrows, robins, and woodpeckers will stay in the
snowed-in groves of the Sierras all winter, contentedly chirping or
singing in spite of the bitter cold.
If you know these wanderers of wood and field, these birds of sea and
shore, and their interesting habits, you will wish to protect them
from stone or gun, and their nests from the egg collector. You will
listen to the lark and linnet, and be glad that the happy songster
trilling such sweet notes is free to fly where he wishes, and is
not pining in a cage. And you, little girl, will not encourage the
destruction of these pretty creatures by wearing a sea-gull or part of
some dead bird on your hat.
To become better acquainted with birds, let us call them before us by
classes, beginning with our sea-birds and those round the bays and on
the coast. Some of these not only swim but dive in the salt waters,
and to this class of divers belong the grebe, loon, murre, and puffin.
They dive at the flash of a gun, and after what seems a long time,
come up far away from the spot the hunter aimed at. These birds
usually nest on bare, rocky cliffs near the ocean, or on islands like
the Farallones, and their large green eggs hatch out nestlings that
are ugly and awkward and helpless on land. But they ride the great
ocean-breakers, or dive into their clear depths easily and gracefully;
and as they live upon fish or small sea-creatures, the divers only
seek land to roost at night and to raise their young.
Next come the gulls, who belong to a class known as "long-winged
swimmers." They have strong wings and fly great distances, and with
their webbed feet swim well, too. Most of the sea-gulls are white with
a gray coat on their backs, but they look snowy-white as they fly. You
may see them walking about the wharves, or perching on roofs and piles
watching for food, and seeming very tame as they pick up bits of bread
or the refuse floating in the water. They follow steamers for miles,
scarcely moving their wings as they float in the air; and if you throw
a cracker from the deck, some gull will make a swift swoop and snatch
it before the cracker reaches the water.
Far out on the Pacific the albatross sails proudly on his broad wings,
and cares nothing for high winds or storms. He rests and sleeps on the
billows at night with his little companions, the stormy petrels. He is
the largest and strongest of our birds of flight, the very king of the
sea. The stormy petrels are not much larger than a swallow. Sailors
call them. "Mother Carey's chickens," and are sure a storm is
coming up when petrels follow the ship. The albatross, petrel, and
a gull-like bird called a shearwater belong to the "tube-nosed
swimmers," on account of their curious long beaks.
Along the coast, and wading in the shallow waters around the bays, are
some strange birds known as pelicans and shags. They are good fishers,
and drive the darting, finny fellows before them as they wade in the
water till they can see and gobble them up. Most waders have under
their beaks a skin-pocket deep enough to hold a fish while carrying
it to their nestlings, or making ready to swallow it. All of these
sea-birds raise their young as far from the shore and from hunters
as possible. Great flocks of them roost on islands fifteen or twenty
miles out in the ocean, and fly into the bays every morning.
Wild ducks, geese, the herons, mud-hens, sandpipers, and curlews are
marsh and shore birds that feed and wade in the shallow salt water,
and nest on the banks or, like the heron, in trees near the bay. The
heron is a frog-catcher, and he will stand very still on his long legs
and patiently wait till the frog, thinking him gone, swims near. Then
one dart of the long bill captures froggy, and the heron waits for
another. You know the red-head, green mallard, canvas-back, and small
teal ducks, no doubt, and have seen the flocks of wild geese flying
and calling in the sky, or standing like patches of snow as they feed
in the marshes or grain-fields.
Down on the mud-flats at low tide you see birds called rails, and also
"kill-dee" plovers. The shoveller ducks are there, too fishing up with
broad, flat beaks little crabs and such creatures as are in the mud,
straining out mud and water, but swallowing the rest. All these birds
are "waders" and delight in mud and cold salt water. They are usually
quiet, or make only strange, shrill cries.
In the sunny fields and woods we shall find many of the land-birds,
and first comes a family whose habits are so like those of chickens
that they are called "scratchers." These birds depend for food upon
seeds and bugs or worms they scratch out of the ground. Up in
the Sierra sugar-pines and fir-woods lives the largest of these
"scratchers," the brown grouse. He is a shy creature, rising out of
his feeding-ground with a great whirring of wings and out of sight
before the hunter can fire at him. His peculiar cry, or "drumming," as
it is called, sounds through the woods like tapping hard on a hollow
log. His equally shy neighbor is the mountain-quail, while through
the farming lands and all along the hillsides the valley--quail are
plenty. Perhaps you have seen a happy family of these speckled brown
birds. Papa quail has a black crest on his head, and he calls "Look
right here" from the wrong side of the road to fool you, while Mamma
and her little, cunning chicks scatter like flying brown leaves in the
brush. After the danger is past, you hear her low call to bring them
round her again. In the desert and sage-brush part of the state the
sage-hen, another "scratcher," runs swiftly through the thickets, but
many are caught and brought in by the Indians.
Our birds of prey are eagles, vultures, hawks, owls, and the
turkey-buzzards, those big black scavengers that hang in the air. In
circles high above woods and fields some of these birds of prey sweep
on broad wings, searching with keen sight for their food in some dead
animal far below. The California condor, a great black vulture-like
bird, is almost extinct, and is only found in the highest mountains.
It is very large of wing, and strong enough, it is said, to carry off
a sheep. Both golden and bald eagles nest in tall trees in the wildest
parts of the state. The chicken-hawk, whose swift sailing over the
poultry-yard calls out loud squawking from the frightened hens,
you have often seen, and the wise-looking brown owls, too. A small
burrowing owl lives in the squirrel holes, and you may catch him
easily in the daytime, when he cannot see.
The road-runner is of the cuckoo family of birds. It seldom flies, but
runs swiftly along the roads, or in the desert, and is said to kill
rattlesnakes by placing a ring of thorny cactus leaves around the
snake as it lies asleep. The rattler is then pecked to death, since it
cannot get out of its prickly cage. This fowl is like a slender brown
hen in size.
In the redwoods you hear the tap, tap, of the "carpenter" woodpecker,
with his black coat and gay red cap. He drills holes in the bark of a
tree with his strong beak and then fits an acorn neatly into each safe
little storehouse. It is thought that worms and grubs fatten while
living in these acorns, so that the woodpecker always has a meal ready
in the winter when the ground is wet, or the squirrels have carried
off the acorns under the trees.
Humming-birds, or "hummers," as the boys call them, are plenty in city
and country and so fearless that they will take a bath in the spray
of the garden-hose, or dart their long bills in the fuchsias almost
within your reach. The bill shields a double tongue, which gets not
only honey, but small insects from the flower or off the leaves. The
humming-bird's tiny nest is a soft, round basket, not much bigger than
half a walnut-shell, and holding two eggs, which are like small-white
beans. Bits of moss and gray cobwebs are woven in this nest till it
looks like the branch itself; and here the little mother in her plain
brown dress hatches out and feeds the baby "hummers." Her husband has
glistening ruby feathers at his throat and green spots on his head and
back that glow in the sun like jewels.
The highest class of birds is the "perchers," and many friends of
yours belong to this. There are two families, however, of perchers,
those that call and the song-birds. Calling over and over their
peculiar note, the pewees, flycatchers, and king-birds, fly through
the forests. The crow and blue jay belong to the singers, you will
be surprised to hear. And what a crowd of these song-birds there
are trilling and warbling in the sunshine! Have you ever watched the
meadow-lark singing as he sits on guard on the fence, while the rest
of his brown-coated yellow-vested flock run along the field picking up
seeds and insects?
Then there are the linnets, or "redheads," who sing their sweet,
merry tunes all summer, and if they do take a cherry or two the farmer
should not grumble. They destroy many bugs and caterpillars and eat
weed-seeds that might trouble the fruit-grower more than the missing
cherries. The yellow warbler, sometimes called the wild canary, flits
through bush and tree and trills its gay notes in town and country.
Song-sparrows, thrushes, and bluebirds warble far and near, while the
red-winged blackbird makes music in wet, swampy places. The robin,
who comes to city gardens in the winter, has a summer home in the
mountains or redwoods. There, too, the saucy jay screams and chatters,
and flashes his blue wings as he flies, scolding all the time.
In Southern California, among the orange groves or in gardens, the
mocking-bird trills in sweet, liquid notes his wonderful song. He
mimics, too, many sounds he hears, and sometimes when caged will
whistle tunes or say words. The mocker can crow or cackle like the
chickens, or mew like the cat. Then he will whistle clear and loud
till dogs or boys answer his call. When they find themselves fooled,
it is said, he mimics a laugh.
From April to July the birds are busy, nesting, feeding their
families, or teaching them to fly. Many eggs never hatch, and some
are destroyed by wild animals. Boys often rob a whole nest to have one
little blown egg in their collections. Then again the mother is killed
and her brood starves to death. When the parent birds are teaching the
nestlings to fly, cats also catch the little ones. So you see the poor
feathered things have many enemies.
Let us try to protect the birds, and to let them live happy lives
in freedom. Each one will thank you, either with sweet songs or with
being a beautiful thing to see on land or ocean.
[Illustration: YOUNG TOWHEE.]
[Illustration: BABY YELLOW WARBLERS. From photographs by Elizabeth
Grinnell.]
OUR WILD ANIMALS
Once upon a time, when the Spanish owned this state and called it
their province of Alta California, there were great herds of antelope
feeding on the grassy plains, and at every little stream elk and deer
and big grizzly bears came down to drink. No fences had been built,
and the wild animals had never heard a rifle-shot. Free and fearless
they ranged valley and hillside, or made their dens in the thick
brush, or "chaparral," as the Spanish called it.
Indian hunters watched the paths over which these wild creatures
travelled to water, and killed deer and antelope with their arrows.
But these hunters were afraid of grizzly bears, for an arrow in Mr.
Bear's thick hide only made him cross, and with one hug, or even a
light blow from his paw, he could cripple the poor Indian. So in those
early days the old bears came year after year, and carried off sheep
and cattle. The simple folks did not even try to kill them. Indeed,
many of the red men believed that very bad Indians were punished by
being turned into grizzly bears when they died, and they would not
hurt their brothers, they said.
When Father Serra's Mission people were starving at Monterey, the
Padre learned that at a place called Bear Valley near by, there were
many grizzlies which the Indians would not kill. He sent Spanish
soldiers there, and they shot so many bears that the hungry Mission
family had meat enough to last till a ship came from Mexico with
supplies.
Of all flesh-eating animals this grizzly bear is the largest and
strongest. He can knock down a bull with his great paws, or kill and
carry off a horse. He can live on wild berries and acorns with grass
and roots he digs out of the ground, yet fresh meat suits him best,
and he prefers a calf, which he holds as a cat does a mouse.
Nothing but stock was raised in California in those days so long
ago, and cattle were counted by the thousands and sheep by tens of
thousands. Then the grizzly and cinnamon, or brown, bear feasted all
the time on stray calves and yearlings. Every spring and fall the
cattle, which had roamed almost wild in the pastures, were "rounded
up" by the cowboys, or vaqueros. After the work of picking out each
ranchero's stock and branding the young cattle was over, the vaqueros
thought it fine fun to lasso a bear,--some old fellow, perhaps,
who had been helping himself to the calves. It is told that one big
cinnamon bear, while quietly feeding on acorns, looked up to find
three or four cow-boys on their ponies in a circle around him. They
spurred the trembling ponies as close to him as they dared, and yelled
at the tops of their voices. The great brute sat up on his haunches
and faced them, growling and snarling. One vaquero sent his rope
flying through the air, and the loop settled over a big, hairy fore
paw. Then the bear dropped on all fours and made a jump at the pony,
which got out of his reach. Another Mexican threw a lasso and caught
the bear's hind foot; and as he sat up again a third noose dropped
over the other fore paw. Then the poor trapped creature, growling,
snarling, and rolling over and over, began a tug of war with the
lariats and the ponies. Once a rope broke, and horse and rider tumbled
in front of the bear. He made a quick, savage jump, but was pulled
back by the other ropes. Then Mr. Bear sat up straight and tugged so
hard that another lariat broke and sent the saddle and rider over the
pony's head. With one sweep of his paw the bear smashed the saddle,
but the cow-boy saved himself by running to an oak tree. At last Mr.
Bear was getting the best of the fight so plainly, and had pulled the
frightened ponies so near him, that the man who was thrown off ended
the poor animal's struggles with a rifle-ball.
A Chinese sheep-herder tells this funny story about a bear: "Me lun
out, see what matta; me see sheep all bely much scared, bely much lun,
bely much jump. Big black bear jump over fence, come light for me. Me
so flighten me know nothin', then me scleam e-e-e-e so loud, and lun
at bear till bear get scared too and lun away."
A few grizzlies are still found in the Sierras, and black and brown
bears are often seen with their playful little cubs. The small
fellows are easily tamed and may be taught many tricks. They will live
contentedly in a bear-pit, or even if chained up, and as most of you
know, they like peanuts and pop-corn well enough to beg for them.
The panther, or mountain-lion, is another large flesh-eating animal
which makes his home in the thick woods conveniently neighboring the
farmers' corrals and pastures. Not long ago a boy in Marin County,
who was sent to look after some ponies, saw a big yellow dog, as he
thought, "worrying" one of the colts. When he came nearer he found
it was a wicked-looking, catlike creature, and knew it must be a
California lion. He had nothing with him but a heavy whip. The panther
left the wounded colt and crouched ready to spring at the boy, but he
was on the alert and struck it a terrible blow across the eyes with
his whip, and then another and another. Half-blinded and whining with
pain, the panther turned tail and ran away, while the boy's pony,
trembling and snorting with fright, galloped home with his brave
rider.
In one of the mountain counties a woman, hearing her chickens
squawking one day at noon, ran out to find what seemed a big dog among
them with a hen in his mouth. She rushed straight at him with a broom,
when the animal turned. She found it was a great panther, who snarled
and made ready to spring at her. As she screamed and started to run
away, her foot slipped on a steep and muddy place, and she slid down
the little hill right into the panther's face. He was so frightened
that he jumped the fence and hurried to the woods.
This great yellow cat is both savage and cowardly, and he has been
known to follow a man walking through the woods, all day, yet he
sneaked out of sight at every loud call the man gave. He chases deer
and gets many small and helpless fawns, hunters say.
Fur-hunting was once a profitable business for the Indians, who were
clothed in bear and panther skins when the first white men came to
California, and had many furs to trade or sell. The Indians trapped
otters, beavers, and minks, and the squaws tanned the deer-hides to
make buckskin shirts or leggings. Hunters and trappers still bring in
these wild animals' furry coats after trips to the high mountains or
untravelled woods, where the shy creatures try to live and be safe
from their enemies.
In early days herds of a very large deer, called elk, fed on the wild
oats and grass. These elk had wide, branching horns measuring three
or four feet from tip to tip. Only a few of them now survive in the
redwood forests in the northern counties. There were plenty of them
once where San Francisco now stands. Dana in his book called "Two
Years Before the Mast," tells us that when his ship dropped anchor off
the little village of Yerba Buena about sixty-seven years ago, he saw
hundreds of red deer and elk with their branching antlers. They were
running about on the hills, or standing still to look at the ship
until the noise frightened them off. At that time the whole country
was covered with thick trees and bushes where the wolf and coyote
prowled, and the grizzly bear's track was seen everywhere.
[Illustration: CALIFORNIA RED DEER. From a photograph by George V.
Robinson.]
There are plenty of deer in the redwoods now, and in the high
Sierras are black-tailed and large mule-deer. In the woods round Mount
Tamalpais timid red deer live, too. In winter, when it is cold and
snowy in the northern counties of our state, these deer often come
into the farmer's barnyard to nibble at the hay.
There are still left in the mountains among the pines and snowy cliffs
many mountain-sheep. These curious big-horned animals resemble both
the elk and the sheep, and it is said they can jump from a high rock
and land far below on their feet or heavy, twisted horns without being
hurt in the least.
Of all the great herds of graceful, fast-running antelope, once the
most plentiful of our wild animals, only a very few can now be found
on the eastern slopes of the Sierras.
But Master Coyote, who might well be spared, so cruel and cowardly is
he, still sneaks up and down the whole state, and his quick sharp bark
gives notice that the rascal is ready to steal a chicken or a lamb if
it is not protected. With his bushy tail and large head he is half fox
and half wolf in appearance, and mean enough in habits to be both. He
can outrun a dog and even a deer, and though he catches jack-rabbits
and the Molly Cottontail usually for food, he would help his brother,
the wolf, to kill a poor harmless sheep.
This gray wolf is a savage creature and hides in the thick forests by
day, slinking out at night to the nearest sheep corral or turkey-pen
if he can find one unwatched by some faithful dog. His friend and
neighbor, the fox, likes fat geese and chickens as well as birds,
squirrels, and wood-rats. The queer raccoon lives in the redwoods and
is often caught and kept in a cage or chained for a pet.
Wildcats, both gray and yellow, are found in the thickly timbered
parts of California, and the badger makes his home in the mountain
canons or pine woods. There, too, the curious porcupine dwells. He is
covered with grayish white quills, which bristle out when he is angry
or frightened. No old dog will touch this animal, for he knows better
than to get a mouthful of sharp toothpicks by biting Mr. Porcupine,
who is like a round pincushion with the pins pointing out. A dog who
has never seen this prickly ball will dab at it, and have a sore paw
to nurse for weeks after.
Two or three kinds of tree-squirrels live in the pines and redwoods,
the Douglas squirrel being well known in the mountains. The ground
squirrel, or chipmunk, digs holes in the ground, where he hides his
winter's store of grain and nuts.
Three of our smaller wild animals are very common and very troublesome
to the farmer. The skunk, which looks like a pretty black and white
kitten with a bushy tail, and also the weasel, destroy all the
chickens and eggs they can reach, and they are so cunning that it is
hard to keep them out of the hen-house. That little pest, the gopher,
we are all well acquainted with, since he gnaws the pinks and roses
off at their roots in your city garden while his large family of
brothers and sisters kill the farmer's fruit-trees and vines. The
gopher digs long tunnels under ground, making storerooms here and
there in these passages, which he fills with grass, roots, and seeds.
In each cheek he has a pouch, or pocket, large enough to hold nearly a
handful of grain, so the little rascal carries his stores very easily.
The traps and poison by which the farmer is always trying to make way
with him, he is sly enough to let alone. His greatest foe is the
cat, which watches patiently at the hole where the destructive little
fellow is digging and usually catches him. A mother cat will sometimes
bring in two or three gophers a day to her kittens.
IN SALT WATER AND FRESH
Tom and Retta Ransom were two of the happiest children in the state,
I believe, when told that their summer vacation was to be spent at
Catalina Island. To see the wonderful fish that swim in those warm,
Southern waters, to watch them through the glass-bottomed boat, to
dip out funny sea-flowers with a net, or catch the pretty kingfish and
perhaps a "yellowtail,"--why, they could talk of nothing else!
How they skipped and danced and chattered about the trip! At
last Mamma said, "Well, everything is packed and ready, and we go
to-morrow." Then what fun it was to stand on the steamer's deck and
sail "right out through the Golden Gate," as Retta said. The big
green billows of the Pacific Ocean caught the boat as she crossed the
outside bar and tossed salt spray almost into their faces. Little the
children cared for the drops of water, for they were so glad to be
off on their trip and to say good-by to San Francisco's summer fog and
cold winds for a time.
And there on Seal Rocks, near the Cliff House, were the seals, or
rather sea-lions, clumsy creatures like black rubber sacks with
fins, or flippers, and a head. Some were lying in the sun and others
crawling up the steep, wet rocks. Those highest up were asleep and
quiet, but most of them kept barking or growling as they tried to find
a sunny place to bask in. Sometimes when frightened these sea-lions
will pitch headlong from high rocks into the ocean and dive out of
sight at once. Mrs. Ransom said she remembered seeing one that was
kept for years in a salt-water tank, and that, although they seem so
clumsy, this sea-lion jumped so quick that he caught a fish thrown to
him before it touched the water. Once fur-seals were in great numbers
off our coast, and lived on the rocks as these sea-lions now do. But
Indians, or later on white hunters, killed them, or drove them up
north where the crack of the rifle is not heard.
On to the south the steamer sailed through the foaming waters, and as
Tom stood watching the white-capped waves go dancing by, he saw, two
or three times, a black fin come up, and then another. At last a man
said, "Look at the porpoises playing." Tom screamed with delight as
they jumped and chased each other till their black, shiny backs were
clear out of water. These fish are sometimes called sea-hogs and are
five or six feet long. Either to get their food of small fish, or in
play, they keep swimming and diving near the tops of the breakers.
Fishermen catch them with a strong hook and use the thick, leathery
skin for straps or strings, while they try oil out of their blubber or
fat.
All that day and night the boat kept steadily on her way, and the next
morning they were in Santa Barbara Channel. It was so pleasant sailing
on this summer sea in the soft, warm sunshine that even the sea-sick
ladies felt better and came on deck. Mamma agreed with the children
that the steamer trip was much nicer than the hot, dusty cars. Just
then some one called, "See the whale," and looking quick Tom and Retta
saw what seemed a fountain of water rising high in the air about half
a mile away. Soon another went up, and two or three more, for the
gray hump-backed whales like this stretch of smooth bay. They are
warm-blooded animals and not fish at all, so they must come to the top
of the waves for air to breathe. The air and water spout out through
"blow-holes" on top of the whale's head, and rise like steam in the
colder air. The children's mother told them that the whale is the
largest of all animals, and that it lives on little jellyfish. It swims
with its great mouth wide open and catches all the tiny sea creatures
in its path. A fringe of whalebone hangs down from the roof of the
whale's mouth, and he strains the water out through this and swallows
the fish. As the boat went on, the children said, "There she blows,"
as the sailors do when they see whales spouting in the distance.
[Illustration: LEAPING TUNA.]
[Illustration: BLACK SEA BASS.]
Late that night the steamer got to San Pedro, and you may be sure Tom
and Retta were up early the next morning. As they came off the
boat, there was a crowd of people on the wharf who were pulling in
"yellow-tail" as fast as they dropped their lines. This fine fish is
a little like a big salmon, but with golden-yellow fins and tail. Its
body is greenish gray, with spots of the prettiest rainbow colors,
which grow brighter as the fish dies. These fish bite easily, but as
soon as caught begin to rush back and forth, fighting and trying to
snap the line.
The children here took a smaller steamer for the twenty-mile trip
across to Catalina Island, and on the way over they saw a whole
"school" of whales and a flight of flying-fishes. Yes, really and
truly, these little fish fly or sail through the air, for their fins
balance them like a parachute. They skim along ten or twelve feet
above the waves, and then drop in the water to rest, taking another
flight whenever their enemies, the porpoises, chase them.
How happy the children were to land at the little town of Avalon, and
to know that they were to have a month at this beautiful place! They
hurried down to the beach and their first choice of amusements was the
glass-bottomed boat. These boats have "water-telescopes," which are
only clear glass set in boxed-in places. The glass seems to make the
ripples still, so that you can look down, down to the bottom of the
ocean, twenty or thirty feet below you.
The boatman rowed the children out in the bay, where the water, now
green, now blue, was always clear as crystal. On the rocks and sand
at the bottom starfish and crabs crawled slowly along or clung to some
stone. The purple sea-urchins, queer round-shelled creatures covered
with thorny spines, crowded together, and the ugly toad-fish hid
in the green and brown seaweeds. Blue, purple, and rainbow-colored
jellyfish floated on top of the waters, while gold perch with red
and green sunfish swam through the seaweed "like parrots in some hot
country's woods," Retta thought. In the shallow places on the rocks
those curious sea-flowers, the anemones, looked like pink or green
cactus blossoms. The children never tired of the water-telescope in
all their stay at the island.
At night the warm ocean waters seemed on fire, since they are full
of very tiny, soft-bodied creatures, each of which gives out a faint,
glowing light. Every day the fishermen brought in new and strange
fishes. The black sea-bass, heavier than the fisherman himself and
longer than he was tall, were wonderful, and they could hardly believe
that such big fish were caught with a rod and line.
But the leaping tuna pleased Tom the most, since he thought it such
fun to watch them jump into the air like silver arrows after the
flying-fish. Not so large as the black bass, the tunas are strong
enough to tow a boat along when running with a hook. One will drag a
heavy launch through the water as if a tug had hold of it, and
will fight for hours, rushing and plunging till tired out. Then the
fisherman pulls him up to the boat and ends his struggles.
Tom and Retta were fond of watching the curious fish and sea-plants
in the glass aquarium tanks on shore also, but their happiest time was
when they gathered shells on the beach. They never found out the names
of more than those of the limpet, turban, and scallop, though they
picked up baskets full of tiny pink and white beauties, all frail and
of many kinds. These shells were once the homes of sea mollusks,
as such soft, fleshy creatures are called. But to Tom and Retta the
shells were only pretty playthings, to be doll's dishes, or cups, or
pincushions, perhaps.
One morning some fishermen saw a shark, and no one dared to go in
bathing for a few days. This great, savage, "man-eater" shark does not
often come north of the Gulf of California. Sometimes small ones are
caught with a hook and line off Catalina Island, and Tom was always
glad to see such sea-tigers destroyed.
Of course the children did not want to go home, till at last Mrs.
Ransom explained to them that in the ocean and bay near San Francisco
there were odd fish and strange animals too. And so it turned out, for
in a day's fishing over at Sausalito Tom caught many silver smelt and
tomcod, with flat, ugly flounders, and a red, big-eyed rock-cod. The
frightened boy almost fell out of the boat, too, when he pulled in a
large sting-ray, or "stingaree," as the boatman called it. This queer
three-sided fish, with a sharp, bony sting in its back, flopped round
till the man cut the hook out, knocked its head till it was no longer
able to bite, and threw it overboard. These rays have to be fenced out
of the oyster-beds along the bay, since they have big mouths full
of such strong teeth that they crush an oyster, shell and all, and
destroy every one they can reach.
Oysters are grown in great quantities in the oyster-beds along the bay
shore. The largest size, which are called "transplanted," are brought
from the East as very small or baby oysters and dropped into shallow
water, where they cling to rocks or brush-piles till grown.
Tom also caught a perch, and clinging to it as he drew in his line
was a large, hard-shelled, long-clawed crab. Tom put the crab in the
basket, knowing well what delicious white meat was in the fellow's
legs and back.
Clams that burrow deep in the mud and may be found at low tide,
by digging where their tell-tale bubble of air arises, and the odd
shrimps, so good to eat, the children already knew about. Chinese
fishermen catch shrimps in nets, dry them on the hillsides, and send
both dry meat and shells to China. They dry the meat of the abalone
also, and use the beautiful shells, which you have no doubt seen, for
carving into curios, or making into jewellery.
A salt-water creature very destructive to shipping and the wharves is
the teredo, or ship-worm. This brown inch-long worm lives in wood
that is always under water, such as the bottoms of ships and the round
piles you see at the wharves. He hollows or bores out winding tunnels
in the wood with the sharp edge of his shell until the piles crumble
to pieces. This small animal would finally destroy the largest wooden
ship if sheets of copper were not put on the sides and keel to protect
it.
When Retta saw Tom's basket of fish she said, "Well, I think the
fresh-water fishes much prettier. I am sure the rainbow and Dolly
Varden trout with their bright-colored spots, which we saw up in the
Truckee River and the mountain lakes last summer, were better to look
at and to eat than these sea monsters." Tom laughed and said, "Oh,
that was because you helped to catch some of those. Do you remember
the big black-spotted trout we saw in Lake Tahoe? And the little
speckled fellows we caught in that clear creek in the redwoods, and
how we wrapped them in wet paper and cooked them at our camp-fire?
I wish we could go up to the McCloud River, though, and see the baby
trout in the fish hatchery there."
So their mother told them that the tiny trout eggs were kept in
troughs with clear, cold water running over them till they hatched
out. Then the little things, not half as long as a pin, were placed in
large tin cans and sent to stock brooks and lakes, and in a year or so
they grew big enough to catch.
The most valuable of our food-fishes is the salmon, a large
silvery-sided salt-water fish that takes fresh-water journeys too.
For they swim up the rivers every year to lay their eggs in the clear,
cold streams, knowing, perhaps, that the salmon-fry, as the young are
called, will have fewer enemies away from the ocean. The salmon go
over a hundred miles up to the McCloud River to spawn, and will jump
or leap up small falls or rapids in their way. Indians spear many of
them, but a number go back to the ocean again. Thousands and thousands
of ocean salmon are caught along the northern coast and taken to
the canneries. There the fish are put into cans and cooked, and when
sealed up are sent all over the world. California salmon is eaten from
Iceland to India, and its preparation and sale give employment to many
people.
[Illustration: HUMPBACK WHALE (57 feet long).]
[Illustration: TROUT FROM LAKE TAHOE.]
ABOUT CALIFORNIA'S INDIANS
When the Spanish and English first landed on this part of the New
World's coast, they found the Indians who dwelt inland almost naked,
and living like wild animals on roots and seeds and acorns. The tribes
along the seashore, however, were good hunters and fishermen, and
those Indians along the Santa Barbara Channel and the islands near
by were a tall, fine-looking people, and the most intelligent of the
race. They had large houses and canoes, and clothed themselves in
sealskins.
The Indians Drake saw near Point Reyes had fur coats, or cloaks, but
no other clothes. They brought him presents of shell money or wampum,
and of feather head-dresses and baskets. With their bows and arrows
they killed fish or deer or squirrels, and being very strong ran
swiftly after game. They seemed gentle and peaceable with the white
men and each other, and were sorry to have Drake sail away.
In later years the Indians who lived here when the Mission Padres came
were stupid and brutish, because they knew nothing better. They were
lazy, dirty, and at first would not work. But the patient Padres
taught them to raise grain and fruit, to build their fine churches,
to weave cloth and blankets, and to tan leather for shoes, saddles,
or harness. But although the Indians learned to be good workmen,
they liked idleness, dancing, and feasting much better, and when the
Missions were given up the Indians soon went back to their former
habits.
There were no distinct tribes among these Indians, and they had no
laws. Nor was there a king or chief over many natives. They lived
in small villages or rancherias, each having a name and ruled by a
captain. Each rancheria had its special place to hunt or fish, and had
to fight its own battles with the other families of Indians.
The men did nothing but hunt and fish, or make bows, stone
arrow-heads, nets and traps for game. The women not only had to gather
grass seeds, acorns, and nuts or berries, but they had to do all the
field-work and carry the heavy burdens, usually with a baby strapped
in its basket above the load. In preparing food for cooking, these
mahalas, or squaws, put seed or acorns in a stone mortar and pounded
them to coarse meal or paste. Sometimes a grass-woven basket was
filled with water, and hot stones were thrown in till the water began
to boil. Then acorn or seed meal was put in and cooked into mush. This
meal, or that from wild oats, was also mixed into a dough and baked on
hot stones into bread. Game or fish was eaten raw, or broiled a little
on the coals of the camp-fire.
The Indians got many deer, and one way of hunting them was to put the
head and hide of a deer over the hunter's head. The make-believe then
crept along in the high grass till near enough to the quietly feeding
animals to put an arrow through one or more. All the streams were
full of fish then, and salmon swarmed in rivers that ran to the ocean.
These salmon the Indians speared or shot with arrows. They also built
runways or fish-weirs and made them so that the fish would become
crowded into a narrow passage, and could easily be dipped out with
nets or baskets.
When the Americans came here they called these Indians "Diggers,"
because they lived on what they could dig or root out of the ground.
They were very fond of grasshoppers, and ate them either dried or
raw, or made into a soup with acorn or nut-meal. Fat grubworms and
the flesh of any animal found dead was a great treat. If a whale or
sea-lion was washed ashore on the beach, the Indians gathered round it
for a feast, and soon left only the bones.
[Illustration: INDIAN WOMAN WITH PAPPOOSE.]
[Illustration: INDIAN WOMAN WITH BASKETS.]
But they had no idea of saving food, so they fattened when there was
plenty, and starved when dry years made the acorns or nuts scarce.
Having no salt, they did not try to dry or smoke the meat of deer or
other wild animals. Nor did they at first lay up nuts and seeds, as
even the squirrels or woodpeckers do, for winter use. But wandering
from place to place, they camped in the summer along the rivers, where
fish was plenty and the wild oats gave them grain. In the fall they
hunted pine-nuts and berries in the mountains, till snow drove them
down into the valleys.
Each Indian town, or rancheria, had a name, and many of these names
are still in use. At the north lived the Klamaths, Siskiyous, Shastas,
and the savage Modocs, whose months of fighting in the lava beds
caused the death of General Canby and many soldiers. The Porno tribes
of Lake county, Yrekas, Hoopas, and Ukiahs, are well known at the
present day. Tehama, Colusa, Tuolumne, Yosemite, and other places
recall the Indians who gave each its name. The San Diego Indians are
still known as Dieguenos and live on a reserve, or lands set aside for
them.
Almost all the natives had Indian money, called wampum, which they
made from abalone or clam-shells by cutting out round pieces like
buttons or small, hollow beads. Little shells were also used, and the
wampum was strung on grass or on deer sinews. The Pomos still make
thousands of pieces of this money, and so many strings of it will buy
whatever the buck, or Indian man, and his mahala, or squaw, wish to
get.
General Bidwell, who came to California in 1841 and surveyed the land
for many ranches, says of the Indians at that time:--
"They were almost as wild as deer, and wore no clothes at all except
the women, who had tule aprons fastened to a belt round their waists.
In the rough work of surveying among brush and briars I gave the men
shoes, pantaloons, and shirts, which they would take off when work
was done, carry home in their hands, and put on in time to go to work
again. But they soon learned to sleep in their new things to save
trouble, and would wear them day and night till a suit dropped to
pieces. They were quick to do as the whites did, and when paid in
calico and cloth Saturday night, by Monday they had on their new
skirts or shirts all made up like ours. Yet every Indian would choose
beads for his wages, and go almost naked and hungry till the next
pay-day."
General Bidwell treated the Indians honestly and kindly, and in return
they were his friends and helped him much to his advantage. In 1847 he
settled on the great Rancho Chico, and part of his land he gave to the
Mechoopdas, as the Indian rancheria there was called. They worked to
plant orchards and at all his farm-work, and he treated them so fairly
that old men are still living on this ranch who as boys helped the
general in his tree-planting and road-building. A whole village of
these Mechoopdas live on the Bidwell place owning their houses, while
Mrs. Bidwell is their best friend and helps them in sickness and
trouble. The men work in the hop fields and fruit orchards, and the
women make baskets.
All the California Indians are basket-makers, and their work is so
well done and so beautiful that it is much prized. The Pomos of Lake
and Mendocino counties make especially fine baskets for every purpose.
Indeed, the Indian papoose, or baby, is cradled in a basket on his
mother's back; he drinks and eats from cup or bowl-shaped baskets, and
the whole family sleep under a great wicker tent basket thatched
with grass or tules. All Pomo baskets are woven on a frame of willow
shoots, and in and out through this the mahala draws tough grasses or
fine tree roots dyed in different colors, and after the pattern she
chooses. Sometimes she works into the baskets the quail's crest, small
red or yellow feathers from the woodpecker, green from the head of the
mallard duck, or beads. She also hangs wampum or bits of abalone shell
on the finest ones. The storage baskets are four or five feet high to
hold grain or acorns, and the baskets to fit the back and carry a
load are like half a cone in shape, with straps to hold the burden
in place. Their smaller berry baskets hold just a quart. Some are
water-tight and are used to cook mush in. Fish-traps and long narrow
basket-traps for quail are also made out of this willow-work.
On the Bidwell ranch is an old Indian "temescal," or sweat-house. It
is an underground hut, or cave dug out of a hillside, with a hole in
the top for smoke to reach the air. The Indians used to build a big
fire in this cave and then lie round it till dripping with sweat. A
cold plunge into the creek near by finished the bath,--Turkish, we
call it. Nowadays the Indians use this place for a meeting-room and
for dances.
The older Indians still dance and rig out in all their finery of
feathers and beads, though the young people are ashamed of their
tribal customs and wish to be like the white folks. Some of their
dances are named for a bird or animal, and the Indians must imitate by
their dress and cries the animal chosen. In the bear dance the dancer
crawls about the fire on all fours with a bear's skin about him. He
wears a chain of oak-balls round his neck, and as he shakes his head
these rattle like a bear's teeth snapping shut, while all the time he
growls savagely. The feather-dancer, with a skirt and cap of eagles'
feathers, will whirl on his toes like a top for hours, while the other
Indians sing and the master of the dance shakes a large rattle.
The California Indians are slowly passing away, and though all over
the state there are still rancherias, the land that was once their
very own will soon know them no more.
THE STORY OF SAN FRANCISCO
The Mission and Presidio of San Francisco were founded in 1776 by
Father Palou, and two little settlements grew up around the fort and
at the church. The Presidio was built where it is now, and ships used
to anchor in the bay in front of it, though the whalers usually went
to Sausalito to get wood from the hills and to fill their water-casks
at a large spring. From early Mission times the Spanish name of Yerba
Buena was given to that part of San Francisco's peninsula between
Black Point and Rincon Point. Ship-captains and sailors soon found out
that the cove or bay east of Yerba Buena was the best and least windy
place to anchor their vessels, and later on hundreds of ships found
a safe harbor there. The name Yerba Buena, or good herb, was given
on account of a little creeping vine with sweet-smelling leaves which
covered the ground and is still found on the sand-dunes and Presidio
hills.
For many years the small settlements made no progress, and the rest
of the peninsula was covered with thick woods, where the grizzly bear,
wolf, and coyote roamed, while deer were plenty at the Presidio. Then
in 1835 Governor Figueroa, the Mexican ruler of California, directed
that a new town should be started at Yerba Buena cove. The first
street, called the "foundation-street," was laid out from Pine and
Kearny streets, as they are called to-day, to North Beach. The first
house was built by Captain Richardson on what is now Dupont Street,
between Clay and Washington. The next year a trader named Jacob Leese
built a store. It was finished on the Fourth of July, and in honor of
the day he gave a feast and a fandango, or dance, at which the company
danced that night and all the next day. This was the first Fourth
celebrated in the place.
Two or three years later a new survey laid out streets between
Broadway and California, Montgomery and Powell. A fresh-water lagoon,
or lake, was near the present corner of Montgomery and Sacramento,
and an Indian temescal, or sweat-house, beside it. The bay came up
to Montgomery Street then, with five feet of water at Sansome, and
mudflats to the east. During the gold excitement of '49, when hundreds
of ships dropped anchor in the bay, many sailors deserted to go to the
mines, and some of the old vessels were hauled in on these mud-flats
and made into storehouses. All that part of the city east of
Montgomery Street is filled or made ground, and when new buildings are
to be started wooden piles or cement piers must go down to get a firm
foundation.
Until 1846 only about thirty families lived at Yerba Buena. Then a
shipload of Mormon emigrants arrived and pitched their tents in the
sand-hills. Samuel Brannan, their leader, printed the first newspaper,
_The California Star_, in '47. That year also the first alcalde, or
mayor, of the new town, Lieutenant Bartlett, appointed an engineer
named O'Farrell to lay out more streets. He surveyed Market Street and
mapped down blocks as far west on the sand-dunes as Taylor Street and
to Rincon Point or South Beach. He gave the names of such well-known
men as Kearny, Stockton, Larkin, Guerrero, and Geary to these streets.
Mission Street was the road to the Mission Dolores, and about this
time Bartlett ordered that the Presidio, the Mission, and Yerba Buena
should be one town and should be called San Francisco.
Then came the gold fever, and nearly every one left town to go to the
mines. Many people sold all they had to get money to buy mining tools
and food enough to live on till they struck gold. Men started for the
mines, leaving their houses and stores alone with no one to care for
goods or furniture.
But news of the finding of gold had reached other places, and soon
ships from the Atlantic coast, Mexico, and all over the world
began sailing into San Francisco Bay. In '49 the first steamer, the
_California_, arrived from New York, and soon five thousand people
were in San Francisco, where most of the supplies for the gold-fields
had to be bought. Many of the newcomers lived in canvas tents or
brush-covered shanties scattered about in the high sand-hills or in
the thick chaparral. Some houses were built of adobe bricks, and the
two-story frame Parker House was thought to be so fine that it rented
for fifteen thousand dollars a month. Some wooden houses were brought
out from the East in numbered pieces, like children's blocks, to be
put together here, and others thought to be fireproof were of iron
plates made in the East.
The first public school was opened in '48 and in the same building
church services were held Sundays. The first post-office was in a
store at the corner of Washington and Montgomery streets in '49. By
1850 the city had five square miles of land that had been cut down
from sand-hills or filled in on the mud-flats. The houses along the
city-front were built on piles, and the tide ebbed and flowed under
them. Long wharves for the unloading of ships ran out into deep water.
At Jackson and Battery streets a ship was used for a storehouse, and
after the earth was filled in this stranded vessel was left standing
among the houses. On Clay and Sansome streets the old hulk _Niantic_
had a hotel upon her decks, and the first city prison was in the hold
of the brig _Euphemia_.
[Illustration: INDIAN BASKETS.]
While most of the miners were steady, hard-working men, honest, and
very kind and generous to each other, some drank and gambled their
hard-earned gold-dust away with a get of men who were ready to do any
wrong thing for money. The gamblers and bad characters grew so
troublesome by '51 that the police could do little or nothing with
them. Every day some one was robbed, or murdered, and thieves often
set fire to houses that they might plunder. As the judges and police
could not control these criminals, nearly two hundred good citizens
formed a "vigilance committee." It was agreed that bad characters
should be told to leave town, and that robbers and murderers should
be punished by the committee. Not long after, the vigilance committee
hanged four men, and roughs and law-breakers left town for the mines.
Men soon learned to keep the laws and do right.
Since almost all the houses in San Francisco were light frames of wood
covered with cloth or paper, and since there was no fire department,
there were six great fires, each of which nearly burnt up the town.
The only way to stop the flames was to pull down houses or to blow
them up with gunpowder. But almost before the ashes of one fire had
cooled, wooden, cloth and paper buildings would cover whole blocks, to
be burned again before long. The fifth great fire, in '51, destroyed a
thousand houses and ten million dollars' worth of property in a night.
One warehouse containing many barrels of vinegar was saved by covering
the roof with blankets dipped in the vinegar, as no water could be
had. The iron houses that had been thought fire-proof were of no use.
Men who stayed in them found too late that the iron doors swelled with
the heat and could not be opened, so that those within were smothered
to death.
Then people began to guard against such fires by building new houses
of stone or of brick. The sixth great fire destroyed most of the
wooden buildings in the business part of the city. After that,
with two or three fire companies and engines and better houses,
people no longer dreaded the fire-bell. Water was piped into the city
from Mountain Lake, and there was plenty for all purposes.
[Illustration: SEAL ROCKS, SAN FRANCISCO.]
[Illustration: THE NEW CLIFF HOUSE, SAN FRANCISCO.]
So the city grew larger, until in '53 there were fifty thousand people
of all races and countries who called San Francisco home. Chinese and
Japanese, the Mexican, African, Pacific Islander, Greek, or Turk, or
Malay elbowed crowds of Americans, English, French, and Germans. It
was said that any foreigner could find in the city those who spoke his
language, and that gold was a word all knew.
The largest yield of gold from the mines was in '53, and the next
year was a poor year for the miners. They bought fewer goods in San
Francisco, and the storekeepers found business falling off. Too many
houses had been built, so rents went down and times were hard for
a year or two. In '55 there were many bank failures, and business
troubles of all kinds made the people restless, and roughs and
murderers carried a strong hand. Then the "law and order party," as
the vigilance committee was at that time called, began once more
the task of punishing those who robbed or killed. A list of criminal
offenders was made out, and such were sent away from the state.
One excellent result of the vigilance committee's labors was that a
"people's party," as it was called, chose the best men to govern the
city, and for years after peace and order were in San Francisco.
In '54 the city was lighted with gas for the first time, at a cost of
fifteen dollars a thousand feet. In that year also the mint began to
coin money from gold-dust, making five, ten and twenty-dollar pieces.
Lone Mountain Cemetery was laid out about this time, and the old Yerba
Buena graveyard, where the City Hall now stands, was closed.
San Francisco had, for some years, trouble about titles to property,
owing to false or defective land-grants given by the Mexicans. Men
tried to take possession of lots they had no real claim to by building
a shanty on the ground and squatting there, and the "squatter troubles"
between such land thieves and the rightful owners caused lawsuits and
shooting affairs. A land commission finally settled these disputes,
throwing out all the false claims and giving titles to the proper
persons.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO JAPANESE TEA GARDEN, SAN FRANSISCO.]
The little village of Yerba Buena has now grown to be the largest
city on the Pacific coast and one that is known the world over. It is
widely and justly celebrated as the centre of great manufacturing
and shipping interests, for its fine buildings, its climate, and its
beautiful surroundings. San Francisco Bay, the harbor the Franciscans
named for their patron saint, is noted for its picturesque scenery.
Golden Gate Park, with its thousand acres of trees and lawn and
flowers stretching out to the Pacific Ocean, the famous Cliff House,
and the Golden Gate, through which so many Argonauts sailed into
California, are the most attractive and best known places.
MEN CALIFORNIA REMEMBERS
Many pages of this book might be filled with California's roll of
honor,--with that long list of men whose names are remembered whenever
the state's history is recalled.
Explorers, Mission-builders, Argonauts, and pioneers were the men who
helped to make California the fair state you know and live in. From
the first day of the Spanish discoveries on this shore of the Pacific
Ocean, we find brave and great men who gave their best efforts, and
sometimes their lives, for California.
Let us head our brief list with Cortes, the name-giver, who dreamed
long years of the golden land he was never to see. Then Cabrillo, the
sea-king whom San Diego people honor every year because he found their
bay and first set foot on California's ground. Next comes the bold
Englishman, Sir Admiral Francis Drake, who intended that his queen,
Elizabeth, should have this Indian kingdom, as he believed it to
be. The stone Prayer-book Cross, in Golden Gate Park, was put up to
commemorate the service of prayer and psalms, offered at Drake's Bay
by Fletcher, the minister on the Admiral's ship.
Good Father Serra, the founder of the Missions, his friend
and brother-priest Father Palou of San Francisco, and their
fellow-laborers Crespi and Lasuen, helped in the work of building
churches and teaching the Indians. Governor Portola, the first Spanish
ruler of Alta California, assisted the Padres, and also found San
Francisco Bay. Lieutenant Ayala, however, sailed the first ship, the
_San Carlos_, through the Golden Gate. Another governor, de Neve,
founded San Jose and Los Angeles, and wrote a set of laws for the two
Californias of his time. That wise ruler, Governor Borica, ordered
schools opened and tried to get the Indians to farm their lands and to
raise hemp and flax.
Many of the old Spanish settlers and explorers have left us their
names, though they are themselves forgotten, as Martinez, Amador,
Castro, Bodega, and countless others plainly show. The Englishmen
Livermore, Gilroy and Mark West, those early settlers, Temple and Rice
at Los Angeles, Yount and Pope of Napa Valley, Don Timoteo Murphy of
San Rafael, and Lassen the Dane, for whom Lassen's Peak was named,
were among those who came here before 1830.
Governor Figueroa, called the "benefactor of Alta California" ordered
the Missions to be given up to the Indians. By directing that the
town of Yerba Buena should be laid out, he also is remembered as the
founder of San Francisco. Richardson, who carried out the governor's
orders, was the first settler and Leese built the first frame-house of
San Francisco.
In Governor Alvarado's time many Americans came to the new country,
although Alvarado and General Vallejo tried hard to keep them out.
Vallejo was then the military commander, and had headquarters at
Sonoma, where he had an adobe fort and a few soldiers to protect the
Mission of Solano. Here General Vallejo was living with his Indian and
Californian settlers when the place was taken by Ide, the leader
of the "bear-flag party." Vallejo, set free when the short-lived
"bear-flag republic" went to pieces, lived many years at Sonoma. He
was afterwards a member of the first legislature. He tried hard in
1851 to have the state capital at Vallejo; but he failed, for he did
not keep his agreement to put up buildings for government use.
A man well known in the early days was John Sutter, a Swiss, who built
a fort and settled where Sacramento now stands. He called his colony
New Helvetia, and soon had about three hundred Indians at work for
him. Some of the men were carpenters, blacksmiths, and farmers, while
the women wove blankets or a coarse cloth. His fort enclosed about an
acre of ground, with an adobe wall twenty feet high. A large gate was
shut every night to keep safe those inside this walled fort. You have
read that Marshall, who found gold, was building a sawmill for Sutter
when he picked up the precious yellow nuggets. Sutter and Marshall
quarrelled at last about the ownership of the mill at Coloma, where
the pieces of gold were picked up. Marshall died a poor man, unhappy
and neglected by the state, which has since put a costly bronze statue
over his grave.
Sutter was very active in the Micheltorena war, when Governor
Micheltorena was defeated and put out of office by Alvarado and
Castro.
The last of the Mexican governors, Pio Pico, tried his best to
prevent the rush of Americans into his country, but though Castro,
the military commander, helped him, the Americans came and stayed. And
both Pico and Castro with their soldiers were driven out of California
at last by Fremont and Stockton.
General Fremont, the "path-finder," who could easily find the best way
through a wilderness and could make maps or roads for others to
follow him, is a striking figure in California history. He made three
exploring trips to this coast, Kit Carson, the famous hunter and
trapper, being his guide and scout. From the Oregon line to San Diego,
Fremont knew the country. He was a brave Indian fighter and helped to
capture California from Mexico. Fremont was appointed governor of the
new territory by Stockton, and was the first senator from California
representing the state in Congress. In 1848 Fremont sent a map of the
country to Congress, and on it named the strait at the entrance to
San Francisco Bay the Golden Gate. He was, therefore, the first to use
this beautiful name now known the world over. His wife, Jessie Benton
Fremont, is still living in Los Angeles.
Commodore Sloat, who raised the American flag at Monterey, and
Commodore Stockton were United States naval officers who helped to
conquer the Mexican and Indian forces with the aid of Fremont and
General Kearny. These four men won the land of gold for the Union.
General John Bidwell, another "path-finder," who in 1841 led the first
party of white men over the Sierras, lived to be over eighty years of
age. He saw the state, once a wilderness where naked Digger Indians
chased elk and antelope, grow to a pleasant land of orchards and
vineyards, of great cities full of people. General Bidwell was for a
time in Sutter's employ, and surveyed nearly all the large ranches
and the roads in early days. All his life he planted trees and built
roads, and at his great Rancho Chico is one of the largest orchards in
the state. Part of his life-work was to help a tribe of savage Indians
to be good American citizens, and as one of the fathers of California
he should always be remembered.
Many notable names appear in the days when the finding of gold brought
this shore of the Pacific Ocean before the eyes of the world. Among
these are Gwin, who was chosen senator with Fremont; Larkin, widely
known as the first and last American Consul to California and for his
accounts of the gold discovery; and Halleck, first secretary of the
state and afterward General Halleck.
The streets of San Francisco honor some of the citizens of 1848 and
1849: Geary, the first postmaster; Leavenworth and Hyde, the first
alcaldes or mayors; Van Ness, Broderick, Turk, and McAllister,
recalling prominent men of those days. Spanish families like Sanchez,
Castro, Noe, Bernal, and Guerrero had also a place on the city map.
Indeed, every town has some native Californian names in and around it.
Don Victor Castro, said to be the first white child born in San
Francisco, died lately at San Pablo in the house he had built sixty
years ago. He was called the last of the Spanish grandees, those dons
who, before the Gringos came, had estates that stretched miles away
on every hand, and thousands of cattle with many Indian servants. Don
Victor built and ran the first ferry across San Francisco Bay.
Sacramento was laid out as a town for Sutter by three lieutenants of
the U.S. army: Warner, who was afterwards killed by Indians; Ord,
who was a general in the Civil War, while the third, in after years
"marched through Georgia" as General Sherman. Marysville was also laid
out by Sutter, and Stockton by Weber, who owned all the land around
it.
In 1849 Doctor Gregg and his party found Humboldt Bay. In 1851
Yosemite Valley was discovered by Major Savage and a company of
soldiers, who were out hunting hostile Indians. This band of Indians
was called the Yosemites, and their old chief's name was Tenaya, for
whom the beautiful lake is named.
Those who came to California before 1850 were called pioneers, and
many of them built up great fortunes. Among them were Coleman, the
president of the vigilance committee, Sharon, Flood, Fair, O'Brien,
Tevis, Phelan, and James Lick. Lick was a remarkable man, who gave
away an immense fortune; building the Lick Observatory, a school of
mechanical arts, free public baths, an old ladies' home, and giving
a million to the Academy of Science and the Society of California
Pioneers.
In later days the names crowd thickly upon each other. Among editors
and literary men the fearless and ill-fated James King of the _Evening
Bulletin_, J. Ross Browne, the reporter of the first convention and a
most interesting writer, Derby the humorist, "Caxton" or W.H. Rhodes,
Mark Twain, Bret Harte, the historians Hittell and Bancroft, and the
poet Joaquin Miller may be noted.
The governors of the state have been men remarkable as brilliant
speakers or lawyers and as wise rulers. In 1875, during the time of
Pacheco, the first native-born governor, the order of "Native Sons of
the Golden West" was formed, which now numbers over ten thousand young
California men. The "Native Daughters," a sister society, follows also
the idea of keeping the love of California warm in the hearts of her
children.
[Illustration: FALLEN LEAF LAKE.]
[Illustration: MOUNT SHASTA FROM STRAWBERRY VALLEY.]
OUR GLORIOUS CLIMATE
Not only a glorious but in many ways a wonderful climate is enjoyed
by the people of California's sea-coast and mountains, her valleys and
foot-hills. In no other state can one find so many kinds of weather
in such short distances. For instance, in Southern California you may
pick flowers and oranges in almost tropical gardens, and in an hour
find winter and throw snowballs on the high mountains overlooking the
roses and orange groves you so lately left.
Only in the mountains, along that granite backbone of the state known
as the Sierra Nevadas, are there four seasons, the spring, summer,
autumn, and winter common to most of the United States. So the Sierras
have a distinct climate of their own. The Sacramento and San Joaquin
river valleys have another climate peculiar to themselves, while south
of latitude 35 degrees the coast has less rain and is warmer than the
coast counties north of that line.
In the greater part of the state the year is divided into a dry summer
and a wet winter. The rains begin in October, and the first showers
fall on dry, brown hills and dusty fields baked hard by steady
sunshine since May. After these showers the grass springs up, and
the fields are green almost as quickly as if some fairy godmother had
waved her wand. An army of wild flowers, whose seeds were hidden in
the brown earth, wakes when the rain-drops patter, and the plants get
ready to bloom in a month or so. For this season, from November to
February, with little frost and no ice nor snow, is winter in name
only. Roses and violets bloom in the gardens and yellow poppies on the
hills.
People expect and hope for much rain in this so-called winter, since a
wet year assures good crops to the state. But the amount of rain that
falls is very uncertain. It does not rain every day, nor all day, as a
rule, and each storm seems different. Sometimes a "southeaster" blows
up from the Japan Current, or Black Stream, as the Japanese call the
warm, dark-blue waters that pour out of the China Sea. This current of
the Pacific Ocean flows along our coast in a mighty river a thousand
miles wide, and gives California its peculiar climate of cool summers
and moist, warm winters. The southeasterly wind ruffles the bay with
white-capped waves and dashes sheets of rain against window and roof.
Then the wind changes, and all the clouds go flying to north or east,
while from the clear blue sky brilliant sunshine pours down to make
the grass and flowers grow. During the winter months the sun is strong
and warm enough to make out-door life delightful.
The farmer depends greatly upon the rainfall. In a wet winter the
moisture sinks far into the ground, but not so deep that the thirsty
little roots cannot find it in the summer. Early rains are needed to
soften the ground for November ploughing, and young grain and crops of
all kinds need rain through April. In the northern part of the state
the wet season begins earlier and lasts longer than in the south,
while the southeastern corner is an almost rainless desert.
In San Francisco the thermometer seldom falls below 45º in the winter,
the average for the season being 51º. Perhaps in January or February
the sidewalks may be white with frost in the mornings, or hail may
fall during some cold rain-storm. Once in five years or so, enough
snow falls to make children go wild with delight over a few snowballs
which are very soon melted. People can be comfortable the year round
without fires, and the clear, bright winter days with soft air and
warm sunshine are always pleasant enough to spend outdoors. This
ocean climate, due to the warm sea air, is enjoyed by the counties
facing the coast and San Francisco Bay. In the valleys of the interior
white frosts are frequent, and thin ice forms on the wayside puddles.
Once in a while killing frosts destroy fruit blossoms and cut down the
garden flowers and vegetables, but seldom do more damage.
[Illustration: "EL CAPITAN" (3300 feet in height).]
[Illustration: YOSEMITE FALLS.]
In mountain regions, above five or six thousand feet, the very cold
winter lasts six or seven months. Snow falls almost constantly and
drifts to a great depth. Small lakes are frozen and buried in snow,
and the trees are bent and weighed down with ice and sleet. Many of
the wild animals come down to the foot-hills below the snow-line to
spend the winter; but the bear curls himself up in his warm cave and
sleeps through the cold months. In this snowy zone of the Sierras,
about thirty miles wide, winter lasts from the first snowfall, about
the end of October, to the late spring of June. Then July and August
are months of glorious weather, with clear, dry air and a cloudless
sky. During the day the temperature of about 80 degrees melts much
snow, and the rivers carry it away in rushing torrents and falls of
icy water. In September the frost turns the leaves of all but the
evergreen trees beautiful colors of red and yellow. Indian summer
comes during September and October, when the days are sunny and warm,
and then the long winter sets in again. Peaks above eight thousand
feet are snow-clad on their crests and along their sides by deep
drifts the year round.
Along the Pacific coast in summer cool sea-winds, called trade-winds,
blow in from the ocean, and 60 degrees is the average temperature. The
farther you go inland from the coast, the hotter it gets, and the heat
is very great in the interior of the state. In the San Joaquin and
Sacramento valleys it is often over 100 degrees in the shade, though
this dry heat is not hard to bear, and the nights are always cool
enough for one to sleep in comfort.
Summer fogs are usual in the coast counties. The mornings are pleasant
and sunny till about eleven o'clock. At this time the sun's rays
grow stronger in the interior valleys, and the hot air rises while
trade-winds rush in from the cold ocean and fog settles down like a
thick, gray cloud over the bay and hills. July and August are cold and
foggy along the coastline, with strong west winds almost every day. In
September the winds die away, and sometimes a shower or two falls.
The rainless desert, or southeastern corner of our state, is the
hottest region of all. Here the sun glares down till sand and rocks
seem heated by a fiery furnace. Every living creature gasps and pants
for breath in the scorching heat. There are no trees, but only cactus,
that queer, prickly, thorny plant, often fifteen or twenty feet
high in these wastes of sand, and low greasewood bushes. Under this
vegetation snakes, lizards, and horned toads bask all day and search
for food at night. If travellers wander from the road in crossing the
desert, they are easily lost, and sometimes they die or go mad in the
terrible heat. There are no springs, and water stations are a long way
apart, so that lost people usually die of thirst. As the heat of the
sun's rays quivers over the burning sands, a curious sight called
a mirage is often produced. A cool, glassy lake or flowing river
bordered with green trees seems pictured in the air, and the hot and
weary traveller can scarcely believe that only sand and rocks are
before him.
Can you tell which season you like the best? You will find the one you
choose in some part of this favored state. It is always summer in the
south, and you may slide on the ice or throw snowballs all year in the
high Sierras.
SOME WONDERFUL SIGHTS
California is a wonderland where snowy mountains, mighty and ancient
forests, glaciers and geysers, lakes and waterfalls, foaming rivers
and the cliffs and rolling surf down her long sea-coast give new and
beautiful pictures at every place.
Through the whole state stretches the granite backbone of the Sierra
Nevadas with its highest crest or ridge at the head-waters of the
Kings and Kern rivers near Fresno. Here Mount Whitney and a dozen
other great peaks of the High Sierras or California Alps lift their
heads over thirteen thousand feet in the air. Here are to be seen most
magnificent panoramas of lofty peaks, deep canons, towering domes, and
snow-clad summits. The finest forests, too, in the world grow on the
slopes of the Sierras, the immense pines and giant _sequoias_ of
the General Grant and other National Parks in this section being the
largest and oldest of all. Kings River Canon is a rugged gorge half a
mile deep with the river rushing through it in thundering rapids and
cascades.
The well-known Yosemite Valley is the gorge of the Merced River and,
though only eight miles long and half a mile wide, holds the grandest
of all our mountain scenery. The mighty rock El Capitan, over three
thousand feet in height, stands at the entrance to the valley, and
across from it is Bridal Veil Fall, a snowy cascade so thin you can
see the face of the mountain through the falling waters. There are
many waterfalls, but the Yosemite is chief of them all. Here the river
takes a plunge of sixteen hundred feet, the water falling like snowy
rockets bursting into spray from that great height.
Then, for six hundred feet more, the torrent leaps and foams through
a trench it has cut out of the solid rock to the cliff, from which it
takes a second plunge. This Lower Yosemite fall is four hundred feet
high, the rushing waters turning into clouds of spray, which the wind
tosses from side to side. At Nevada Fall the Merced River leaps six
hundred feet at a bound, strikes a mass of rocks halfway down, and
breaks into white foam upon which rainbows play when the sun shines
through the misty veil.
Besides the grand Sentinel Rock, Eagle Peak, Clouds' Rest, and other
high mountains in the Yosemite Valley, many domes or round-topped
peaks like the heads of buried giants loom up, the most famous being
South Dome, Washington Column, Liberty Cap, and Mount Broderick.
But no one can picture this wonderful valley with pen or brush or
camera and give its real charm. You must see it yourself to know and
understand the beauty of great mountains and falling waters, of Mirror
Lake with its fine reflections of the surrounding scenery, and of the
rushing torrent of the Merced River in its swift coursing through this
mighty canon of the Yosemite. Thousands of tourists and sightseers
visit the valley from May to October. Then snow begins to fall and
winter sets in, as it does everywhere in the high Sierras. Very deep
snow-drifts cover the ground, lakes and rivers freeze, and the great
falls are fringed with icicles, while a large ice cone forms at the
foot of the falling water. Many beautiful pictures may be found in
the valley in winter when Jack Frost is ruler of all the snow-clad,
ice-bound canon.
Scattered throughout the Sierras are other valleys almost as fine
as the Yosemite. These are not often reached by the army of summer
sight-seers, but true mountaineers find them. One valley which has
fine scenery is the Grand Canon of the Tuolumne, the gorge being
twenty-five miles long, with walls so high and steep that once entered
one must go through to the end. The Tuolumne River rushes, with
terrible force and speed, in cascades and rapids down the granite
stairway which is the floor of this canon. The walls of the gorge
rise so high that the traveller only sees a tiny strip of blue sky far
above him, and the great pine trees on top of these cliff walls seem
only the length of one's finger.
It is supposed that all these valleys have been formed by glaciers,
which during the ice age, thousands of years ago, filled the canons
and swept over the mountains. These masses of ice, moving very slowly,
ground and tore up the rocks under and around them till deep gorges
and steep, high cliffs were left in their tracks. Most of the glaciers
melted long ago, but on Mount Lyell, on Shasta, and a few of the
Sierra summits may still be found those ever-living ice-rivers, the
one on Mount Lyell being the source of the Tuolumne River.
California is rich in lakes, especially in the mountains where the
melting snows gather in every hollow and form lakelets in chains or
groups, or in one large body of water like Tahoe, Donner, or Tenaya
lakes.
One of the most beautiful lakes in the world is Lake Tahoe. It is six
thousand feet above sea-level, and the mountains around it rise four
thousand feet higher. On these peaks snow-drifts lie the year round
above the "snow-line," as a height over eight or nine thousand feet
is called. Nevada, treeless and barren, is on the eastern side of
Lake Tahoe, while the western or California side is green and thickly
wooded with beautiful pines. But the first thing one would notice,
perhaps, is the wonderful clearness of the lake water. As one stands
on the wharf the steamer _Tahoe_ seems to be hanging in the clear
green depths with her keel and twin propellers in plain sight. The
fish dart under her and all about as in some large aquarium. There a
big lake-trout shoots by like a silver streak of light, or here is a
school of hundreds of little fingerlings. Every stick or stone shows
on the bottom as one starts out on the steamer, and as one sails
along where the water is sixty or seventy feet deep. In the middle
the lake's depth is fifteen hundred feet and the water is a dark
indigo-blue. At the edge and along shallow places the color is bright
green, as at Emerald Bay, a beautiful inlet three miles long. Lake
Tahoe is twenty miles in length and about five wide, and its icy cold
waters are of crystal clearness and very pure.
Fallen Leaf Lake is a smaller Tahoe, and Donner Lake, not far from
Truckee, and now the camping-place of many a summer visitor, is the
place where years ago the Donner overland party spent a terrible
winter in the Sierra snows.
Clear Lake and the Blue Lakes in Lake County are delightful places
to visit, and in this county, too, are the geysers. Some wonderful
curiosities are seen here. You will find springs that spout up a
stream of hot water every few minutes, mineral springs from which
you can have a drink of soda water, and an acid spring that flows
lemonade. Alum, iron, or sulphur waters, either hot or cold, bubble
up out of the ground at every turn. At one spring you may boil an
egg. Other springs are used for steam baths and also hot mud-baths. In
Geyser Canon is the strange place every sight-seer hurries to at once.
Such rumblings and thunderings, such hot vapors and gases come from
the cracks in the ground, that the Indians thought this was the
workshop where the bad spirit which white people call the devil used
to live and work. The deeper one goes into this canon, the hotter and
noisier it gets. All round are signs telling where it is dangerous
to step, while the ground is hot, and boiling water runs by in little
streams. Steam rises from many pools, and the sulphur smell almost
chokes one. Another curious spring, called the devil's inkstand, seems
full of ink. Mount St. Helena, near here, is a dead or extinct
volcano, and probably there are fires in the earth under this region
which keep up these steam and sulphur springs.
[Illustration: NATURAL BRIDGE, SANTA CRUZ.]
Many of the Sierra summits are capped with volcanic rock, and Lassen's
Peak and Mount Shasta are extinct volcanoes. There are hot springs and
cracks from which steam and sulphur rise on both of these mountains,
and as earthquakes often shake the earth in different parts of the
state we know that underground fires are still at work. A great piece
of land on Mount San Jacinto in Southern California lately sank down
about a hundred feet, and cracks both deep and wide show that some
force from below gave a thorough shaking-up to that part of the state.
Mono, Owen's, and several other large lakes are the "sinks" into which
rivers flow and lose themselves in the sandy or marshy shores. These
lakes have soda or salt in their waters, and great stretches of dry
alkali lands around them. The famous Death Valley is a dry lake of
this kind where the sun beats down on the white alkali plain till it
is almost certain death to try to cross it without a guide. The
Salton Sea is a dry lake where almost pure salt is dug out, and great
quantities of borax and of soda are found in other beds, of dried-up
streams and lakes.
But to tell of all the curious things nature has to show us in
California,--of the forests of petrified trees, of the caverns cut out
of the ocean cliffs by restless waves, or of those in the mountains or
the Modoc lava-beds,--well, you will see most of them, let us hope, in
your vacations. A large book might be given to the wonderful sights
of this great state, and it may be your fortune to visit and so always
remember a few we have named.
PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY
Alta (ael'-ta).
Amador (am'-a-dore).
Alvarado (al-va-rae'-do).
Ayala (ae-yae'-la).
Bernal (ber-nal').
Bodega (bo-d[=a]'-ga).
Cabrillo (ka-breel'-yo).
Calaveras (kal-a-v[=a]'-ras).
Carmel (kar'-mel).
Castro (kas'-tro).
Cortes (kor'-tez).
Coloma (ko-lo'-ma).
Diegueno (de-[=a]-gw[=a]n'-yo).
Farallones (f[)a]r'-a-lones).
Figueroa (fi-gwa-ro'-a).
Franciscan (fran-cis'-can).
Galvez (gal'-ves).
Gringos (gring'-gos).
Guerrero (gur-r[=a]'-ro).
Junipero Serra (h[=u]-nip'-er-o ser'-ra).
Klamath (klam'-eth).
Los Angeles (los an'-ga-lees).
Marin (ma-rin').
Mariposa (mar-e-po'-sa).
Martinez (mar-tee'-nes).
Mechoopdas (me-choop'-das).
Mission Dolores (mis'-sion do-l[=o]r'-es).
Modocs (mo'-docs).
Monterey (mon-ta-ray').
Noe (no'-a).
Ortega (or-t[=a]'-ga).
Pacheco (pae-ch[=a]'-ko).
Padres (pa'-drays).
Palou (pa'-loo).
Pio Pico (pe'-o pe'-ko).
Placerville (pl[)a]s'-er-vil).
Point Reyes (rays).
Pomos (po'-mos).
Portola (por-to'-la).
San Antonio (san an-t[=o]-ni-[=o]).
Sanchez (san'-ches).
San Carlos (san kar'-l[=o]s).
San Diego (san de-[=a]'-go).
San Fernando (san fer-nan'-do).
San Francisco (san fran-cis'-co).
San Gabriel (san ga-brell').
San Jacinto (san ha-sin'-to).
San Joaquin (san waw-keen').
San Jose (san ho-say').
San Juan Bautista (san wawn ba-tis'-ta).
San Juan Capistrano (san wawn kap-is-tra'-no).
San Luis Obispo (san loo-is o-bis'-po).
San Miguel (san mig-gell').
Santa Barbara (san'-ta bar'-ba-ra).
Santa Catalina (san'-ta kat-a-lee'-na).
Santa Cruz (san'-ta krooz).
Santa Lucia (san'-ta loo-she'-a).
Santa Ysabel (san'-ta [=e]'-sa-bel).
Santa Ynez (san'-ta e'-nes).
Sausalito (saw-sa-lee'-to).
Sierras (see-er'-ras).
Siskiyous (sis'-ke-yous).
Sonoma (so-no'-ma).
Sutter (s[)u]t'-ter).
Tahoe (tae'-ho).
Tamalpais (tarm'-el-pies).
Tenaya (te-ni'-ya).
Tulare (too-lar'-ee).
Tuolumne (too-ol'-um-ee).
Ukiah (u-ki'-ah).
Vallejo (vael-y[=a]'-ho).
Viscaino (vees-kae-e'-no).
Wawona (wa-wo'-na).
Yerba Buena (yer'-ba bw[=a]'-na).
Yosemite (yo sem'-e-tee).
abalone (ab-a-lo'-nee).
adobe (a-do'-bee).
alcalde (al-kal'-day).
arrastra (ar-ras'-tra).
burro (boo'-ro).
canon (can'-yon).
carne seca (kar'-n[=a] s[=a]'-ka).
cascarone (kas-ka-ro'-na).
chaparral (shap-per-ral').
coyote (ki-o'-tee).
corral (kor-ral').
debris (day-bree').
el toro (el to'-ro).
fandango (fan-dang'-go).
frijoles (free-yo'-lays).
galleon (gal'-le-on).
madrono (ma-dron'-yo).
manzanita (man-zan-ee'-ta).
mantilla (man-tee'-ya).
mahala (ma-ha'-la).
mesa (m[=a]'-sa).
mustangs (mus'-tangs),
presidio (pr[=a]-se'-de-o).
pueblos (p[=u]-[=a]'-blos),
ranche (ransh).
rancheria (ran-sha-ree'-a).
rodeos (ro-da'-os).
senora (s[=a]n-yo'-ra).
senoritas (s[=a]n-yor-ee'-tas).
sombrero (som-br[=a]'-ro).
sequoias (see-kwoy'-as).
serape (ser-ae'-pay).
teredo (te-r[=e]'-do).
temescal (tem-es-kal').
tortillas (tor-tee'-yas).
tule (too'-lee).
vaqueros (vae-ka'-ros).
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