Having built his sidewalk and his large hotel (with real-est

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been

placed at the end of the paragraph.

Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.

THE PACIFIC COAST SCENIC TOUR

[Illustration: MOUNT HOOD.]

THE

PACIFIC COAST SCENIC TOUR

_FROM SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA TO ALASKA

THE CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY

YELLOWSTONE PARK AND

THE GRAND CAÑON_

BY

HENRY T. FINCK

AUTHOR OF “ROMANTIC LOVE AND PERSONAL BEAUTY,” “CHOPIN AND OTHER

MUSICAL ESSAYS”

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_

LONDON

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON

_Limited_

St. Dunstan’s House

FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.

1891

BERWICK & SMITH, PRINTERS,

BOSTON, U.S.A.

TO MY FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE

WENDELL PHILLIPS GARRISON

PREFACE.

Books on California and Alaska exist in abundance, if not

superabundance; but the intervening States of Oregon and Washington

have been comparatively neglected in a way which seems surprising

when we consider the remarkable scenic and climatic attractions of

those States, their industrial resources, and the great future which

doubtless lies before them. The present volume is an attempt to give

a general and impartial view of the whole Pacific Coast, from San

Diego to Sitka. Covering such a vast territory, it cannot, of course,

make any pretensions to exhaustiveness, but is simply an endeavor to

reproduce the local color of each State, by describing a few typical

and important localities in each. I have naturally chosen the most

favorable specimens, as every author or other mortal does in showing

samples of a thing with which he is in love. I am in love with the

Pacific Coast, because after living on it eleven years, at various

times, and twelve years on the Atlantic Coast, I have found the

scenery so much grander and the climate so much more delightful and

exhilarating on the western side of our continent than on the eastern;

and climate and scenery, in my opinion, make up fully one-half of

human happiness. Scenery, indeed, requires some æsthetic culture for

its appreciation, but climate affects all alike; and where the sky is

habitually overcast with clouds, and the air humid and sultry, the

millionaire suffers from habitual depression of spirits just as much as

the beggar.

If the enthusiasm which pervades these pages should prove contagious

to some of the readers, I do not fear that any of them will chide me

hereafter for having induced them to emigrate to the West,—least of

all, those who are in comfortable circumstances and wish to spend their

last days amid bright and cheerful surroundings, and in a climate which

favors longevity. It is my solemn determination to build a château

somewhere on the Pacific Coast for myself some day,—if I can manage

the “comfortable circumstances.” Tourists, however, I must add, may

possibly take the Pacific Coast Scenic Tour described in this volume

and come back more or less disappointed. This will probably be the case

if they visit Southern California in July, the Yosemite in October,

Oregon and Washington in August, and Alaska before July or after

September; for they will then find the temperature uncomfortably high

in Southern California, and the water-falls reduced to a minimum in

the Yosemite; while in Oregon and Washington they will probably see

nothing at all, on account of the dense smoke from forest fires; and in

Alaska the mountains will be obscured by mist and rain. But just as a

prudent sight-seer does not visit Switzerland except between the middle

of June and the middle of October, so we have a right to expect of him

that he will plan his trip to the Pacific Coast for the most favorable

season. This may seem difficult, on account of the great distance to

be covered, and the variety of climatic conditions; but as a matter of

fact it is the easiest thing in the world. Indeed, this trip can be

taken in such a way that each locality as described in succession in

this volume can be seen under the most favorable conditions possible.

If an excursion agent had planned the climate of the Pacific Coast, he

could not have made things more delightfully convenient for tourists.

All you have to do is to follow spring northwards. Leave the East

in the abominable winter months and spend a few months in Southern

California, which from January to April is a paradise. If the Southern

Pacific or Atlantic and Pacific railroads are taken, there will be

no danger of a snow blockade, the temperature will be comfortable,

and the scenic attractions abundant. Early in May, when vegetation

fades in Southern California, the Yosemite should be visited to see

its water-falls at their best. San Francisco and Tahoe also are most

attractive in May. Continuing northward, we find Oregon and Washington

still in their spring garb in June, while the snow-peaks are not yet

concealed by smoke. July and August may be devoted to the sea-coast

and to Alaska, and in September the return trip may be made across

the Canadian Pacific, with its three mountain chains and the National

Park as its chief attractions; or the Northern Pacific, which among

its attractions includes the Columbia River scenery, the snow-peaks

of Oregon and Washington, Lake Pend D’Oreille, and the Yellowstone

National Park; or the Union Pacific, which includes the Sierra Nevada,

Lake Tahoe, the stupendous scenery of the Rio Grande, Salt Lake City,

Denver, and the Rocky Mountains,—three routes between which it is

difficult to make a choice.

To complete the American Scenic Tour, we must of course take in one of

the Great Lakes, Niagara Falls, the Thousand Islands and Rapids of the

St. Lawrence, Lakes Champlain and George, and the Hudson River,—scenes

which have been too often described to be touched upon here. I have

seen parts of four continents, but am still looking for a tour equal

to the one outlined in this volume with the addition just named. It

includes the grandest water-falls, the largest lakes, the finest river

scenery and geysers, the most stupendous glaciers, and some of the most

superb snow-peaks and ranges in the whole world; while the Yosemite and

the Grand Cañon are absolutely unique and without rivals anywhere.

Most of the illustrations in this volume are by courteous permission

reproduced from photographs in the excellent collection of Messrs.

Taber, San Francisco, Haynes, Yellowstone Park, B. C. Towne & Macalpin

& Lamb, Portland, and Pierce & Blanchard, Los Angeles.

H. T. F.

TOKIO, JAPAN, August, 1890.

CONTENTS.

I. LOS ANGELES COUNTY.

PAGE

Across the Continent—A Storm in the Desert—A Contemptuous City—

Progress and Prospects—The Land Boom—Climate and Crops—Ostrich-

Farming—A Vineyard Terror—The Native Wines—Quail-Hunting 1

II. SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA IN WINTER.

A Collapsed “Boom”—Los Angeles To-day—Prospects for

Immigration—Poultry and Cattle—Five Sources of Water for

Irrigation—Windmills, and Tunnels under River-Beds 15

III. THE GREAT AMERICAN PARADISE.

Value of Reservoirs—Winter in Southern California—Flowers and

Sunshine—Where Rain means “Better Weather”—Dry Air and Sea-

Breezes—Fogs and Frost—California for Invalids as compared

with Italy, Spain, and Africa—Rural Cities of the Future—The

Pacific Andalusia—Some Disadvantages—Gophers, Dust-Storms,

Drought—Enemies of the Orange and Vine 25

IV. THE HOME OF THE ORANGE.

The German Colony at Anaheim—Rabbit-Hunting in the Cactus

Fields—Cows and Oranges—The Best California Orange—Riverside

and its Model Orchards—Orange-Picking—A Wonderful

Avenue—Local Flavor in Oranges—An English Colony—How

Prohibition prohibits—Scenes between Riverside and San Diego 36

V. OVER THE MEXICAN BORDER.

San Diego and Coronado Beach—An Ideal Climate—An Artificial

Lake—How Towns are raised—The National Boundary—Donkeys

versus Railroads—More Saloons than Houses—Limes versus Lemons 49

VI. SANTA CATALINA ISLAND.

From San Diego to Los Angeles—Along the Coast—A Romantic

Spot—Lost in a Mustard Field—San Pedro—Floating Highlands—Sun

and Ocean Baths in Winter—Avalon Village—The Luxury of

Existence—Flowers, Humming-Birds, and Poison

Ivy—Rattlesnakes—Hunting Wild Goats—Indian Relics—Abalone

Shells and their Hunters—Sport for Fishermen—A Submarine

Garden—The Seals at Home 55

VII. SANTA BARBARA AND THE YOSEMITE.

A Dam under a River-Bed—Beans and Culture—An Æsthetic

Town—Beautiful Gardens—Spanishtown and Chinatown—Mojave

Desert—On the Way to the Yosemite—A Fine Stage Ride—Floral

Wonders—The Sierra Snow-Plant and Mariposa

Lilies—Resemblance to Oregon Scenery—Discovery of the

Valley—The Yosemite and Bridal Veil Falls—Rainbow Spray—El

Capitan and Mirror Lake—Origin of the Valley—Yosemite as a

Lake—Glacier Point and Other Excursions—The Big Trees in the

Mariposa Grove 75

VIII. SAN FRANCISCO AND CHINATOWN.

Mountainous Character of the Pacific Coast—The Hills of San

Francisco—Cable-Car Tobogganing—The Golden Gate and Cliff

House— Scenes in the Chinese Quarter—John’s Table

Delicacies—Lunch in a Chinese Restaurant—An Honest

Bookseller—Chinese Women—Opium Dens— Behind the Scenes in a

Chinese Theatre—The Asiatic Trade—California Hotels,

Restaurants, and Wines—Berkeley and the University—The

Climate of San Francisco 108

IX. LAKE TAHOE AND VIRGINIA CITY.

Climatic Paradoxes in San Francisco—A Long Ferry-Boat—Snow-Sheds

and Donner Lake—Truckee River—Logging and Fishing—Tahoe

City—Round Trip on a Boat—A Lake amidst Snow Mountains—A

Cinnamon Bear— Butterflies, Snow, and a Blue Sky—Large Trout,

and how to catch them—Sunsets reflected in the Lake—Other

Color Phenomena—The Flume to Carson Valley—A Mountain

Railway—Desolate Nevada Mountains—Mining under a City—Gold

Hill 126

X. MT. SHASTA AND CRATER LAKE.

The Oregon and California Railroad—California’s Grandest

Mountain— Isolated Peaks of the Cascade Range—Volcanic

Remnants—Sisson’s— Indians at Home—Sources of the

Sacramento—Effects of Rain—Oregon’s Numerous Rivers—Fish and

Crawfish—Southern Oregon—A Mysterious Mountain Lake—The

Oregon National Park—The Willamette Valley—Oregon Wheat and

Fruit 149

XI. PORTLAND AND ITS SEA-BEACHES.

A Picturesque Situation—Five Snow-Peaks in Sight—Portland versus

Los Angeles—Clearings—Chinese Anecdotes—Propitiating the

Gods—Appreciation of Female Beauty—Summer Resorts—Yaquina Bay

and Long Beach—Bathing in the North Pacific—Catching Crabs at

Low Tide—A Sad Accident—Clatsop Beach and Tillamook Head—An

Exposed Lighthouse—In the Virgin Forest—Oregon Mosses, Ferns,

and Trees—Flowers and Berries 162

XII. UP AND DOWN THE COLUMBIA RIVER.

An Ungrateful Republic—The Columbia compared with Other Rivers—

Snow-Peaks—Salmon-Canneries—Astoria and the Mouth of the

River—Cape Horn and Rooster Rock—Water-Falls—The Cascade—

Salmon-Wheels—In the Highlands—The Last of the Mohicans—Low

and High Water—The Scenery and the Railroad—The “Place of the

Winds”— “Swift Water”—A River turned on Edge 182

XIII. OREGON AND WASHINGTON SNOW-PEAKS.

From Portland to Tacoma—Views of and from Mt. Hood—American

Scenery—Advantages of Isolation—Ascent of Mt. St.

Helens—Masculine and Feminine Peaks—Tacoma and the

Jungfrau—American Names for American Mountains—Indian Names—A

Hop Valley—Cascade Division of the Northern Pacific

Railroad—Mt. Tacoma—Its Fourteen Glaciers and Five Rivers 203

XIV. THE AMERICAN MEDITERRANEAN.

A Strange Fact—History of Tacoma—Advantages of its Situation—

Navigation—Forests and Saw-Mills—Splendors and Disadvantages

of Forest Fires—Coal-Fields of Washington—Scenic Features of

Puget Sound—Olympia—Seattle since the Fire—The Olympic

Mountains—Port Townsend 217

XV. A WEEK IN ALASKA.

A Great Salt-Water River—The Genuine American Switzerland—Highest

Snow-Mountain in the World—The Excursion Season—Islands and

Forests—Indian Traits—Alaskan Villages—Glacier Bay—An Iceberg

Factory 231

XVI. ACROSS THE CANADIAN PACIFIC.

Advantages of an Autumnal Trip—English Aspect of

Victoria—Vancouver a “Boom Town”—The Frazer River and

Cañon—Eagle Pass—Reappearance of the Columbia River—Mountain-

Side Forests—Comparison with Switzerland—Construction of

Snow-Sheds—Banff and the National Park—The Bow River—Devil’s

Head Lake—Sulphur Mountain—Winnipeg and Lake Superior 248

XVII. THROUGH YELLOWSTONE PARK.

An Independent Journey on Horseback—Geysers and Paint-

Pots—Waiting for an Eruption—Yellowstone Cañon and Falls—The

Lake and its Trout—A Tent Hotel—Mysterious Sounds 279

XVIII. THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.

From Los Angeles to Peach Spring—Desert Wind—An Arizona Village—

Indians—Descensus Averno—Extraordinary Mountain

Architecture—Silence and Desolation—A Bewitched Creek—Up the

Diamond Cañon—The Grand Cañon and the River—New Mexico and

Kansas 294

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MT. HOOD _Frontispiece_

FACING PAGE

OSTRICH FARM—SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 12

FRUIT FARM IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 22

ORANGE GROVE—SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA 42

NORTH DOME—YOSEMITE VALLEY 96

BIG TREE—YOSEMITE VALLEY 104

SEAL ROCKS—SAN FRANCISCO 110

LAKE TAHOE 132

MT. SHASTA 152

CRATER LAKE 158

CASTLE ROCK—COLUMBIA RIVER 196

GREAT DALLES—COLUMBIA RIVER 202

SITKA 244

FRAZER CAÑON 254

THE SELKIRK GLACIER 262

CANADIAN PACIFIC HOTEL AT BANFF 268

DEVIL’S HEAD LAKE 272

MINERVA TERRACE—YELLOWSTONE PARK 282

FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE 292

THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO 296

[Illustration: THE PACIFIC SLOPE—FROM MEXICO TO ALASKA.]

I.

LOS ANGELES COUNTY.

ACROSS THE CONTINENT—A STORM IN THE DESERT—A CONTEMPTUOUS

CITY—PROGRESS AND PROSPECTS—THE LAND BOOM—CLIMATE AND

CROPS—OSTRICH-FARMING—A VINEYARD TERROR—THE NATIVE

WINES—QUAIL-HUNTING.

Twenty-three years ago, when the first transcontinental railway was

commenced, the possibility of not only its success, but of its very

construction, was almost universally doubted, and the San Francisco

bankers who advanced money for the enterprise had to do so secretly,

in order not to create a panic among their depositors. To-day there

are five transcontinental lines, or six, if we count the Oregon

Short Line separately, and the tourist or invalid can pay his money

and take his choice, according to the season,—the Canadian Pacific,

Northern Pacific, or Union Pacific in summer; the Atlantic and Pacific

or Southern Pacific in winter. The last-named is less interesting

scenically than some of the Northern routes, but to invalids leaving

the East in winter it presents the advantage of plunging at once _in

medias res_, so far as semi-tropical climate is concerned.

Of the southern United States, this side of the Mississippi, one

gets a rather unfavorable impression from the railway window, as

the greater part of the distance from Washington to New Orleans,

and some hundred miles beyond, seems little else than one boundless

swamp, with moss-covered trees, an occasional low mountain range, corn

and cotton fields, and beggarly huts, as the only scenic features.

Montgomery seems a sleepy country village; and although New Orleans

has sights worth seeing, it requires courage and a taste for roughing

it in order to get at them; for the streets (naturally inclined to

be muddy, because the city lies below the level of the Mississippi)

are so horribly paved that even a New Yorker must lift up his hands

and thank Heaven that he does not live in such a city. Without any

exaggeration, a Swiss stage-road in the midst of the mountains is not

so rough and jolting an affair as the street-car tracks in New Orleans;

and what the roads are beyond the paved streets may be inferred from

the fact that in January I found it absolutely impossible to reach the

City Park (where the Exposition was held some years ago) on foot, from

the terminus of the street-cars. Some of the gardens on the way were

ornamented with orange-trees laden with ripe fruit, but both trees

and fruit presented a sad contrast to the luxuriance I beheld in Los

Angeles three days later; and equally great was the contrast between

the moist, warm, enervating atmosphere of the Louisiana marshes, and

the dry, cool, mountain and ocean breezes of Southern California.

If you leave New Orleans, say, on Wednesday noon, you will be at Los

Angeles on Saturday evening before ten. A good supply of reading-matter

is desirable, as there is little to see for a day or two, except cactus

bushes, a few painted Indians, and bleak mountains, some of them across

the Mexican border. At El Paso, which calls itself “the Paris of the

Southwest,” and claims twelve thousand inhabitants, the train stops

long enough to afford a chance to drive across the river into Mexican

soil. The El Paso papers try hard to induce the passengers in quest of

health to stay there, and have a very poor opinion of California. The

_Herald_ which I bought, editorially described the “recent terrific

rainstorms” in that State, and found it difficult to decide which was

a worse place for invalids, “Holland with her damp marshes, or the

Golden State.” The editor probably mixed up that State with Arizona;

for on arriving in California we discovered there had not been a drop

of rain for several weeks, while in Arizona we found the deserts, as

far as the eye could reach, one vast plain of shining, semi-liquid

mud, interspersed with large temporary lakes. The rain poured down in

blinding torrents and with true tropical violence, forming channels

several feet deep across the desert, and whirling aside thirty-feet

iron rails like straws.

The spectacle of this rain-storm in the desert was so weird and sublime

that we gladly in return accepted the fate of reaching Los Angeles

twelve hours behind time; for the train, owing to the numerous washouts

and soft places, could only creep along, and beyond Tucson we had to

wait five hours for daylight, as the engineer did not dare to proceed

farther in the dark. Such storms and washouts are obviously frequent in

this region, for ties and rails are scattered all along the road for

emergencies. Nature, provoked by the “soft thing” which the Southern

Pacific had in building this level road, seems to have taken this means

of getting square with it. At Colton, California, the scenery becomes

snow-mountainous and interesting, and remains so as far as Los Angeles.

During my first visit to Southern California, in 1887, I was amused

to notice the vast contempt with which the fifty thousand inhabitants

of the city of Los Angeles looked down on the three hundred and fifty

thousand benighted denizens of a certain northern village known as

San Francisco, and on other places that have the effrontery to grow

rapidly, and to claim special advantages of climate, situation, and

commerce. The Los Angeles _Herald_ informed its admiring readers that—

“Pasadena and Los Angeles will be one city in a brief period, and form

a continuous municipality from the Sierra Madre to the sea—an extent

of thirty miles in length by at least six in width, with five hundred

thousand people contained therein, and will be the capital of the

richest State in the Union. The claim of New York as the Empire State

is already in dispute, but the dispute will soon be settled by the

pre-eminence of South California.”

It must be admitted that much had happened to justify this Los Angelic

grandiloquence. Seventeen years ago the City of Angeles had only ten

thousand inhabitants, no street-cars, and only one railway. To-day it

has at least sixty thousand inhabitants, electric street-cars, and

more than half-a-dozen railways, with about seventy-five daily trains.

Orange-trees have increased in the county from twenty-five thousand to

a million or more; grape-vines from three millions to twenty millions;

and other agricultural products in proportion.

Its very disadvantages have proved advantages to Los Angeles. For

instance, the fact that coal, like wood, is expensive, made the

city the first in the country to adopt a general system of electric

street-lighting. It has seventeen masts one hundred and fifty feet

high, fourteen masts sixty feet high, and hundreds of private lights.

The electric railroad is also being rapidly extended. The cars run at

the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour, which can be increased to

twenty outside the city limits. The road’s capacity is said to be four

times that of a horse road, and its cost only one-half, while there is

no torturing of poor horses in the hot noonday sun. A ride or a walk

along the streets of Los Angeles conveys the impression that the city

is quite as large and as “metropolitan” as it claims to be; the natural

bustle and activity being increased by the winter visitors from the

East.

In every country the smaller cities are apt to take after the

metropolis. Thus, Rouen constantly suggests Paris; Linz, Vienna; the

English cities, London, etc. Similarly, Los Angeles suggests San

Francisco in many details,—the appearance of the stores, hotels,

Chinese shops, and the gardens, although the gardens have a more

decided semi-tropical aspect, and there is a general appearance of

more open-airness, if the word be permissible. The city is surrounded

on all sides by high mountains and buried among groves and gardens.

Orange, lemon, “pepper,” and fig trees adorn the gardens everywhere,

side by side with many luxuriant shrubs and flowers, dwarfed apologies

for which are often seen in Eastern gardens. In size and brilliancy of

color these California flowers are incomparable, but the same causes

which tend to give quinces, for instance, a less pronounced flavor

than they have in the East, appear to impair the fragrance of some

flowers. This fact has often been commented on, but I believe that too

much emphasis has been placed on it. Repeated experiment has convinced

me that the verbena and heliotrope, and perhaps the geranium, have a

less delicious fragrance in California than in New York, at least in

October; but the same is not true of roses and pinks and lilies; and

the countless varieties of wild flowers that adorn the hill-sides in

spring have a most intoxicating fragrance, wherewith they allure so

many bees that honey can be sold at four cents a pound.

The present ambition of the Los Angeles people is to surpass all the

rest of the world in as many things as possible. In one thing certainly

they were pre-eminent, a few years ago,—in the number of real-estate

offices that decorated their town. Neither San Francisco nor any

mining town ever had so many saloons to the number of inhabitants as

Los Angeles had of these land offices; and the day after my arrival I

heard a mother scolding her baby for putting a handful of dirt in its

mouth—doubtless because she thought real estate was too valuable to be

thus wasted in luxurious living. Almost every landowner, whether he had

a sign over his door or not, was willing to part with some or all of

his property for a consideration—not a slight one, by any means; and

the whole county was affected with this epidemic, there being places of

only a few thousand inhabitants where corner lots were sold almost at

New York City prices.

One day, driving along a country road about twenty miles from Los

Angeles, I noticed half-a-dozen well-dressed men resting under a tree.

My companion informed me they were doubtless a syndicate looking about

for a place to locate a new town. At Fullerton, a few miles from

Anaheim, I saw one of these new towns. It consisted of the framework of

a large hotel and of a few hundred yards of elegant cement sidewalk,

not in front of the hotel, but in another part of the “town.”

Elsewhere towns get pretty large before any one begins to think of a

sidewalk, even of the most primitive kind; but the residents in Los

Angeles County of course would not be satisfied with a sidewalk in

any way inferior to that in front of Mr. Vanderbilt’s house in Fifth

Avenue. I may add that since then Fullerton has grown up into quite a

little town.

Having built his sidewalk and his large hotel (with real-estate

office) in place of the saloon which usually is the pioneer building

in Western towns, the Southern Californian begins to cast about for

a supply of water; not so much for domestic use—since wine is almost

as cheap as water—as for the irrigation of his garden and fields. If

a river or brook is near by, a water company is formed, ditches are

dug, and each shareholder, after paying his dues, may have his water

“on tap” whenever he wants it. In the absence of a river, wells are

made to supply the water. Sometimes these wells are bored horizontally

into the mountain side, thus creating an artificial spring; but, as a

rule, the wells are vertical, from eighty to five hundred feet deep,

or even more, although at one hundred to two hundred feet the water

is generally obtained in abundance. A windmill is then erected over

the well, which pumps the water into a large, high tank, whence it

is easily conveyed to the garden or field by hose. There is no lack

of wind to drive these mills; for the charm of Southern California’s

climate lies in this, that although the sky is commonly cloudless, and

the sun warm, winter and summer, there is almost always a brisk breeze

to temper the solar rays, and deprive them of their sting.

This is true especially of Los Angeles County, which is situated

between the deep sea and an imposing circular range of mountains, that

send their breezes down over the valley as soon as the ocean breezes

cease; and although at some seasons both these air-currents, near their

source, would be unpleasantly cold for invalids, they are almost always

mellowed and warmed by the sun’s rays before they reach the centre of

the valley. The morning—till about two o’clock—is the warmest part of

the day; but in the autumn the morning heat is tempered by a daily

fog, which remains till about ten o’clock. It is not a depressing fog,

and is rather enjoyed by the natives, as a temporary change from the

everlasting sunshine. In fact, sunny monotony is the gravest charge

that can be brought against the climate of Southern California. In

the autumn and spring a few rainy days afford refreshing variety; but

summer and winter are alike in their cloudless skies, warm sunshine,

and alternating mountain and ocean breezes. As a physician at Anaheim

remarked to me, the seasons do not differ in character, but only in

flavor, like the differences between several kinds of apples. He also

informed me that, although the temperature sometimes rises above a

hundred in the shade, he has never seen a case of sunstroke—thanks to

the dryness of the air and the almost incessant breezes. Yet, like

all southern climates, it fosters indolence, mental and physical; and

he would not recommend it, therefore, to young persons, except for

money-making purposes. But for invalids and for elderly persons, it is

the best place in the world. The somnolence brooding in the air (except

in Switzerland I have never slept so soundly in my life as here) would

cure the worst case of Wall Street insomnia; and the incessant sunshine

and constant life in the open air can hardly fail to add ten years or

more to the life of old men or women who desert their over-heated and

ill-ventilated Eastern homes for the open air and winter sunshine of

Los Angeles County.

The general irrigation now resorted to, and the numerous green oases

which have in consequence sprung up amid the deserts of prickly cactus,

have already exerted some influence on the climate, and there is reason

to believe that rain will be more abundant in the future than it has

been in the past. A potent factor in producing this change will be

the groves of trees that are being planted everywhere. There are some

poplars and locusts and other trees that appear to flourish tolerably

well, but the two species that most triumphantly defy sunshine, dust,

and drought are the red-pepper-tree and the Australian eucalyptus, both

of them beautiful to behold. The red-pepper-tree, with its gracefully

drooping branches, resembles a weeping willow, but its growth is more

luxuriant, its dimensions larger, and it is adorned with bunches of

beautiful small red berries. The leaves, when bruised, have a strongly

pungent cayenne odor, whence the name of the tree. The leaves and

fruit of the eucalyptus have a still more objectionable odor when

crushed (very much like assafœtida), but the tree has a most stately

appearance, and its marvellously rapid growth—a seed becoming a large

tree in a few years—causes it to be raised on a large scale for fuel

and for shady avenues.

But although Los Angeles County can raise the Australian eucalyptus

and the pepper-tree, there is a point at which the climate draws the

line further south. Thus, the banana and the pineapple, although they

can be raised here, do not usually thrive well, and the same is true

of the almond. Yet the Los Angeleños do not despair on that account,

as they have a superabundance of other fruits to fall back on. Of the

vast and fruitful orange and lemon orchards of this region every one

has read. Figs grow abundantly and are in good demand, especially

those of the Smyrna variety, which are now displacing the others.

The demand for California olive oil is greater than the supply, and

it is equal in quality to the best Italian oil. English walnut-trees

yield a profitable crop. Peaches are so abundant that they are fed

to the cows, and some varieties (but not all) are equal in flavor

to the New Jersey and Delaware crop. Ears of corn a foot long, with

twenty rows to the ear, can be seen in the market, side by side with

gigantic twenty-horse-power onions, and potatoes weighing from two to

five pounds. Sugar-beets are on exhibition, weighing fifty pounds,

and pumpkins of one hundred and fifty to one hundred and seventy-five

pounds. Pumpkins, melons, tomatoes, and other creepers grow wild,

without any care, and may even become a weedy nuisance. If a Chinaman

eats a watermelon under a tree along the road, the chances are that a

crop of wild melons will be found in that neighborhood the following

season; and on one farm I saw a volunteer tomato plant which the owner

said he had ploughed down twice, but when I saw it, it measured at

least twelve feet square, and had thousands of small red fruit on

it of the kind which is only used for preserves, although, like the

little yellow ones, it is of a much more delicate flavor than the large

tomatoes, which alone, for some inscrutable reason, are ever seen on

our tables.

This list is very far from complete and is being constantly

extended; for California is still largely in an experimental stage

of development. The experiment with ostrich-farming near Anaheim has

resulted successfully, and other farms have been started near Los

Angeles. I visited the original farm near Anaheim. The keeper, an

Englishman imported from Africa, showed me a fine lot of healthy birds

and some beautiful specimens of feathers, naming prices which, if

they were advertised by a New York house, would create a riot among

“bargain”-seeking women; for it is to be hoped that women, having

abandoned the vulgar fashion of wearing stuffed bird-corpses on their

hats, will return to their old love, the delicate plumes of the

ostrich, the wearing of which involves no cruel massacre of innocents.

And California has another kind of plume to which the attention of

women should be directed, the product of what might be called the

vegetable ostrich,—pampas grass. Nothing more exquisite for a vase or

for a (fan-shaped) wall ornament could be imagined than these bushy

white (or colored) plumes, which in Los Angeles County attain the

height of thirty-six inches, not including the stem. Formerly, when

these plumes were imported from South America, florists charged a

dollar or even a dollar and a half apiece for them; now the retail

price is twenty-five cents, and the wholesale price three or four

cents. Vast quantities are being exported to Europe, and Southern

California is able to supply the demand of several continents, as the

pampas grass, like most plants, grows there like a weed.

A dark cloud has, however, lately risen, and is for the moment casting

an ominous shadow over the cheerful prospects of California. All the

products so far mentioned are, of course, subordinate in importance to

the grape crop; and the California grape-vine has been for several

years threatened by an enemy more dangerous, because more obscure, than

the phylloxera. A few years ago some of the grape-vines in Los Angeles

County suddenly began to die out. Among these were some of the oldest

vineyards, eighty years old or more. Indeed, the old Mission grape was

the first to be attacked. Then followed other varieties, always in the

same order in each vineyard. The disease begins at the tip of the vines

and slowly spreads downwards, the roots being affected last. The second

season the crop is a comparative failure, and the third the vineyard is

a graveyard. One lady told me she had dug up and used for fuel as many

as eighty thousand of her vines within a few years. The disease is said

to be not phylloxera nor mildew; nor have the chemical experts who have

examined the vines been able to throw any light on the matter, except

by attributing the decay to a kind of cellular degeneration. Various

theories are being discussed, and the owners of the vineyards meanwhile

console themselves with the statement that a similar mysterious disease

affected the grapes of Sicily and Madeira at one time, and disappeared

after a few years, allowing the young vines to grow as before. What

causes them to look with comparative indifference on this temporary (as

they hope) interruption of business is the fact that there has been an

over-production of grapes, in consequence of which the price of wine

has fallen to unprofitable figures. An interruption of a few years in

this excessive production would raise the prices, and thus pay for the

losses now sustained.

[Illustration: OSTRICH FARM—SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.]

In the meantime the wine-growers would do well to ponder the fact that

quality is of much more value, financially and gastronomically, than

quantity. Labor is scarce in harvest-time, and, to save trouble,

too many of the small growers neglect to pick out the green and sour

grapes, which therefore vitiate the juice of the whole bunch; or else

they intrust the cleaning of their old barrels to ignorant Chinamen

(the Indians have all disappeared), with equally disastrous results.

Too many Eastern people have contracted absurd prejudices against

California wines, because chance threw some of this sour wine into

their cellars. But it may be safely stated that the average California

claret and white wine and port are superior to the wine that may be

bought for the same money in France and Germany and elsewhere. The

_labels_ of famous French wines and Cognacs are for sale openly in the

show-cases of country stores in Los Angeles County! These honest folks

are practically compelled to use this stratagem. They would much prefer

to sell their best wines under California labels, in order to build up

their reputation. And if California wine-growers used the same caution

as those of Europe, this subterfuge would no longer be necessary. I

have tasted old Zinfandel equal to the best French château wines,

because made with the same care, and it fetched almost as high a price

in San Francisco as foreign wines.

Whatever may be the outcome of the present vineyard epidemic, Southern

California will have plenty of other things to fall back upon. A

few years ago it looked as if all the crops were to be neglected,

comparatively, and a specialty made of building hotels for invalids and

tourists. Among the special attractions for tourists is quail-hunting

in the foothills. The physician already referred to kindly took me out

on an afternoon hunt. We drove in a tough two-horse buggy, up and down

hill and along the dry bed of a brook, carefully dodging the bristling

cactus bushes, which are apt to make a deep impression on “tenderfoot”

visitors, less by the grotesque manner in which their fleshy leaves are

stuck on one another at odd angles than by their fish-hook-like spines.

These prickly leaves are so arranged that nothing larger than a quail

or a rabbit can get under their protecting shadows. The dogs give them

a wide berth, and the quail can only be shot on the wing if they are

alarmed and fly from one group of cactus bushes to another. The result

of an hour’s buggy-hunting was nine quails, three pigeons, and two

rabbits.

II.

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA IN WINTER.

A COLLAPSED “BOOM”—LOS ANGELES TO-DAY—PROSPECTS FOR

IMMIGRANTS—POULTRY AND CATTLE—FIVE SOURCES OF WATER FOR

IRRIGATION—WINDMILLS, AND TUNNELS UNDER RIVER BEDS.

In 1887 all the hotels in Los Angeles were overcrowded, the post-office

almost unable to get through with its business, the city growing like

an asparagus stalk after an April shower, and the demand for labor so

great that the workmen could practically dictate their own terms. The

smaller towns and would-be towns had also caught the infection, and

were building huge hotels, cement sidewalks, and street-car lines;

not because it was supposed that towns of two thousand inhabitants

needed such things, but in order to be able to advertise in the Eastern

papers and in real-estate circulars that the place had street-car

lines, cement sidewalks, and hotels “with all the modern conveniences.”

Each town printed a special illustrated pamphlet in which its unique

attractions, as compared with all rivals, were set forth, culminating

in the claim that its township was the “Italy of America” or of the

West; while San Diego brought matters to a climax by styling itself

“the Italy of Southern California.”

In 1889, when I made my second visit to Los Angeles County, I found

everywhere evidences that the boom had collapsed. The street-car lines

in the small towns barely paid expenses, though it was regarded as an

act of local patriotism to ride on them; and the cement sidewalks,

which had been prolonged far into the fields, had failed to charm

into existence the rows of houses that had been looked for. In the

metropolis itself, workmen were grumbling at insufficient employment,

merchants clamored that their rents were fifty per cent too high,

many store windows were pasted with closing-out notices, real-estate

offices were no longer as abundant as saloons, and the bookstores, more

wretchedly supplied than those of any town of ten thousand inhabitants

in the United States, were even selling the twenty-cent paper novels

at “cut rates.” The newspapers of Northern California, of Oregon,

Washington, and other Western States as far east as Kansas, which

had long been jealous of the prosperity of Southern California, and

desired a boom of their own, crowed loudly over the “busted boom” of

Los Angeles, while the papers of that city, no longer compelled by

the pressure of real-estate advertisements to add two or four extra

pages to their issues, had daily elaborate editorials to disprove the

allegations of their envious rivals.

An unprejudiced observer, interested only in the climate and the

scenery, and not in the real estate, of Southern California, could not

but admit, from the signs just noted, that these “envious rivals” were

right in insisting that the boom had collapsed; but the inferences

drawn from this fact, that Southern California had been overpraised,

and that its road was to be down hill in the future, were absurd.

Southern California cannot be overpraised, and, in my humble opinion,

its prospects are brighter than those of any other portion of the

United States. To a large extent the late boom was nothing but a huge

gambling scheme, an epidemic of wild land-speculation, which carried

along in its rush thousands of thoughtless victims, like the mad

stampede for Oklahoma. Southern Californians knew better than others

that the sudden rise in their land prices were artificially stimulated

and would be followed by a reaction; but they were bound to make hay

while the sun shone, and found to their delight that the sun shone

longer in California than elsewhere, in the metaphorical sense as well

as in reality. At last the storm came, and swept away many of the

“tenderfeet,” or late comers, and their new buildings, whose débris is

now lying about, so to speak, and is pointed at as a terrible warning

and lesson; but the only lesson it does teach is that people should

avoid real-estate gambling. The fragments of the ruins will soon be

cleared away, and then it will be found that, although many individuals

have suffered during the storm, the State as a whole has been benefited

by it.

In many cases the large, useless hotels built in the small towns have

already been secured at a bargain for school buildings, and in the

larger cities many public works have been provided which, without the

artificial stimulus of the boom, would have been postponed to the

indefinite future; as, for instance, the long flume, costing almost

a million of dollars, which now provides San Diego and vicinity with

abundant pure water, and will do more to develop the resources of the

county than the discovery of several gold mines. Los Angeles made the

great mistake of not building a sewer to the sea during flush times,

and now suffers under the disadvantage of vitiated air, which, if not

remedied, will destroy its reputation as a health resort.

In other respects, Los Angeles is already recovering from the effects

of the collapse. Fine new buildings are again going up, the streets are

always animated, and the cable-car tracks have been lately prolonged

into the picturesque hilly region behind the city, which affords the

finest imaginable sites for suburban cottages, with superb views of

the mountains, and a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean, fourteen miles

away. Though founded in 1781, Los Angeles had less than five thousand

inhabitants in 1860, and only thirteen thousand in 1880, while to-day

it has sixty thousand or more. Thirteen years ago no railroad connected

it with other parts of the world, while to-day it is one of the

greatest railroad centres in the West. And as it still remains, what

it always was, unsurpassed by any city in the world for climatic and

scenic advantages, it has every reason to look forward to a prosperous

and brilliant future.

Southern California includes five counties,—Los Angeles, Santa Barbara,

Ventura, San Bernardino, and San Diego,—embracing, as General N.

A. Miles points out, “a territory nearly the size of the State of

New York, and with natural resources of ten times its value.” This

seems a big statement, but its truth can be realized, without the

use of figures, by considering that these five counties are capable

of supplying the United States with all the figs, raisins, prunes,

wine, olives and olive oil, oranges, lemons, nuts, and canned fruits

that are now imported from France, Italy, and Spain; most of them,

with proper care, equal in quality if not superior to the imported

articles. Although large quantities of all these fruits are already

raised, they are a mere trifle compared with what the soil is capable

of yielding to a larger population. It has been proved over and over

again that ten to twenty acres of good irrigable land are all that is

needed to support a family, and there is therefore room for hundreds

of thousands of immigrants. However, it is candidly admitted that

Southern California is a land of more promise to the farmer who has at

his disposal a capital of a few thousand dollars than to the emigrant

who brings with him little but a team and a pair of muscular arms;

for improved land, with bearing vines and fruit trees, costs from

one hundred to five hundred dollars an acre, while unimproved land,

though it may be had for one-fifth those prices (twenty to one hundred

dollars), yields no return for several years, unless grain is raised;

for all of the semi-tropical fruits above named require from three or

four to ten years before a profitable crop is yielded.

And yet personal observation has led me to believe that there are

special opportunities in this region precisely for the farmer with

limited means, if he is willing to curb his ambition and content

himself with dairy farming and the raising of poultry on a large scale

for the market. The farmers now settled in Southern California are

so ambitious to become orange, olive, or vineyard kings that they

entirely neglect the farmyard, and have hardly enough milk and butter

and vegetables for home consumption. It is almost impossible in any

part of Southern California to get a good piece of beef or mutton, and

chickens are imported by the carload from Kansas and other “Eastern”

States, and sold at absurdly high prices at Los Angeles, although in

this mild climate it is easy to raise chickens all the year round, and

I have myself seen splendid broods of young ones grow up in about half

the time they need in the East to reach a marketable size, the simple

precaution being taken of providing them with dry housing during rainy

nights. If this is not done, their growth is remarkably retarded, and

many of them become diseased, and, if not killed or isolated, will

infect a whole yardful of poultry.

Cattle-raising, too, must prove profitable in a region where the

animals can feed on the green foothills and valleys all the “winter,”

and in summer eat the sun-dried grass or clover which covers the whole

country. The wild, clover-like alfileria, which furnishes most of this

natural hay, grows in profusion along the roadsides and in the meadows,

and even fills up the empty patches in the cactus fields. After the

spring rains it attains a height of ten to fifteen inches, with a dozen

plants to the square inch, and is so juicy and tender that one can

mow it down with a cane or with the hands; and a week later it is as

high as if it had never been cut. It looks so luscious and sweet as to

almost make one long to be a cow or a sheep, in order to be really “in

clover” for once. Again, the cultivated clover, or Chilian alfalfa,

if sufficiently irrigated, yields half-a-dozen or more crops of hay a

year, which makes the sweetest butter and meat in the world. Yet the

Southern Californians, as I have just said, import most of their butter

and meat; consequently, if some farmers should undertake to supply the

local market with homemade products, fresher and cheaper, because with

no freight charges on them, they would have a sure source of prosperity

before them. It is probable that the drought of 1863–64 discouraged the

cattle business; but there has been none since that time, and with the

present railway facilities and a reasonable foresight in storing hay,

no disaster need be feared in the future. Moreover, one of the best

and cheapest kinds of cattle food, pumpkins, as large as beer-barrels,

can be raised here by the thousand with hardly any trouble or expense.

Sometimes they lie in a field so densely that one might walk over it

without touching the ground; and I saw several fields in which hundreds

of fine pumpkins, for which the farmers had no use, owing to the

scarcity of cattle, were left to rot on the ground.